CHAPTER 8 #2
They reached the starting line and Scarlett spoke with one of the volunteers holding a clipboard.
It was going to be twenty pounds per runner.
Thankfully, Scarlett, Marrero, and Akins were able to scrounge up enough money to pay for everyone’s participation.
The fastest of their group set off first, followed by the rest of them.
Scarlett was the last one to start, and while she had a bit of a struggle to begin with, she eventually found her footing.
It had been years since she ran, having opted for her preferred workout method, which was avoid it at all costs now that she wasn’t a professional athlete.
But running through the damp woods on an overcast day like today put her in a good mood.
Her breathing was even, her body felt strong, and while she knew she was definitely going to be sore the next few days, it was that good soreness that was always satisfying, knowing that she had pushed herself.
Scarlett’s mind wandered as she ran, passing a few slower participants.
She thought about Eric and their breakup and wondered if she had been “too much,” as he’d put it.
She hadn’t believed so. All she had wanted was for him to talk to her, about anything, but Eric was always such a closed book.
He’d never wanted to open up about his feelings, and while it had been oddly attractive in the beginning of their relationship, it had stalled soon enough.
It wasn’t like she’d needed to have a heart-to-heart every night of the week.
Eric’s laissez-faire attitude had been one of this things Scarlett liked about him in the first place.
But it had become tedious trying to figure out his likes and dislikes over the months.
She had morphed into a sort of detective, watching and waiting for the barest hint that would tell her something that he wouldn’t.
Was his smile genuine, or was he faking it?
Was the slight twitch of his cheekbone an indication of displeasure?
Did he really like her cooking, as he claimed?
Then why did he hardly ever finish his meal?
Her stride through the wooden path quickened.
It had been exhausting trying to be both sides of a relationship, which was why she enjoyed her back-and-forth with Mr. Wrong Number so much.
There was no guessing at facial cues or tones of voice.
Texting didn’t allow for such nuances. They both had to be fairly clear about what they were talking about, otherwise it wouldn’t work.
And she liked that there wasn’t any real risk involved. As miniscule as Eric’s “too much” comment was, it had affected Scarlett more than she cared to admit. At least now, she couldn’t be accused of being “too much.”
She wondered what he was doing right now, but before she could even conjure a fully formed fantasy of what Mr. Wrong Number might look like, Theo’s face butted its way into her mind.
Frowning, she tried to think of anything else, but his ever-present scowl was burned into her mind. She couldn’t get the way he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose out of her mind.
She shook her head at that, not wanting to think of it for some reason, but then she imagined what he might look like if he took them off. Slowly.
Her brow quirked up. It wouldn’t make any sense for him to do that, as he wouldn’t be able to see her, but her mind fixated on the image of him doing so. Maybe he’d take his glasses off and put them on her desk before reaching up to the back of her head and…
“No!” Scarlett said out loud to herself.
She was not going to picture Theo Ross in any other way than what he was—the manager for the men’s team, who wasn’t all that pleasant to her, if she were being honest. And yes, she sort of found that hot, but she was done with men who weren’t nice to her.
Scarlett was only able to banish the intrusive thoughts when she closed in on the finish line and saw a large group of people standing in front of the Hare and Habit Pub.
Checking the road for cars, Scarlett hurried over to where a large white van was parked. It had a satellite on top of it, and it looked as if a reporter was interviewing Marrero and Dawson, both of whom were pink-cheeked and smiling as they thanked the journalist for her time.
Scarlett moved through the crowd until she reached them. “What was all that about?”
“The local news. They said this event never gets more than twenty-five participants,” Dawson said. “Us being here nearly doubled it.”
“Really?” Scarlett said, glancing around. “Who would have guessed.”
“Come on, Bees,” said an older man with a thin face and white hair peeking out from under his cap. “Drinks are on the house!”
A collective “Aye!” sounded throughout the collective as Scarlett opted to take several pictures. Then she hurried over to the reporter.
“Ah, hello,” she said, waving her hand to stall them. “I was wondering what news station this was and what time you were going to run this interview.”
“Er, we’re the local news,” the cameraman said. “We’re on channel eight.”
“Eight?” Scarlett repeated, before remembering that she wasn’t in the States and local news stations operated differently over here.
“Right. Well, my name is Scarlett Simmons, public relations for the Manchester Bees, and I’d love to get this story as much airtime as possible.
I don’t have my card, but if I can borrow a piece of paper and one of those?
” She pointed to the pens in the cameraman’s breast pocket.
He handed her one and reached into the van window to grab a piece of paper.
“Thank you.” She scribbled her number out and handed it to him.
“Thank you so much for your time! I appreciate it.”
“Sure thing,” the cameraman said as he continued to pack up his vehicle.
Scarlett turned around and hurried inside the pub. The entire team was having a grand time by the looks of it, and when she finally settled down in a booth with a white wine, she pulled out her phone. She had two messages.
The first was from Hawkins.
The mechanic’s there. He said the driver told him the team was in the village of Astbury. Is that correct?
She texted him back.
Yes! We’re here at the Hare and Habit Pub.
All right. I’ll message the driver to pick you up when the mechanic is finished.
Thank you!
Scarlett let Marrero know that they would likely be home in the next hour or so before checking the second message. It was from Mr. Wrong Number.
She bit her lip as she opened the message.
Do you prefer movies or bingeing TV shows?
Both have their moments. But if I’m being honest, I have a soft spot for old movies.
Do you?
Oh yeah. Old black-and-white movies where everyone’s dressed really sharp and has posh accents. I can’t get enough of those.
Any in particular?
She didn’t have to think long before she typed in her favorite. Well, actually it had been her grandpa’s favorite. She used to watch it with him when she was a kid.
Some Like it Hot. It’s a comedy, but I also enjoy the ones set during World War II.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen that one. I’m going to have to look it up now.
It’s hilarious. If you like comedy, I’m sure it’ll be right up your alley.
Of course I like comedy. Who doesn’t?
Scarlett’s mouth scrunched up. She could think of a few people off the top of her head. I could name a few…but I won’t.
Understood. You’ve got some weird kink about this anonymity thing, don’t you?
I do not.
Yes, you do.
I mean, I think it’s sort of cool, getting to know someone like this without all the details of a personal life getting involved. It feels like getting to know someone with a clearer vision.
I get it. We’re just skipping over the things about us that have nothing to do with us. Like where we were born, for example. I didn’t have a say in where or when I was born.
Exactly. It’s removing
the environmental factors.
I don’t know if you’re clever or scared. But it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t?
No. I’m enjoying this, whatever it is.
She grinned down at her phone.
Me too.