Page 1 of Meet Me in a Mile

One

Lydia

L ydia McKenzie wasn’t usually a runner, but she sure as hell was this morning. She nabbed her jeans from the carpeted floor and shimmied into them, trying not to trip on the snaky straps of her bra that peeked out from beneath the bed. Tiptoeing around the room, she retraced last night’s lust-filled haze as she finished dressing, attempting not to wake the pillow-hugging figure beneath the sheets. The sex hadn’t been anything spectacular—she’d had to take care of things herself—and she really didn’t feel like living through an awkward morning after.

She got down on her hands and knees, looking for her purse. Please, don’t be in the cab , she thought miserably, scanning the underside of the bed. This had all started after a client meeting in the Financial District. Schmoozing the Wall Street types wasn’t her usual style, but she’d been up for some fun, and at least Ian—or was it Ethan?—had cared enough to make small talk before blatantly inviting her back to his place.

“Kitchen,” she whispered, jumping to her feet and hurrying out of the room.

Lydia stopped long enough in the kitchen to absorb the sleekness of it all. Chrome appliances. Granite countertops. It was all so sterile. There wasn’t even a picture or a magnet on the fridge. She wrinkled her nose at the monotony of high condo ceilings and eggshell-colored walls. How terribly boring.

She spotted her purse next to the toaster, grabbed it, and did a cursory check—phone, wallet, keys. Then she stuffed her shoes on, threw open the door and booked it into the elevator. Her phone buzzed as she walked through the lobby a few moments later. It was a text from Ashley. Like she usually did when the occasion called for it, she’d texted her sister the address of where she was spending the night.

I’m waiting downstairs. Let me know if you need a ding, dong, ditch.

Lydia replied with an emoji of a woman running.

They often met up in the mornings for coffee before Lydia made her way to work and Ashley made her way to the gym. Ashley somehow always managed to squeeze in a yoga class before work, which she considered a necessity since she spent most of her waking hours navigating the stresses of Big Law. Conveniently, Ian or Ethan lived among the luxury buildings in NoMad, so Ashley’s gym in the Flatiron District was a reasonably short walk.

As she exited the building, she was greeted by the stillness of the waking streets—nothing like the cacophony New York City would be later in the morning when cab horns chirped, sirens wailed and bikers rang their tiny bells, fighting cars for space.

“Hey,” Ashley called, walking over. She was already wearing her matching activewear set. “I come bearing gifts.” She handed Lydia a large raspberry chai latte topped with vanilla cold foam and sprinkles of cinnamon.

“You are a goddess,” Lydia said, taking a sip. Sugary caffeine drinks topped with fluffy cold foam were her biggest weakness. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“You know, I thought I’d stop having to pick you up after wild nights out when you finished college.”

Though she was only a couple years older, Ashley had crossed that threshold from late twenties to early thirties and now regarded things like one-night stands with amusement as she contemplated serious things like marriage with her equally serious fiancé, Kurt.

“Maybe I just like spending time with my favorite sister,” Lydia told her, taking another sip of teeth-rotting syrupy goodness.

“I’m your only sister.”

“And you secretly love it when I text you in the middle of the night with clandestine details of my love life. It keeps your week interesting.”

They turned onto 6th Avenue, where short, redbrick apartment buildings rose up around them in between businesses and restaurants. As they continued, towering condos and sleek office buildings loomed overhead, casting long shadows across the street. Lydia let herself soak in the history and the colors—harsh lines from old fire escapes, the muted tones of the clay once dug from the Hudson, even the way the buildings butted up against each other—while enjoying the stark differences that announced the ending of one neighborhood and the beginning of another. In a borough as bustling as Manhattan, everyone knew there was room for more development, and her hand was itching for a drawing pencil.

“I thought you were all hung up on that guy from your work?”

“That guy’s name is Jack. And I’m playing the long game.”

“The long game requires you to actually start the game,” Ashley pointed out.

Lydia wrinkled her nose. Jack Carson was one of the project coordinators at Poletti Architectural Studios. But despite having worked at the firm for close to three years now, Lydia still hadn’t determined if Jack knew her name or if he constantly said hey there when they bumped elbows in the copy room because he’d actually forgotten.

“You’re turning red.”

“I am not.” Lydia nudged her sister with her shoulder. “But I am leaving breadcrumbs for him to follow. A compliment here. A conversation there. Eventually he’ll catch on.”

“At least you’re having fun while you’re waiting for Jack to get a clue.” Ashley’s smile dropped from her face.

“You and Kurt still haven’t settled on a venue, huh?” Lydia might still be waiting for the man of her dreams to notice her, but the man of Ashley’s dreams was holding up their wedding planning. Lydia wasn’t sure which one was worse.

“No,” Ashley muttered darkly, crushing the empty coffee cup in her hand. “And until he does, I can’t secure a date. And until there is a date, there are no invitations. And if there are no invitations, there are no guests.”

Lydia almost regretted bringing it up. “Rein it in, Ash. Kurt is just trying to make you happy.”

“I don’t mean to be snappish. I just want to get the ball rolling. I waited years for him to propose. Is it really so inconceivable that I don’t want to wait any longer?”

“Of course not,” Lydia assured her. Ashley and Kurt had met in undergrad and dated through law school. When they’d graduated, Ashley was ready to settle down, but Kurt had wanted them both to climb the career ladder, to get established.

Ashley huffed, the sound not quite a laugh. “I always thought I wanted this big, extravagant white wedding. But now it can literally rain for all I care. I just want to get us down that aisle.”

“I think rain’s supposed to be good luck.” Ashley glared at her. “Look, most brides wish their fiancés took more of an interest in this sort of stuff. If Kurt wants to be a part of it, then let him. It’s less stuff you and I have to worry about in the end.”

“Remind me why I made you my maid of honor again?”

“Because unfortunately for you, I am your best friend.”

They slowed at Fitness Forum, a boutique gym where people paid an exorbitant amount of money to roll around getting sweaty—but not the fun kind of rolling or sweating. She followed Ashley inside, loitering at the lockers.

“You want to come to class? I can get you a guest pass for the morning.”

Lydia shook her head. “No thanks. I’ve already done my cardio.”

Ashley made a face. “Please don’t launch into your sexcapades.”

“I was talking about walking back from NoMad, thank you very much.” She waggled her brows. “But my stories might be more fun than being stretched and contorted like spaghetti.”

“That is not what happens in yoga.”

“Cobra pose. Tree pose. Triangle pose. Half-seated spinal twist. Shall I continue?”

“You are so annoying,” Ashley said without any real bite. “Come on. Stay. Have this transcendent experience with me.”

“Yuck.” Lydia checked her phone. “The only thing I’d be transcending in there is the natural curvature of my spine. I have to go shower and change before work.”

“Fine. I’ll call you later.”

“Have fun transcending.” Rolling her eyes at the pouty look on Ashley’s face, Lydia turned. But instead of stepping toward the door, she walked straight into a man built like a brick wall. She sloshed her latte, thankfully just on her own shoes and not on the man—the employee—who had just walked through the door.

Lydia traced the hard lines before her. His jaw was as defined as the pectorals she’d just assessed with her face. It was unfair, really, to be that perfect. And as someone who traded in lines and curves and arches for her day job, she could appreciate perfection. She was almost tempted to reach out and touch. Then she remembered herself, stopped ogling that space where bicep met tricep, and choked out an apology instead. “I am so sorry.”

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“You took my breath away for a second,” she said, only hearing the words after they’d already left her mouth. “I mean the collision. Hitting you. Not because you’re—” Lydia gestured at him vaguely. “It’s not that you’re not very... I mean, you are. But that’s not what I—” Lydia snapped her mouth closed. For the first time since their collision, Lydia noticed the name tag pinned to the stranger’s fitted black shirt: Luke .

“You know what?” he said, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder. “You’re not the first woman to tell me that. It’s been a while though, so it’s nice to hear I’ve still got it.”

He was clearly joking but Lydia’s cheeks burned.

“Luke!” someone called from the front desk. “You’ve got a call on hold.”

Luke glanced to the front desk then back to Lydia. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yep,” she squeaked. “I’m just great.”

“It’s First Union Bank!” they called again.

Luke hurried off to take his phone call.

“What on earth did I just witness?” Ashley asked as soon as he was out of earshot. When Lydia turned around, her sister was grinning from ear to ear.

“You really just stood there and let that happen?”

“I was too shocked to interrupt. It just kept getting worse.” Ashley pitched her voice, doing a poor imitation. “You took my breath away because you’re just so big and strong...”

“Oh my God,” Lydia said, mortified as she bolted out the door, shutting it on Ashley’s teasing.

Poletti Architectural Studios was housed on the fourteenth floor of a skyscraper that looked out over the Hudson River with 10th Avenue at its back. Lydia had been up to the roof once to see the view, the buildings all stacked like pieces in a Tetris game. That was more than three years ago now. After she’d graduated, she’d spent a couple years building her résumé, working for smaller firms before officially applying to Poletti’s. Marco Poletti had interviewed her himself and hired her on the spot. Lydia liked to frequently remind herself that she’d impressed the principal architect of the firm, especially on days when her design proposals were rejected.

She found one such present on her desk as she walked into her office, and her stomach sank. There was a familiar line of red ink scratched across the cover page of her proposal and not one single recommendation or note. Lydia flipped through the whole document just to be sure, then slumped down in her swivel chair. She wasn’t in the mood for rejection this early in the morning and contemplated seeking out her supervisor, Erik Shaunesberg, to commiserate. Together they were considered the eco-gurus in the office, and though Poletti’s wasn’t known for their green innovation like other firms, Lydia was usually excited to sprinkle a little of her passion into projects whenever possible. Though lately it seemed like most of her proposals had been destined for the recycling bin.

She was still glaring at the proposal when Kirsten Watters, the firm’s administrative assistant, appeared in her doorway. The youngest member of the team, Kirsten had the closet of a runway model and the world-weary, no-nonsense approach of someone twice her age. She was known for abruptly hanging up on rude clients and leaving passive-aggressive sticky notes on desks. She was also Lydia’s favorite person in the office.

“Who red-lined your proposal?” Kirsten asked, leaning against the doorjamb.

“That is a question for the ages.” Lydia dropped the proposal on her desk.

“How was last night? You left with that guy, right?”

“Nothing to write home about.” Kirsten’s lips twitched as Lydia said, “Now ask me what I did this morning? I walked my sister to the gym and ran face-first into one of the most attractive men I have ever seen in my life.”

“Like you physically hit him?”

“Pretty sure I rebounded off his pectorals.”

Kirsten plopped herself down on the corner of Lydia’s desk. “Okay, rewind. How attractive are we talking? I’m trying to decide if I should start going to the gym.”

Lydia laughed. No one besides Ashley knew about her little workplace crush on Jack—she’d never wanted pesky feelings to interfere with her career. Though she did enjoy talking about all the nonserious hypotheticals she encountered outside the office. “I have banned myself from going anywhere near Ashley’s gym because I’m still mortified. I literally told this man he took my breath away, then retracted my statement and vaguely pointed to all his muscles.”

“I don’t know if I should be taking notes or getting popcorn.”

“Ashley watched me do all this in real time.”

“She’s fired for not recording,” Kirsten said. “I’m your sister now.”

“Who’s fired?” Lydia looked up to see Erik standing in the doorway. The man favored turtlenecks and suit jackets and the color black. His hair was buzzed short and he liked to pretend he was hard of hearing in one ear when people pestered him with questions. For some reason, he reminded Lydia of her father. Or a father. Erik had no children, but she’d always thought he would make a good dad. Whenever she told him that, he said he was still waiting on his prince charming.

“We’re talking about Lydia’s romantic fails,” Kirsten said, clueing him in.

“Speaking of failures,” Lydia said, shaking her proposal at Erik. “Did you know about this? There’s no feedback. Again.”

Erik frowned. “No, but I’ll talk to the leadership team, see if I can at least get you some notes. Maybe you can make a few tweaks and resubmit. I’ll try to catch them after the meeting.”

“What meeting?”

“The quarterly team meeting,” Kirsten said, making her way to the door. “It’s this morning, remember?”

She had, in fact, not remembered. Lydia rifled through her desk for a pen and a notepad. Erik stayed, looking out her sliver of a window. Her office was a shoebox, but she’d lucked out with one instead of a cubicle because their team was small, so no one would ever catch her complaining about it. She had no problem complaining about her red-lined proposal, however. “Tell me the truth,” she said. “Was my design bad?”

Erik leaned against the window, studying the street below. “I loved your proposal. That’s why I told you it was ready to submit.”

“Well, I’m kind of getting mixed messages here.” As far as supervisors went, she couldn’t have asked for someone more committed to her learning. But like any young architect, she was eager to make a name for herself and her designs. To do that, she had to actually get a proposal into the hands of a client. She wanted to know that her work was more than just good. She wanted it to be great . Though clearly whatever Erik saw in her work wasn’t making the cut at the next level.

“We’ll get it figured out,” Erik promised. “C’mon, Marco’s already in the building. We don’t want to be late.”

Lydia followed Erik down the hall to the conference room. It was a corner office stacked with floor-to-ceiling windows. She took a seat at the massive oblong table between Erik and Kirsten as the automatic shades lowered, darkening the room enough for the projector beam to show up. A tray of breakfast pastries sat in the middle of the table, along with a box of brewed coffee courtesy of Charmaine’s, the boutique café on the first floor of the building. Kirsten helped herself, also pouring coffee for Lydia and Erik. She passed Lydia’s cup over with a heaping handful of sugar packets.

“How is everyone this morning?” Marco asked, breezing into the room.

Though he was pushing seventy, he had the energy of someone thirty years younger, and it had been his exuberance that had originally driven Lydia to accept a position with Poletti’s. She wanted to always be in love with her career the way Marco was.

He picked up the projector remote and started the slideshow. “If I can direct your attention away from the chocolate croissants to the screen, let’s round up what we finished last quarter before we talk about the fun stuff.”

When the slideshow eventually changed to an image of a nondescript brick building surrounded by yards of crumbling asphalt and a chain-link fence, Lydia sat up, nudging Erik. “What’s that?”

“I have no idea.” Erik usually gave her a heads-up when there was an interesting brief coming down the line, but he hadn’t mentioned this place at all.

“This is the Manhattan Youth Center,” Marco explained. “The city is sponsoring a design competition run by the Department of Buildings. A multimillion-dollar design competition. They want to take this crumbling youth center and rebuild it. And I want Poletti’s to throw our hat in the ring. It would be excellent exposure for the firm if we win. It would also look good in a portfolio for whoever’s design gets chosen.”

Whispers erupted around the table.

“Competition deadline is November 1,” Marco said, rubbing his peppery beard. “So, let’s say proposals are due to the leadership team by the last Monday in October at the latest. They’ll vet them and I’ll choose the best design out of those to put forth as our submission.”

A hand shot up. “Sir, do you want individual projects?”

Lydia turned to Jack. He was on the leadership team himself, though his question told Lydia that this announcement had been a surprise to the entire firm. Jack lowered his hand, sweeping it through his chestnut-brown hair. The tousled locks fell like unruly waves, parting on either side of his forehead, framing his face: Wide brow. Sharp jaw. Aquiline nose. And eyes so dark she’d always wondered if she’d find flecks of color buried within them like stars. With great effort, she dragged her eyes back across the table.

“Partner up or go solo,” Marco was saying. “Whatever you want. Just bring me your best work.”

Excited chatter whipped through the room like a summer breeze. It was the beginning of June. That gave them all about four and a half months before the deadline. Anticipation stirred in Lydia’s gut. She’d wanted a chance to prove that she could be great, and here it was, practically falling into her lap.

Jack stood, replacing Marco at the front of the room. Lydia’s heart thumped unevenly in her chest as his gaze passed around the table. He took control of the slideshow. “After all that excitement, I’m sure everyone is eager to find out what our office outreach event will be for the latter half of this year.” He flipped through some slides from previous years—soup kitchens, animal rescues. “We’ve had a lot of really great volunteer opportunities in the past, but this year, we think we’ve come up with something pretty special.”

Jack changed the slide to a photo of a man crossing a finish line, arms outstretched, mouth open in triumphant relief. Or excruciating pain—it was hard to tell.

“Poletti’s is going to put together a team to run the New York City Marathon.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Erik whispered under his breath for only Lydia to hear.

Silence followed Jack’s big announcement. Lydia herself would have been unnerved by the reaction, but Jack remained perfectly composed. “I know you have questions. I can see them burning in your eyes. So fire away.”

“Isn’t it hard to get into the marathon?” someone piped up.

“It can be,” Jack said. “But Poletti’s would be entering on behalf of a charity. I was going to put the charity to a vote, but now I’m thinking we should run for one that supports the Manhattan Youth Center. I looked it up while Marco was talking. They still have charity race slots available. Seems to me like a really good way to combine both the design competition and our outreach project.”

Lydia pressed her lips together, keeping her thoughts to herself. It was a nice idea. Poletti’s just wasn’t exactly the kind of firm that went running together...

“Hear me out before you say no,” Jack said, ticking points off on his fingers. “It really is for a good cause. We would do a lot of fundraising. There are wonderful health benefits that come with training for a marathon. And it’ll be great for team bonding.”

Erik lifted his hand. “I will give you money just so I don’t have to run.”

“I will double it,” someone else said.

A chuckle wrapped around the table, but Jack still looked so ridiculously hopeful standing up there with his eager smile.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Lydia said before she could stop herself. Next to her, Kirsten snorted and lowered her head.

“See,” Jack said excitedly. “This is what I’m talking about. Enthusiasm. Where’s that team spirit?”

“I left it in the hospital with my last knee replacement,” someone muttered.

Jack laughed, humoring the group. “Okay, I get it. Not everyone is going to run. Not everyone has to run. We’ll put together a small team of interested people. Me for starters. Lydia, thank you for volunteering.”

Erik turned to her, perplexed. “I didn’t know you were a runner.”

Kirsten was practically wheezing beside her while all Lydia could do was gape.

“Anyone that can’t or doesn’t want to run can help with fundraising,” Jack continued. “You can also be there to support the team on race day and you’re free to join any office training sessions. I’ll need to coordinate with the charity and get us registered as soon as possible, so I’ll put out an email blast this afternoon to confirm details.”

Marco stood, hands on his hips, grinning at them like an overeager track coach. “This is gonna be really great for Poletti’s.” He pointed to Kirsten. “Definitely going in the newsletter.”

Kirsten gave him a thumbs-up. “You got it, boss.”

Jack closed out his presentation and walked around the table to high-five Lydia. She lifted her hand on autopilot and his fingers tangled with hers. “All right, running buddy. Marathon here we come.”

Lydia’s pulse danced in her throat. How was this both the best and worst day of her life?