Chapter Seven
Seven
Two weeks after the girls had arrived, I woke up earlier than usual, chugged a mug of coffee, and laced up my new running shoes, ready for my first day of marathon training.
On my way out the door, I clicked off the TV, which Mia and Kitty had left on all night.
I just can’t sleep without it, Kitty had said that first night, and though it wouldn’t do my electric bill any favors, I didn’t push the issue. I could guess why she needed it.
I closed the door quietly behind me and eased into a jog, heading across the parking lot toward South Ocean Boulevard. My legs resisted me. Floating in the ocean was my preferred form of exercise, but I had a marathon to prepare for and no time to waste.
Since Mia and Kitty had arrived, I’d made minimal progress on the list. And by minimal, I mean none.
The only thing I’d checked off was skinny-dipping, which hadn’t exactly gone to plan.
Something that had worked out like I’d hoped was Greyson, who’d become Mia and Kitty’s greatest source of entertainment.
She was a frequent visitor at the condo, joining us for beach days and dips in the pool.
Almost every day when I arrived home from work, I found her on the couch between Mia and Kitty, the three of them talking away as if they’d been friends forever.
The only drawback of this was that wherever Greyson went, messes followed.
A few days earlier she’d knocked over one of my grandmother’s teapots while doing a cartwheel in the living room.
Fortunately, I wasn’t much of a tea drinker and was planning to get rid of it when I got to item number twenty-two—declutter the condo—but poor Greyson had tears in her eyes, apologizing as she scrambled to pick up the pieces.
I didn’t mind the messes much. Greyson had a way of lifting the energy in any room she stepped into, which was worth a hundred teapots, especially this summer.
Five minutes into my run, a stitch formed in my side, and my lungs burned with the effort of breathing.
I wheezed past rows of condos and was nearly bowled over by a cluster of power-walking old ladies decked out in orthopedic sneakers and matching tracksuits.
Twenty minutes in and I found myself doubled over in the middle of the sidewalk, nearly blinded by the mixture of sweat and sunscreen dripping into my eyes.
The night before, Greyson had told us about the easy seven-mile run she and Alex had done that morning. Twenty minutes later, Kitty had handed me her phone with a marathon-training plan that made me question why I’d put this on the list in the first place.
“This will have you ready in twelve weeks, which we don’t have,” Kitty had said. “So maybe skip the first few weeks. If you do the race on your birthday—”
“There’s no way I’m running a marathon on my thirtieth birthday.”
Kitty had narrowed her eyes at me. “Fine. Take off another day.” She’d glanced at the phone. “Now you’ve only got to do four miles tomorrow.”
Mia had cackled from the couch.
“Four miles isn’t so bad,” Greyson had said.
“When I was running track at my old school, we had to do five miles every practice. Just make sure you breathe in through your nose.” She’d demonstrated, lifting her hands toward her face as she breathed in.
“And out through your mouth.” She’d lowered her arms quickly, blowing hot air into my face.
“Four miles. I can do that.” It wasn’t like I was completely out of shape. I spent my days racing around a 150-foot superyacht, after all.
When I’d created the list that night in Mitch’s, I’d wanted to challenge myself. I’d envisioned becoming one of those people with oval-shaped magnets on their car highlighting the miles they’d run. But now I realized I could’ve bought the magnet and put it on my car anyway.
I made it only two miles before I gave up and called an Uber to drop me off at the edge of the condo parking lot, hoping the girls wouldn’t see me.
Which, fortunately, they didn’t. But as luck would have it, when I got out of the car and passed the mailboxes, wincing with each step, there was Alex with a stack of envelopes in his hand and looking like Colin Firth in that lake scene from Pride and Prejudice Nina had forced me to watch.
Only Alex was drenched in sweat (likely from his own run) and wore a nylon shirt that stuck to his chest (instead of billowy white linen).
“Hey,” he said, tugging his headphones from his ears and looking from me to the Uber that looped around the parking lot. “I see the marathon training is going well.”
I leaned against the wall, still struggling to catch my breath. “Yeah, well. We can’t all be Usain Bolt.”
“You know he’s a sprinter, right?” Alex said.
“I did not. Which only proves my point.”
Alex laughed, and I wasn’t sure if he was laughing with me or at me. He probably thought I was pathetic. Who gets an Uber in the middle of a four-mile warm-up run?
“I hate my past self,” I said.
“I think a lot of people feel that way.” Alex walked alongside me until I made it to my door. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about the Uber.”
Alex and I had become fast friends in the two weeks we’d worked together.
With him in the galley, there was always music, and dancing, and food like I’d never seen before.
Duck hearts with mushroom floss and spiced broth.
Deconstructed mackerel and wildflowers and ramp puree.
Every dish looked too pretty to eat, though that didn’t keep me from drooling whenever I stepped into the galley. Because of the food, of course.
But as we stood before my door, an awkward silence passed between us.
Unlike his daughter, Alex had made himself scarce outside of work.
I caught occasional glimpses of him when he waved Greyson up from the pool, or in the mornings when they ran side by side from the parking lot.
We left for work at the same time each morning and returned at the same time in the afternoon.
But other than that, we didn’t interact outside of work.
It was odd speaking with him outside of the galley, and part of me wondered what he was like off the boat, not as Chef Alex but as the Alex I’d met at the bar.
“Well, it was nice seeing you,” I said.
“Uh, Jo?”
“Yes?”
“Sorry about the teapot. Greyson told me. Let me know how we can replace it.”
I waved him off. “Really, I was getting rid of it anyway. It wasn’t worth anything.” Not exactly true. It was worth at least a few hundred bucks according to my eBay search, but he didn’t need to know that.
Alex sighed, seeming lighter. Had he really been that worried about Greyson breaking my teapot? “Thanks for letting her hang out with Mia and Kitty. Just let me know if she becomes too much. She, uh, has a lot of energy.”
“Yeah, she does.” The other morning she’d burst into the condo and convinced Mia and Kitty to follow along to old eighties Jazzercise videos on YouTube.
I’d watched from the couch until Greyson started clapping and kicking in front of me, forcing me to join them.
C’mon, Jo! Elevate that heart rate! Swing it out! “But she’s a fun kid.”
Alex smiled widely. “Yeah, she is. Sometimes a little too fun. The morning runs help, though.”
“She reminds me a lot of my nephew.” I looked away. I hadn’t meant to bring up Samson. There was too much to explain, and I didn’t want to do it now.
Alex nodded, and I could tell he already knew about Samson by how his mouth, always ready to smile, flattened.
I wondered what the girls had told Greyson about Samson, and what Greyson had told him.
Though the girls sometimes hung out with Greyson at Alex’s place, so maybe they’d told him themselves.
“What was he like?” he asked.
“Oh.” I fidgeted with my keys. “He was . . . great.” Great? Like that did any justice to who Samson was.
“You don’t have to talk about it.” Alex ran a hand through his hair, and the silver at his temples caught the sunlight, not in an unappealing way.
I dropped my gaze again, shaking the thought from my mind.
Alex tapped the mail against his leg. Maybe he was as eager to escape this conversation as I was.
“If you need a break from the teenagers, feel free to send them over. I’m sure I can whip up enough food to keep them occupied. ”
“If food is involved, I’m sending myself over,” I said. “With the girls, I mean.”
“Whenever you want. I’m happy to cook for everyone.”
“That would be great.” There was an awkward pause, and I was about to turn to my door when he spoke again.
“Oh, I meant to ask. I was wondering, seeing as we both live here and work on the boat, would you be interested in carpooling? You know, to save expenses and, uh, climate change. You can say no. I just feel a little silly watching you leave at the same time when we’re going to the same place.”
“Oh.” The proposition took me by surprise.
I didn’t need to be spending more time with him than was necessary, and yet I couldn’t think of a single excuse that wasn’t I can’t spend too much time with you because I keep thinking about that time I kissed you, and that obviously couldn’t be spoken aloud.
“Sure,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Awesome.” Alex tapped the mail against his leg again. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. You’re usually ready at eight forty-five, right?”
I found myself staring at the spectacular view of his thighs in those neon-green running shorts. “Huh?”
“Eight forty-five. That’s when you leave?”
“Oh, yeah.” Bad idea! my mind shouted, but I didn’t listen.
He glanced at the phone strapped to his arm. “Well then, I’ll see you in just over twenty-four hours.” He nodded and turned away, jogging across the parking lot.