Page 8 of In the Long Run

GEN

One of the perks of working for yourself is setting your own schedule.

I turn towards Alizée’s Patisserie instead of going home after my morning run.

Crisp, cool air stings my cheeks and I welcome it, unzipping my running jacket so the breeze can skate across my chest. It won’t stop me from looking like a human tomato, but hopefully I’ll be merely flushed by the time I step inside my favourite coffee shop.

Eugene, the owner and head patissier, would probably refuse me service if he heard me refer to Alizée’s as anything other than a little slice of France right here in Melbourne.

The promise of something warm and delicious spurs me forward and I ignore the heaviness in my legs.

This morning’s intervals will really make their presence known tomorrow when my muscle soreness properly sets in, and right now, a marathon feels like a ridiculous goal.

Then I remember the pep talk Bernie pulled me aside to deliver before I left my party.

My long runs have been hovering around sixteen to eighteen kilometres for over twelve months. And I’ve got three months to train.

My watch buzzes, distracting me from making a list of questions about the training plan Mere and Bernie have promised to put together for me.

Brand: Did you leave early for your run today? Stopped by your place but missed you. Sorry I didn’t come to your party. Didn’t know you were having one. I’m going to try to find you so we can have breakfast together.

I whip around, my jacket splaying even further open, but the icy concern clawing at my skin has nothing to do with today’s temperature.

The park between the beach and Alizée’s is empty.

Is Brand … is he watching me? There were a few cars parked along the Esplanade, but I wasn’t really paying attention.

My fingers fumble at my jacket and it takes me two goes to get the zipper in place.

I yank it all the way up to my chin, ignoring the sting of pain when it bites at the sensitive skin under my jaw.

Another spin confirms the park’s deserted.

I head towards the glow spilling out of Alizée’s front windows cautiously.

According to my heart rate monitor, I’m sprinting.

Normally, I use the playground for stretches – it’s too early for the neighbourhood children, and everything’s still blanketed in last night’s dew anyway – but today I keep jogging, phone clutched in one hand, my gaze fixed on the patisserie’s pale blue front doors.

My watch buzzes again but I don’t look down. If Brand is watching, I want him to see me ignore him.

And I need a minute to calm down.

This has to stop.

But how? If I block Brand’s number, he’ll use a different phone to contact me.

Surely, it’s better to know what he’s up to?

I briefly consider changing my number, but that’s a concession I shouldn’t have to make.

And it will negate all the flyers I’ve been dropping off at different businesses trying to find new clients.

It’s not until I’m within touching distance of the wisteria that grows all around Alizée’s that I slow to a walk.

Gnarled branches twist around the guide wires that span the whole front of the cottage.

In spring, the whole place transforms into a picturesque wonderland covered in big, hanging purple flowers.

It’s magical.

But right now, with Brand at the forefront of my mind, it’s easy to imagine something sinister.

But I’m not going to. Brand isn’t going to ruin this for me too.

Once I’m inside, my first breath is like breaking above the water while swimming. I drag the air all the way down to my stomach. My next inhale – the air laced with coffee and sugar – is an immediate balm to my frayed nerves.

Really, Brand’s done me a favour. Reminded me that I shouldn’t run the same paths and be so predictable.

There’s having a routine and enjoying using apps like Strava to track my run stats, and then there’s being unintentionally reckless.

At least that’s what it’s called when female runners do this.

For male runners, not so much. Tomorrow morning I’ll go to Get Fit, Get Strom and do one of their strength classes and run in the afternoon.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice the man at the front of the short queue until he speaks.

‘Can I please have a long black and a cappuccino, and then an almond croissant, four normal ones and a couple of the pistachio macarons? Do you know if they’re still Eugene’s favourites?’ Knox asks the older woman behind the counter.

There’s a loud squeal from the small office that sits to the side of the main counter. Celeste, my favourite server, appears and says, ‘Oh my God, finally! You’re here!’

Her short, pink hair is pulled away from her face by an Alice band covered in little strawberry tarts.

She always looks so cute and quirky. Her face is bright, her expression light and mischievous as she scurries around the counter and yanks Knox into her arms. He sighs loudly but returns her hug, his lips curling into a small, content smile.

He certainly didn’t look at me like that .

‘Why is this the first I’m seeing of you?’ she says, pressing her face into his black hoodie.

When she looks up at him, Knox hugs her tighter, giving her a little shake.

Celeste gestures to the other worker to serve the next person in line before returning her attention to Knox.

‘And you’re so bad at replying to texts.

You know you’re not paying by the character anymore, right?

You can write more than OK or ACK . Please keep any and all Army lingo and acronyms far away from me. ’

‘I’ve been busy,’ Knox grumbles, but there’s no indignation or terseness in his words. He’s being gentle with Celeste. It’s annoyingly attractive.

‘Too busy for me? I refuse to accept that. I deserve better and you know it.’ Celeste pouts and I bury a smile in my fist. Women who don’t let men make excuses for mucking them around are who I want to be when I grow up. It doesn’t matter that I’m about a decade older than Celeste.

Knox rolls his eyes but his smile returns and, oh, I don’t like this at all.

Or, more accurately, I don’t like how much I notice the way his whole body relaxes and his voice takes on a droll, teasing tone.

They’re clearly familiar with each other.

Are they the kind of familiar I’d fleetingly hoped Knox and I would be?

‘You’ll survive.’ He shrugs.

‘I missed you,’ Celeste says, and there’s no mistaking the love in her eyes. Must be nice to be Knox Watson. One night he’s leaning against my door with a nonchalance I haven’t been able to stop thinking about and only a few days later another woman is gazing adoringly at him too.

‘I missed you too, munchkin.’

Ouch . Pet names have never been my thing, but no woman wants to be called that , surely.

‘Ugh. I hate you,’ Celeste exclaims, pushing him away. ‘I’m twenty-one, you know.’

‘Would you prefer “squirt” or “kid”?’ His grin widens and his shoulders twitch.

‘I’m going to spit in your coffee.’ Celeste moves over towards the fancy machine and reaches for three large takeaway cups.

‘I’d still drink it.’ He’s trying not to laugh; his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

‘You’re so gross.’

This is the strangest flirting I’ve ever seen.

‘Which poor woman did you pay to spend the night with you?’ Celeste asks.

Oh. Oh.

I snap my jaws together. Typical. I can’t wait to tell Caleb – who has printed out Knox’s Army ID, drawn hearts all around his face and stuck it to our fridge – about this development. Turns out Knox is just like every other guy.

‘Really?’ Knox shakes his head.

Celeste fiddles with the levers and knobs on the machine and the sound of grinding beans fills the air. ‘Obviously. Who’d want to date you? You’re disgusting. And your face? It hurts my eyes.’ She scrunches her nose for emphasis.

Knox barks a laugh and the sound bounds around the open space. It grates on me how deep and warm it is.

‘It’s true. I am. Good thing I’ve got you to keep me humble.’

Celeste nods as she tamps the beans before fixing the porta-filter back in place.

‘What else are little sisters for?’ Celeste teases him so easily, I should’ve picked their relationship earlier. Her mouth drops open when Knox shakes his head. ‘Don’t even think about saying we’re not family, Knox. I’ll tell Eugene on you.’

An extended pause squashes their easy camaraderie. ‘Eugene’s pretty distracted at the moment. I think I’ll get away with it,’ Knox finally says.

‘How is he?’ she asks.

Knox sighs. ‘Home.’

Celeste’s expression immediately morphs into concern. ‘Already? I thought he’d be in hospital for a few more days. See, this is information you could’ve given me if you weren’t so damn stingy with your texts.’

‘He asked me not to say anything until he was settled back at home. You know how he is.’

Wait. What?

‘What happened to Eugene?’ I ask before remembering my manners and that I’m not part of this conversation. But even if we weren’t neighbours, Eugene’s a local celebrity. Alizée’s is an institution, and Eugene is Alizée’s.

Knox turns slowly. The shadows under his eyes are back, his beard has grown in a bit more and an air of exhaustion hovers around him.

I can now also confirm that his black hoodie and grey tracksuit pants look as good from the front as they do from the back.

I’m not going to read anything into the way his eyes lighten as he flashes me a quick smile, but sweet Taylor Alison Swift, Queen of Everything I Worship, he’s so damn pretty when he smiles.

‘He had an accident,’ Knox says.

‘Is he okay?’

Knox scratches at his beard and I fail miserably at not imagining how it would feel against my skin. Why can’t the man who’s obsessed with me be someone I’m actually attracted to?

‘He will be. Busted up his foot pretty bad and had to have surgery. He’s going to be laid up for a few months.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help? I could walk Madeleine and Chouquette. I know he takes them out each afternoon.’ Eugene’s schnauzers have small-dog attitude in spades, and they must be struggling with being cooped up all day.

It sounds like Knox has his hands full helping Eugene, and selfishly, if I was to run into Brand, the girls would make a whole lot of noise.

That should’ve been the first sign Brand wasn’t who he pretended to be.

Madeleine and Chouquette rarely bark, but each time he came to pick me up, they’d go off.

You should never trust someone a dog doesn’t like.

The coffee machine hisses and Celeste froths the milk. She pours it into the waiting cups, clips the lids on and slides them across the counter to Knox. The cappuccino I haven’t even ordered yet is added a second later, with ‘Gen’ scrawled across the side, followed by a smiley face.

‘I’m happy to help too. Maybe we can draw up a schedule at dinner tomorrow night? You think Eug will be up to it? Yeti texted me earlier about it,’ she says.

‘That something you do?’ he asks. ‘Text with Yeti regularly?’

She harrumphs and plants her hands on her hips. ‘Yes, Knox. All the time. He loves it when I call him Sir. You know I can barely tolerate that human-shaped lump of swagger.’ She rolls her eyes before shifting her attention to me. ‘He can’t turn it off.’

‘Hmm?’

She lifts her chin at Knox. ‘The protective instinct. Will you please help remind him that he doesn’t have to be everything for everyone? That it’s okay to accept help?’

Maybe I have misjudged Knox.

‘I really would be happy to help Eugene out,’ I say. ‘And I owe you a favour, remember?’

Celeste looks up from the takeaway box she’s filling with extra treats Knox didn’t ask for. She winks at me and adds a slice of opera cake to it.

‘That’s too much stuff. Eug isn’t very hungry right now,’ Knox says.

‘What a shame. I guess you could always share it with someone else. Maybe in your front courtyard? For breakfast. Like a neighbour?’ She makes a point of looking at me and raising her eyebrows in challenge.

Now it’s awkward again. I pull out my phone as another message from Brand comes through.

Brand: What’s taking you so long? Can you get me a cappuccino?

God. He’s outside. He must be. How can he think harassing me would make me want to date him again? There’s a reason why Hallmark doesn’t make a ‘thank you for stalking me until I realised I wanted to be with you!’ card.

‘You know what?’ I’m proud of myself for sounding normal. ‘Breakfast would be great. We can figure out how I can help Eugene.’

And it won’t hurt for Brand to see me with Knox again.