Chapter 27 Clara
“R UNNING?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Do you even know how to run?”
“Yes, Honor, I know how to run.”
She hums like she doesn’t quite believe me, which is fair, because I don’t think I’ve run anywhere since gym class over a decade ago. “It’s nice you’re trying new things. I think the new thing you try should be getting laid, but I guess running will give you a high too.”
In a surprising turn of events, I haven’t told Honor about Jack. Mostly because she’ll want an explanation of how it happened and I have no idea. One minute we’re doing an out of our system thing, next we’re naked in my bed. It’s a mystery I shouldn’t be expected to unravel.
Deep down, beyond the woman who last week said she only wants to be bent over, Honor is a huge romantic.
Deep down, we both know that any kind of situation with Jack isn’t going to last. His life is here and as much as I’ve said I wish I lived in Fraser Falls, I don’t.
So even if my smitten, tender heart doesn’t want to admit it, I don’t think a love story with Jack Kelly is in the stars for me.
“What an inspiring pep talk. Thanks, Hon! I gotta go get ready. Give Paloma a big cuddle from me when she gets home, please. And enjoy your sleep.”
The Santa run is an annual tradition going back to the fifties.
It started as a forfeit for a poker game between Miss Celia’s dad and Dove’s granddad, but after the town turned out to watch Mr. Pierce run a two-mile loop around town dressed in the traditional red and white Santa outfit, it became a formal event the following year.
The year after that they started taking a collection to support the toy drive.
It happens on the first of December, and unfortunately at 7 a.m. It wouldn’t be safe or practical during the day and people have jobs to get to when December first falls on a weekday.
The only bonus of this early wakeup is it meant I could entertain Honor on her drive home from her night shift while I got ready.
The start point is at the gazebo; from there you head down Main Street and turn left, to take the long way around up to the Christmas tree farm, past it and Dove’s animal sanctuary, then back down the road with the antique shop past the tavern to the gazebo once again.
It’s totally flat and many people walk it, but I want to go back to bed afterward so my plan is to do it as quickly as possible and worry about my lungs later.
Maggie tells me organized running is everything she stands against when I ask her if she’d like to walk over together, which, honestly, is a belief I can get behind.
It’s still dark out as I walk down the front path, but my two layers underneath my Santa jacket and pants—kindly donated to me by Maggie from when her daughter used to participate—are succeeding in keeping me warm as I walk over to the check-in desk.
Behind the gazebo, I spot a news crew setting up cameras and microphones.
“They came,” I whisper to myself. I know people usually have a surge of adrenaline before a run, but I think this particular surge can be attributed to relief.
A news story about Fraser Falls is huge .
“Morning!” I say cheerfully when I reach the front of the line.
I feel like I’m somewhere between cloud nine and tired enough that I could lie on the floor and go to sleep.
There’s an empty pop-up medical tent fifty yards away with what looks more like a spa massage table than a medical bed.
I can definitely make it work with one of those foil blankets you see people with at the end of marathons.
“Morning,” the sleepy-looking teenager at the desk says. “Here’s your number. You don’t need to wear it, it doesn’t actually mean anything. Arthur said it makes it look official.”
“Got it,” I say, accepting— Oh great— number 1313 and handing over my donation money.
Thirteen twice. The Taylor Swift fan in me is screaming.
The slightly superstitious part of me is not.
“Uh, thank you.” There are a hell of a lot of people here I don’t recognize, so I stand at the back of the crowd out of the way.
“Y’know, if you stand on the right edge of the crowd there’s a shortcut up to Dove’s and you can just wait there to rejoin the crowd when they run past.”
Jack’s all-black outfit screams Halloween but he pulls a Santa hat over his morning hair. “That sounds like you’re encouraging me to cheat.”
He takes a step closer and my breath hitches. “I’m encouraging you not to get a cramp at seven a.m.”
“Are you trying to tell me I don’t look like a high-performance athlete?” I ask.
“No, but I should tell you that your Santa pants are on backward.”
I pull at the elastic waist of the red velour pants, grateful for the fleece leggings I’m wearing underneath, and immediately spot the label that’s supposed to be at the back. “Trying to get me out of my pants, Kelly?”
Jack stuffs his hands into the pocket along the front of his hoodie. “Not out here I’m not. Too many people. Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks at the idea of the people around us getting a front-row seat to what has been a very strenuous weekend. Jack doesn’t have neighbors on either side of his place so he made it his mission to see how loud he could make me scream.
Now would be a really great time to get my head in the game, or race, but all I can think about is last night. Jack’s hands in my hair and on my waist. Him lowering me onto my back, the feel of his muscles under my fingers. His careful touches. The way he smells clean but like a man .
I’m so lost in my head I don’t realize we’re starting until the horn scares the shit out of me and Santas begin to rush past. I urge my feet to move but there’s at least a three-second delay before my body falls in line.
The first thirty seconds are easy and I’m moving much faster than I expected. Maybe it’s the adrenaline or maybe it’s that spin class I did two months ago. Jack stands out in the crowd as the only person not in red and white.
“You’re in my way,” I say quietly as I pass down his left side and find the pocket of space between runners in front of him. I don’t know how long has gone by—could be another thirty seconds, could be ten—but the little confidence I had begins to waver as my lungs sting with each intake of breath.
I’m approaching the turn off Main Street when my foot lands wrong on the road and my ankle crunches. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, ow.” Every extra step I take to slow down, trying to move myself to the outside of the stream of runners, makes a searing-hot pain shoot through my ankle.
“Hey, I got you, come on.” Jack supports me at my waist, lifting me to take the weight off my foot as I hobble to the start of the Main Street sidewalk. The runners swerve around us. Of all the embarrassing things I’ve done in my life, this might be top of the list.
Jack leans me against a wall and crouches to check out my foot. He holds my calf gently, inspecting my ankle from all angles. “How can you sprain your ankle running on flat ground?”
“You’re awfully close to my foot to be being mean to me. If you think I won’t kick you in the face, you’re wrong.”
“Go for it. It’ll hurt you more than it’ll hurt me.” He places my foot back on the ground with a gentleness that doesn’t match his sarcastic tone. “Let’s get you back. Can you walk at all?”
I practice, instantly wanting to be sick from the pain. “Sure.”
Jack shakes his head, pulling off the Santa hat when he remembers it’s there. “Yeah, you’re a really bad liar. I’m carrying you.”
Normally, I’d fight, but right now I can’t think of anything worse than having to walk back. Jack scoops me up with ease. “And you used to think I was an expert liar. Look how far we’ve come.”
“Shut up, Clara,” he groans, shaking his head. I want to kiss him. His lips pull into a smile when he glances at my face.
“I think it’s pretty selfish that you’re not offering to carry me around the route so I can get my medal.” Annoying Jack is the most fun when he can’t get away from me, is what I’m now learning. “Where’s your team spirit?”
His brow furrows. “What are you talking about? There isn’t a medal.”
“Okay, my certificate then.”
“What certificate? You don’t get anything for finishing,” he says.
“What the heck? Why do people do it then?”
It’s funny feeling the laugh start in his chest being this close to him. It bubbles out of him. “Charity?”
“Oh, yeah.” Kind of lost my eyes-on-the-prize there. “I love doing charitable things.”
“Baby, if you want a medal I’ll make you a damn medal. But I’m not carrying you two miles for no reason.”
Him calling me baby outside of the bedroom melts me in a way I didn’t think was possible. “I’ll remember this massive lack of sportsmanship from you, Kelly.”
“Okay.” He sighs deeply. “Arms around my neck, please.”
“Why? You need a cuddle?”
“I’ll let you fall, Clara.” Jack comes to a stop outside his store and his grip on my back starts to loosen. My arms shoot around his neck quickly, gripping him so tightly I’m looking over his shoulder at the few Santas walking.
The asshole laughs while he gets his keys out to unlock the door. I loosen what’s a borderline chokehold and lean back so I can see his face. “You’re not taking me to the medical tent?”
“Do you want to sit on Arthur’s massage table that he brought from home? That probably hasn’t been heavily bleached?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you.” He locks the store door behind us. “I could try walking now.”
“I’d rather not have you fall down on my business premises, thanks.” He walks us through the workshop to the door to the staircase to his home. “I need you to wrap your legs around me. It’s narrow and I don’t want to hit your foot off the wall by accident.”
“I’ve heard worse pickup lines.” Another sigh to disguise his laugh. “You’re grumpier in the morning.”
“And you’re more annoying, so I guess we’re both different.
” Jack supports my back again and lets go of my legs.
I wrap them around his waist easily. It feels smooth and well practiced, which after this weekend you could argue it is.
Then I hear the one noise that could fix any injury, and all my recent sexual frustration melts away. “Hi, buddy!”
Elf jumps at Jack’s legs and I try to lean back to stroke him, one hand still holding Jack’s neck. “Okay, we’re not doing this. You can pet him after! Your ankle is going to double in size.”
He makes a fair point.
Jack lowers me onto the kitchen counter. My legs are still tight around his waist, hands linked at the back of his neck, finger twirling a tuft of hair. He puts his hands on either side of my thighs and leans in, his face inches from mine. “Are you allergic to any medications?”
My eyes flick to his lips. “Nope.”
He nudges my chin up with his knuckle and my eyes are on his again, then he puts his hand back on the counter. “Concentrate, Clara. Have you eaten anything yet today?”
Why is he so close to me if he expects me to concentrate? “Toast.”
“Good. I’m going to get you some painkillers and anti-inflammatories from the bathroom. Don’t move.”
“I can’t promise that.” Jack pins me with a look that has my ass staying where it’s been told to stay. I forgot how seriously this man takes taking care of people. “I can promise that, actually, as it happens.”
He kisses me gently and untangles himself from my grip. “I’ll be right back.”
“Y OU SHOULD STAY HERE UNTIL you can walk properly again.”
I push onto my forearms. He’s concentrating hard on rubbing my foot that isn’t hurt instead of looking at me. “Is that your medical opinion, Doctor?”
“That’s my opinion as someone worried about you taking care of yourself.”
“You’re quite sweet when you’re not being a huge asshole, y’know.”
Jack finally gives me his attention, and with it a coy smile. “That’s what they tell me. So?”
“I don’t have any stuff here.” It’s also a sure recipe for disaster when it’s even harder to leave. “And you have a job. Not one that involves taking care of an adult woman who can definitely crawl around her own place if needed.”
“But you don’t need to crawl. At least if I’m downstairs and you fall over I’ll hear the thud.”
Charming. “It’s already starting to feel better. Jack, seriously, I know you’re so busy at work and you don’t need me as a burden.”
“You’re not a burden. I like not coming home to an empty place, Clara. Let me look after you. Please.”
This definitely isn’t going to end well, right? As long as everyone is on the same page. “Fine, but you’re going to need to take me to Maggie’s when you finish work because there’s no way I’m letting you fumble your way around my underwear drawer.”
“Scared of what I’ll find in there?” he asks, eyebrow raised.
“ You should be scared of what you’d find in there.”
“Now I’m really excited.”