Aaron’s Unlikely Love (Cardinal Falls #4)

Chapter 1

AARON

My lungs burn with every step, but I refuse to stop. Not now. Not when I’m so close. The urge to check my watch is overwhelming, but I somehow keep my focus on the road ahead. At this point, it doesn’t matter what the time is, as long as I finish.

Who am I kidding? It definitely matters what the time is.

There’s just nothing I can do about it now.

The finish line is in sight, so I reach deep down into myself and search for a little bit of extra energy to latch onto.

At this point in the race, I don’t have a lot left, but deep inside, there’s always more.

I start repeating my mantra over and over in my head.

This pain is temporary. This pain is temporary. This pain is temporary.

Given the quizzical look I get from another runner, I might be saying it less in my head and more out loud. Doesn’t matter. All that matters right now is getting through the last bit of this race.

Seconds feel like minutes to my exhausted muscles, but eventually, I cross the finish line, reaching down to stop my watch as I step over the timing mat.

As a wave of nausea hits, I take a deep breath to slow my heart rate.

Hands over my head, resting on top of my hat, I walk slowly toward the volunteers handing out medals and water.

I bypass the first. I have enough medals at home to decorate every wall of my condo and then some.

My new rule is only to take the ones from meaningful races. Or marathons.

The volunteer gives me a strange look, but I shake my head again, still too winded to speak. There are too many people coming through for her to argue with me, so instead, she offers the medal to another runner, one who takes it with great enthusiasm, even giving her a sweaty hug.

Gross.

I’m more than happy to take the cold water from a volunteer, dumping half of it over my head and gulping down the other half.

Thankfully, these spring races usually aren’t too hot, only a bit warm.

This morning started cool, but as the sun came out at the mid-point, it warmed up quickly.

Once free of the throngs of people, I find a grassy spot in the park to sit down.

It’s a mistake, I know that, but I need to get off my feet for a few minutes before I make my way back to the car.

While I catch my breath and massage my calf, I watch as other runners find their loved ones. Their enthusiasm is infectious as they tell the tale of the race, recounting all the most challenging moments and showing off their medals. Most are laughing, a few are crying.

A wave of emotion hits me. I’m alone.

Not that my friends wouldn’t come—they have, many times—but I don’t invite them.

At least not anymore. Standing around, waiting for me to finish, especially in shitty weather, isn’t exactly a good time.

If it was once a year, then it might not be a big ask, but I do a bunch of these local 5 and 10Ks.

Matthias used to come to all my races, spending more Saturdays than I can count waiting for me to finish.

He never once complained about it, in part because that’s the kind of friend he is.

He’d drive and chatter the whole way home about how incredible it was that I could do that, asking questions about the race and my strategy.

Eventually, I begged him to stop. I don’t know exactly why I did it.

It was a Tuesday night, and we were sitting in his living room, watching some stupid movie and drinking beer.

Maybe I had one too many. Maybe the movie made me soft.

Either way, I told him not to come to the race that weekend.

He looked so hurt when I said it, like I’d kicked his puppy.

I backpedaled a bit, giving him a whole spiel about how they weren’t as important to me anymore and that I didn’t want him giving up so much of his time standing around.

It’s not like he could even watch the majority of the race.

If he went out on the course, at best, he got to see more for a whole five seconds.

He pushed back, but I held firm. Telling him that I wanted him at one each year and no more.

I’m not sure he bought it, but he did respect my wishes—typical Matthias.

As more people filter across the finish line, the park starts to fill with all the runners and their families.

If I don’t head out soon, there’ll be traffic to contend with on the drive home.

Since I wanted time to do my recovery regimen before reporting to work for a shift at three this afternoon, I need to get going.

Oh God. I grimace as I try to get up. I knew it was a bad idea to sit down. My muscles have cooled and frozen in their position. Every part of my body is stiff and unmoving.

“Need a hand?” Another runner reaches out his hand toward me. He’s sweaty and wearing his medal around his neck, the ribbon twisted.

“Please.” I reach up and clasp his hand, letting him help me off the ground. “Thanks. Not sure I would have made it without you,” I say once I’m on my feet. It’s going to be a tough walk, but at least I’m vertical.

“No problem. Great job out there.” It’s standard small talk, the kind of thing we all say to each other after a race.

“Yeah, you, too.” I give him a once-over.

He’s taller than me, with thick dark curls.

He’s got a runner’s body with well-defined quads and calves.

Objectively, he’s good-looking, but he doesn’t do anything for me.

I sigh. It’d be nice to have someone to share my hobbies with.

At least then I’d have someone to go to these races with and wouldn’t feel like I was infringing on their whole day by asking them to be here.

“There you are.” Another guy approaches us, and I try to place him, thinking he’s talking to me. “I’ve been looking for you. The app said you’d finished, but I didn’t see you.”

“Sorry,” my helper says. “I snuck through the line so I wouldn’t get trapped behind people.” He leans in and kisses the newcomer.

Whelp. Never mind that one. Not that I was really attracted to him. He’s gorgeous, but there wasn’t a spark.

“Thanks for the help,” I mumble, trying not to interrupt their moment. I sneak off in the general direction of the parking garage.

“I’m so proud of you. Tell me everything.” I overhear.

Fuck. I’m not usually emotional after races. Lots of people are, the combination of chemical process and exhaustion, but I’ve never quite had that. At least until today. Hearing the two of them feels like a knife twist to the heart.

I walk slowly, unable to do anything else, to my car and get it, pulling the snacks and drinks I left for post-race from the backseat. That’s what I need. Some protein and sugar. Both of those will help stabilize whatever I’m feeling and help me put myself back together.

OLIVER

“Come on, come on, come on.” I tap the counter next to my computer, watching the little wheel on my screen spin.

I really need to get a new computer. Or maybe faster internet.

Possibly both. Finally, the little green check mark appears, confirming my document was uploaded successfully.

“Yes!” I throw my hand up in celebration before breathing a sigh of relief and sinking back into my desk chair.

That’s one big check off my to-do list for the week. Another successful day, even if it does mean I spent… fuck, ten hours sitting in front of my computer.

Shit. That explains why my stomach hurts. The last thing I remember getting up for was a cookie I grabbed from the kitchen while refilling my coffee cup.

I reach for the mug, ready to return it to the kitchen so it’s not left out on my desk overnight, a mistake I’ve made far too many times. Only, it’s not there. Probably still sitting in the microwave.

The upside of a day like this is that, for once, I’m slightly ahead of schedule. A single day, but it still counts. The downside is that my back aches, I’m starving, and I haven’t had anything today that even resembles water. The four cups of coffee I had this morning don’t count.

At least that’s what my sister Jane says. She’s a doctor, so she might know what she’s talking about. I’ll never admit that to her face, though. She’s smug enough as it is.

I send my boss a quick text to let him know the document is ready for his review before heading to the kitchen.

Options are a bit limited, but that’s what the emergency supply of frozen dinners is for.

That’s the one thing I keep stocked. It’s been a lifesaver far too many times.

They aren’t that much healthier than ordering takeout, but I pretend they are.

At least they include a recognizable vegetable.

While it cooks, I stretch my back with a few yoga exercises and check my phone notifications.

There are so many, but mostly they’re crap.

Various notes from TikTok and Instagram about new posts or likes on something.

Nothing that hits me as urgent, so I switch over to a new dating app I’ve been testing.

So far, it’s a waste. Every date I’ve been on has been a complete bust. Or worse. And the vast majority of people ghost me when I suggest we go on a date. A real one, with food and talking. Those are the guys who are hoping for a quick hook-up.

I suppose I should consider it a good thing that they show themselves out. I’m not looking for a quick hook-up. As much as I’d love to get laid, I’m looking for something deeper. Something with the potential to turn into a long-term relationship.

The guy I’ve been chatting with for the past week sent me a new message.

So far, he seems decent, but it’s hard to tell from the short messages.

It’s not like I expect a lot of chemistry, just a sign that we have enough in common to be worth leaving my house for a night.

I should raise my standards. Honestly, that philosophy is why I end up with so many shit dates.

COLT: I haven’t been yet, but I’m planning on it soon.

The message is in response to my asking about the art museum.

I’ve been a few times and always love it.

Colt just moved here, so I’ve been suggesting places I think he’d like while also trying to figure out who he is.

So far, he’s more of a quiet homebody than the clubbing type, which suits me fine.

When the microwave dings, I grab my food and take it over to the couch. I turn on one of my comfort sitcoms, one I could quote by heart if necessary. It’s really background noise while I scroll through my phone.

ME: They’ve got an exhibit right now on 1800s fashion that looks pretty cool.

I’m about to switch away when the dot next to his name turns green, meaning he’s online. I sit back and wait for a response.

Colt

I don’t know anything about fashion, but it sounds cool.

What are you up to?

Me

Dinner

He doesn’t need to know about the sad chicken parmesan I’m eating straight from the black plastic container. I’m still trying to make a halfway decent impression on him.

Colt

It’s late

Me

I was working

I throw in a sad face, even though I really do enjoy my job.

Being a virtual assistant wasn’t something I went looking for; it was something I fell into.

Four years ago, I got let go from my corporate human resources job during an acquisition.

Finding a new role took a lot longer than I thought it would, so I started looking for anything to fill the time…

and my pockets. At the time, I was living with one of my older brothers.

He showed me a website where people post remote work opportunities.

A few authors were looking for help, and I figured that since I loved to read, it was worth a shot.

In my wildest dreams, I didn’t imagine it would turn into anything more than a passing gig, something to keep my spirits up until another company came calling. But I loved it so much that within a month, I knew I’d found my calling.

Eventually, I found that the third-party company limited my time and abilities.

It took all the courage I could muster, but I built a website and gathered enough information to strike out on my own.

It took a year before it started paying my bills.

Thank God for my brother. He covered my living expenses, let me stay in his guest bedroom for free, and generally kept me going during that year.

Now, I work almost exclusively for one author, Haskell Barnes, with a few side projects here and there.

It’s the perfect arrangement. Not only because I love his books, but also because he’s a genuinely nice person who makes me feel valued and doesn’t care as long as I do the work on time and show up for our video calls.

Colt

Do you usually work evenings?

Me

It varies, but I can always make myself available.

I’m hoping that’s an opening for us to take this off the app and meet in person. I want friends, but I have plenty of virtual friends. I need people who don’t live in my computer.

Colt

How about tomorrow night?

I grin. Yeah, I can make that work. Once I let him know, he sends me the details for a bar he likes, The Flaming Unicorn.

I’ve been there a few times, and I’m happy he at least picked a place where no one will look twice at two guys being on a date.

Cardinal Falls is generally welcoming, but it’s nice to go somewhere I won’t need to look over my shoulder every few minutes.

That makes two big wins today—a big project completed and a date secured. I think that means I’ve earned a treat. I dump the rest of my dinner in the trash and grab one of the peanut butter cups I keep in the freezer. I love them, but only if they’re cold. A perfect treat.

Maybe tomorrow will be even better.