Page 2 of Meet Me in a Mile

Two

Luke

L uke Townsend hadn’t thought it was possible to stub both his big toes in one morning, but as he stumbled around his Hell’s Kitchen apartment, cursing bedposts under his breath, he now knew better. He’d gotten distracted, that was the problem. First he’d gotten sidetracked writing up the fitness programming for the Manhattan Youth Center, where he volunteered a couple times a week. Then he’d found himself preoccupied with a blog article titled “How to Win the Boardroom,” which had given him the brilliant idea to wear a navy polo shirt and slacks to his meeting at First Union Bank. But if he was wearing his slacks then he needed his good shoes. And if he was wearing his good shoes, then he needed good socks, which is how the toe stubbing came about. Now he was almost running late for, maybe, the most important appointment of his life.

Luke raced out the door. He had no intention of winning over any boardrooms, but he did hope to impress Mrs. Amisfield, the loan officer at First Union. Luckily, he didn’t live far—close enough to make the dash and still arrive with a couple minutes to spare. Inside, the building was nothing but white porcelain floors and frosted office doors. A bout of jitters jumped around in Luke’s gut.

“Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

A woman greeted Luke from behind her desk next to the entry. Luke ran a hand down the front of his polo, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. “I’m Luke Townsend. I have a meeting with Mrs. Amisfield.”

The woman nodded, clicking away on her keyboard. “Just have a seat over there.” She gestured to a waiting area.

Luke slid into a sleek leather chair. Beyond those frosted glass doors, Luke could hear muted conversations. He wondered how many other people had walked in here today, chasing a dream. One of the doors rolled open, and Luke’s pulse skipped unsteadily. A short woman in a black business suit emerged. She had curly dark hair, streaked with gray, and a pair of thick glasses perched on the end of her nose. She approached Luke and he jumped to his feet, reaching for the hand she extended. “Mrs. Amisfield?”

“Hello, Mr. Townsend.” She smiled as they shook hands, then she flicked her head toward her office. “Follow me.”

Luke did, sitting in his appointed chair, clasping his hands in his lap. He felt like he was back in elementary school, waiting to be delivered grades for a poorly written test. Mrs. Amisfield twisted her computer screen toward him so he could see the file she’d started with his information. “You’re here to discuss a business loan?” she confirmed.

“That’s right,” Luke said.

“And what kind of business do you have in mind?”

Luke released a heavy breath—one that felt like it had been taking up space in his chest for years. “I’d like to open a gym.”

“A gym,” she repeated, typing away. “And what do you do for work now?”

“I’m a personal trainer.”

The corner of her mouth curved. “A logical step then.”

Her smile eased the nerves that were still dancing in Luke’s gut. Some ridiculous part of his brain had expected her to throw him from the office the moment he uttered the word gym . He didn’t know why he thought that. A gym was a reputable business. It made sense for him considering his career as a trainer. It was probably just old worries resurfacing. His family had never exactly been on board with his vision, and they’d spent a lot of time trying to talk him out of it. Do you even know what it takes to get a business off the ground? That had been his sister. Why don’t you try for a more stable career? his mother always said. You can always go back to school. Finish your master’s. Even his brother, an avid gym buff, wrinkled his nose at the thought. Businesses come and go faster than people can think them up. And property is expensive to rent.

Luke rolled his shoulders, forcing some of the tension free. “I know there’s more to owning a gym than just showing up and working out every day, but I’d like to think that being a trainer has given me a good foundation for what works and what doesn’t when trying to attract clients to a space.”

Mrs. Amisfield clicked onto a new part of the online file. “Tell me about your gym.”

Luke laughed. “You mean my nonexistent gym?”

She nodded. “Let’s say we handed you the money today. What does this place look like? Where is it located? How does it operate?”

“Uh... Okay, well, there’s this empty building down on Eleventh Avenue. It was a warehouse at one point, but the space had been cleared out, and I think it’s perfect for a gym. It’s currently owned by an old friend of my father’s. So, if I had the money, I’d rent the space from him. It’s got a huge, industrial open floor plan, but I’d make it welcoming. I’d staff the place with hard workers, people like myself, who come from a multitude of fitness backgrounds. I’d offer a variety of fitness classes. And something I’d really like to do is provide youth programming. You know, create a safe, fun place for kids to be introduced to exercise.”

Mrs. Amisfield nodded. “I like to get a sense of my client’s vision before we really get started. I also like to make sure you’ve thought this through. That it’s not just a dream, but a reality in the making. It sounds like you know what you want to accomplish here. All you need now are the funds. So what I’m going to need from you is everything you just told me but on paper.” She handed him a checklist. “A solid business plan is going to be the key to being approved for a business loan with First Union.”

Luke scanned the list. There were at least a dozen documents he was going to need to track down. “I don’t have financial statements.”

“That’s for businesses that are already established. From you, the bank’s going to want to see financial projections. But be realistic with your numbers,” she warned. “Overly optimistic figures, especially for your first couple of years, could undermine your credibility. You don’t want to make obtaining a loan any harder on yourself.”

She handed Luke a pen and he scribbled her directions in the margins of his checklist.

“We’ll want to know how you’re going to use the money. That’s where you’ll provide a statement with your business description, company strategy, products and services, marketing plans. You basically want to show us why people are going to choose your gym. What makes you different? Why are you worth the investment?”

“I’ve heard market research can be helpful,” Luke said. “Is that something I should be including?”

“Absolutely. Because you’re not up and running yet, you should be outlining your market, the fitness industry, competition, trends. But focus on local market opportunities, not the big picture.”

“Right,” Luke said, foreseeing a lot of late nights in his future. He’d accumulated some of these things—the internet had been somewhat helpful outlining what he would need. But seeing it all on paper like this was overwhelming: Leases. Floor plans. Equipment budgets. Key employee breakdowns. Mrs. Amisfield must have noticed his wide-eyed look because she reached out to still his frantically scribbling hand.

“We’ll follow up again to review your progress.”

Luke let out a breath. “That would be great.”

Mrs. Amisfield pulled up her calendar. “What kind of timeline are you working with?”

“Maybe we could touch base in about a month?” Luke said. That should give him enough time to get a good start on the market research.

“Sounds good.” Mrs. Amisfield stood, reaching to shake Luke’s hand again. “Contact my assistant to schedule another appointment.”

Luke left the bank and practically bounded to the subway. He had to get to the gym for a client consultation, but he was glowing with something—pride, maybe—and he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. This was a huge first step toward something he’d been dreaming about for a long time, and while hunting down the information for his business plan was going to entail a lot of research, he was decidedly optimistic.

Luke made his way from the subway to the gym and headed straight for the front desk. Dara handed him a folder. She was a five-foot-nothing ball of attitude fresh out of high school who spent most of her downtime ragging on him instead of actually doing her job. As the youngest of three kids, Luke had no idea what having an annoying younger sibling was like, though he imagined Dara summed it up pretty perfectly. But as much as she was a pain in his backside, she was excellent with the clients—usually. He opened the folder, scanning the first document.

“You know, it helps if you actually get some information from the clients,” he noted.

“I did.” Dara poked at the paper. “Lydia McKenzie. Running.”

“You don’t even have her phone number written down.”

Dara cocked her head, staring at him like he was a piece of gum stuck to a subway seat. “Am I supposed to do your whole job for you? It’s a client consult. Go consult.”

“Is she even here?”

“I put her in the waiting area.”

“Perfect,” he said, setting off. “I’ll grab her on the way to my office.”

“Plumbers are in your office today,” Dara said. “Repairing that leaky pipe. Then the drywall guy will need to get in there to repair the hole they leave behind.”

“Erg.” Luke turned on the spot. “I forgot about that.”

“My office is free,” Jules called, coming down the hall toward them. “I’m the only spin instructor here today, so between that and yoga, I’ll be in one of the studios for most of the day.”

“Thank you,” Luke said. He high-fived Jules as she passed, then headed to the waiting area to collect Lydia. When he drew closer, he realized it was the same woman that he’d run into earlier this week— literally . Arguments could be made that it was actually her fault—that maybe she’d walked into him—but his mother had raised him to be a gentleman. Plus, it probably was his fault. His mind had been elsewhere, and then suddenly there’d been a perfect stranger in his arms.

A stranger who currently had her head thrown back, staring at the ceiling. “Everything okay?” he asked, his own eyes lifting to see what she was looking at.

“You again?” There was a surprised hitch to her voice as she tilted her head, her long, strawberry blond ponytail swinging over her shoulder while her green eyes appraised him.

Her cheeks had a smattering of freckles, but it was her expressive eyebrows that really gave life to her face. Luke watched one brow slowly arch. From that expression alone, he might have learned a thousand things. The most obvious was that she was clearly thinking about their collision, if the sudden color in her cheeks was anything to go by.

“Me again,” he said. “Guess the front desk staff figured since I took your breath away the other day we might be a good client-trainer fit.”

“You let that one go right to your head,” she muttered.

“I have to keep my ego inflated somehow.”

“Clearly.”

“I’m still not sure what we’re doing staring at the ceiling.”

“Oh, sorry!” She snatched her bag and climbed out of her chair. “I was just admiring the old brickwork.”

Luke pursed his lips. “Can’t say I’ve ever given it much thought, to be honest.”

Lydia smiled, shaking her head. “I’m an architect, so I spend a lot of time staring at boring things like walls and ceilings. I also really appreciate exposed brickwork in early nineteenth-century buildings.”

Luke laughed. “That makes so much more sense.” He reached for her hand. “I’m Luke.”

“Guess we should actually do this properly,” Lydia said, shaking it.

“Throwing your coffee at someone isn’t how you normally greet them?”

“There was no throwing of any kind,” she argued as they started down the hall together.

“That’s true. You mostly just poured coffee all over your shoes.”

“It was actually a raspberry chai latte, which my sister kindly bought for me.”

“Well, that changes things,” Luke said. “Here I was thinking you were just clumsy, but now I see you were trying to find a convenient way to get rid of your drink.”

“Are you calling my drink order gross?”

“If the drink sleeve fits.”

Lydia gaped at him in what he thought was mock offense. “Let me guess. You’re a one-cup-of-black-coffee kind of guy.”

“Every morning.”

“I’m not sure this partnership is going to work out. I don’t trust people who drink their coffee black.”

“I’m not sure I trust people who top their drinks with cold foam,” Luke said. “But I’m willing to look past it if you are.”

“Well, how can I say no to that?” Lydia said.

“You can’t.” Luke swung a door open for her. “Look, I even open doors for my clients.”

“How chivalrous.”

“I take my moral character very seriously. Now, if you’ll just step into my office.”

Lydia breezed by him. “ Is this your office?” she asked, picking up the scrunchie on the corner of Jules’s desk.

“Technically no.” Luke plucked the scrunchie from her hand and returned it to the desk. “But mine’s under construction, so Jules is letting us borrow hers for the consultation.”

Lydia took a seat across from him as Luke booted up the computer. While he was waiting, he looked down at the file Dara had handed him. “All I’ve got written here from the front desk is that you want to start running.”

“That’s the gist of it,” Lydia said.

“Any particular reason?”

“Oh, you know, I woke up one morning and thought ‘today feels like a great day to develop some shin splints.’”

Luke tried not to smirk. “So, you’re just looking to add some exercise to your life?”

“Absolutely not.” Lydia pretended to shiver.

“What’s the real reason then?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“Try me.”

“My firm is going to be running the New York City Marathon for charity, and for some ridiculous reason, that may or may not involve a workplace crush,” she muttered, “I put my hand up when they were asking for volunteers.”

“Workplace crush,” Luke repeated, pretending to scribble the words.

“Don’t write that down!”

“I’m just trying to get all the facts.”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing!”

“You’re making fun of me. In your head. I can tell.”

“I’m just happy that I can be of service while you’re trying to impress your workplace crush.” Lydia popped out of her chair but he caught her hand. “Kidding! I’m kidding. Please.” He gestured back to her chair and she sat. “However you got to this point, the New York City Marathon is a big goal. Have you ever attempted anything like it before?”

“First time.” Lydia bit her lip. “You think it’s a bad idea?”

“No.” He sat back in his chair, tapping the pen to his chin. “I think it’s bold.”

“You don’t think I can do it,” she accused him, narrowing her eyes.

“Oh, I believe you could run this marathon. The question is how bad do you want it? This race is a huge deal. People train for months—years, even—to be able to run it. Is this something you can do? Absolutely. I’m just saying it’s not gonna be easy.”

“I don’t need it to be easy,” Lydia said.

“It’s going to take work. That means early mornings. And sweat. And less cold foam.”

“Okay,” Lydia complained, “now you’re crossing a line.”

Luke laughed. “If you’re serious about this, and about putting in the work, then I promise to get you across that finish line no matter what. Deal?”

A flicker of something—amusement, thrill, fear?—passed across her face. Whatever it was, she didn’t back down. “Deal.”

“Great.” Luke passed the consultation form over for her to sign. “We can celebrate our new partnership by running a celebratory mile.”

Lydia’s face did melt into something he recognized then. Disappointment. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I need to see what I’m working with.”

Lydia’s face fell even further. “I sort of thought we’d ease into the whole running thing.”

“Did Dara tell you to wear running shoes?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go break them in.”

Ignoring the look of utter displeasure on her face, he led her out to the running room—a space filled with soft lights and treadmills and TVs that flicked between the weekly news and sports programming.

“We’ll start slow,” Luke said as Lydia climbed onto his chosen treadmill. “A walking pace to get the blood pumping.”

“I can’t wait,” she muttered.

“Now, this isn’t a test,” Luke said. “I’m just trying to get a baseline so I know how to build your program. No pressure. If you need a break, we can drop it back to a walk. I’m gonna up the pace to a light jog in three, two, one...” Luke adjusted the speed, and Lydia started jogging. He kept track of her breathing and her stride, watching to make sure she wasn’t falling behind the pace. The last thing he wanted was for her to tumble off the treadmill on her first day.

At just over twelve minutes, Luke dropped the speed back down to a walk, and Lydia grabbed the handrails, bracing herself. She’d finished the mile without any kind of voiced distress, so Luke figured she’d probably do well with three miles as a starting short run distance. When he told her that, her eyes widened comically.

“I didn’t mean today,” Luke cut in before she could really start to panic. “Though I did enjoy the look of pure horror on your face.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, climbing down from the treadmill. “You’re a jerk, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse. Some people even say I take their breath away.”

“Oh, please. How long are you going to milk that for?”

“Probably until the end of time. Come on,” he said, getting back on task. “Let’s do some cooldown stretches. It’s a good habit to get into. Just some light, static stuff to stay injury-and pain-free.”

“Somehow I think you’ll be my biggest pain,” Lydia said, throwing her head back to shake sticky strands of hair from her face.

Luke’s lips twitched. “Let’s start with a deep lunge stretch.” When her eyebrow started to arch, he demonstrated, lunging forward with his right leg. “It works really well to loosen tight hip flexors, especially if you’re sitting behind a desk for most of your day.”

Lydia copied him, wobbling a little as she tried to find her balance. Her arm shot out and Luke steadied her as she repositioned. “This might be more torturous than running.”

“It’s good for you, I promise. Keep your knee bent at ninety degrees and your weight in your heel.” Luke’s eyes traced her form as he walked her through a quad stretch and then a standing adductor stretch. They were only holding the stretches for thirty seconds each, but it was long enough for his eyes to linger on the soft dips and curves of her body.

Startled by his obvious attraction, Luke looked away. He needed to think like a trainer, like a coach. He dragged his thoughts back into the moment, back to the next stretch. “Last one,” he said. “Lie down on your back.”

“People normally buy me dinner first.”

“It’s for a stretch,” he said, shaking his head at her. Despite his best efforts, he felt his cheeks grow hot.

Lydia flopped down on her back, her green eyes looking him up and down in a way that did little to help the thoughts he’d already tried to banish from his mind.

“Keep one leg extended and bring your other knee toward your chest.”

She followed his directions. “What’s this stretch for?”

“It focuses on the hips and the gluteus maximus muscle.”

She grinned at him playfully. “The gluteus maximus—”

“Don’t,” Luke said, interrupting her.

“Does this mean you’re looking at my butt?”

“Oh my God,” Luke muttered under his breath, feeling that sweltering heat in his cheeks reignite. He reached down to help pull Lydia to her feet.

“It’s okay if you are,” she said, angling toward him.

In truth, he’d tried not to look. Even now he tried to keep his eyes firmly on her face, but he was apparently breaking all the rules today. His gaze dropped for a fraction of a second, but when he lifted his eyes to meet hers once more, instead of being offended by his wandering gaze, Lydia simply arched her brow. Teasing. She was a woman who seemed to know exactly what she had to offer.

Luke had a lot of thoughts. A lot of inappropriate thoughts, considering they were in the middle of the gym. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he mumbled.

Lydia’s mouth fell open as if she couldn’t believe he’d acknowledged this spark that neither of them were supposed to be acknowledging. Then she snapped her lips together, and his eyes were drawn there. Dammit. The warm flush spread down his neck.

“Admit it,” she said, looking up at him.

“Admit what?” he asked, doing his best to ignore the curve of her mouth as her lips twisted into a not-so-innocent smile.

“That was the best static stretching you’ve ever seen.”

Luke scoffed, but somewhere between crashing into each other in the lobby and now, this had become flirting. Brash, blushing, brazen flirting. In the middle of the gym. In the middle of a workday.

He could see now that Lydia McKenzie was going to be one of his more challenging clients.

Before he could do or say something he’d regret, he guided her to the door of the running room. “Enjoy your last day of freedom, Cold Foam. Things are about to get intense.”

“I don’t actually think I’m going to like you very much,” she told him as she passed into the hall.

“Probably not while we’re training,” he called after her. “But you’re gonna love me when you cross that finish line!”