Chapter 2 Scarlett
TWO
SCARLETT
Ever since I was sixteen and started running track for my high school team, I’ve been waking up at six in the morning to go for a run. No matter where I am or what the weather is, my alarm goes off at six in the morning every day and I go for a run.
I’m moving around the room slowly, trying not to wake Sadie as I put on my shoes. She’s pulled the blanket over her head so the only thing visible of her is her dark hair. I’ve got on my winter running gear and I make sure to grab my headphones and the room key before stepping out into the hallway.
As soon as I do, the door across the hall opens and my dad steps out. He’s got his jacket and cap on, rubbing his hands together as he warms up.
“Daddy, you don’t have to do this,” I say. “I’m pretty sure Silverpine doesn’t even have a criminal history.”
You know how they say some men are just born to be girl dads? Well, my father is one of those men. He’s probably participated in everything his daughters have wanted to do, whether that’s running a marathon or hosting a princess tea party eight years in a row.
He wore the tiaras and the nail polish, picked out our prettiest dresses, and showed up for us in every way possible. Exhibit A, he’s been waking up with me at 6 AM since I started running. He’s not going to let his daughter run around the city unprotected.
“The day you get married, I’ll pass the baton to your husband,” he says.
“You’re going to be stuck doing this for a long time because I don’t trust any man enough to marry him.”
Been there, done that, never plan on doing it again.
I shake off the bitter thought as we walk down the hallway.
“I’ll be waking up with you as long as I live,” Dad says.
“I’ll take you up on that offer,” I say.
We climb the stairs down to the ground floor and find it empty, except for Marion standing behind the counter.
It smells sugary and cinnamony, and I immediately find the source to be the cinnamon buns that Marion has set out on the table along the front windows.
Three different thermoses are set up as well for coffee, tea, and hot chocolate.
The Christmas tree is lit up as it was last night and so are all the Christmas lights.
It’s so warm and cozy, I almost falter on my way out the door.
Marion looks up as Dad and I walk into the lobby.
She must be in her seventies, with hair that had gone white and kind brown eyes.
Mom told me she was the owner of the Inn and that it had been in her family for generations.
Her husband passed away two years ago and her step-grandsons helped her run the Inn, though she did the day-to-day work.
Mom would have gotten Marion’s whole life story if we hadn’t shown up and distracted her last night. She left her job ten years ago, but her investigative journalist skills were still strong.
“Good morning. Isn’t it a little early to be up?” Marion smiled brightly.
“It’s this one.” Dad tilts his head toward me. “She goes on a run every morning, unless the weather is so temperamental it’s safer to be inside. I can’t have my daughter running around early in the morning.”
Marion looks at me, brown eyes widening in surprise. “You’re going running in this freezing weather? You know we have a small gym on site, maybe you should use it?”
It was zero degrees outside, so I wouldn’t say it’s freezing. The idea of a gym is tempting, especially since it will be warm, but I always grow restless on a treadmill. I need the open space, to breath fresh air, to feel like I’m running towards something rather than in place.
“Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer tomorrow,” I say. “I’m already dressed to go running outside.”
“Let me make you a thermos of coffee to take with you,” Marion says.
Getting out from behind the counter, she ambles to the kitchen and comes out a minute later with a big thermos of coffee and a bakery box of cinnamon rolls. Dad’s eyes brighten with delight as he takes the loot of Marion’s hands and thanks her profusely.
“You know you’re not supposed to eat that,” I say. His blood sugar was a little high during his last check-up and mom had put him on a strict diet. He’d lost like fifteen pounds since then.
“One isn’t going to kill me,” he says. He warms up the car and removes the snow which fell overnight while I warm-up.
It’s freezing outside and still dark. Most shops are still closed, the streetlights are still on. The only shops open are the coffee shop/cafe down the road and the hardware store, both of which already have customers.
Dad and I map out a route that takes us through Cedar Creek Ranch and then I put on my headphones while he starts the car. Moving my body after sitting cramped in the plane and then the car yesterday feels amazing.
I start with a slow jog, Britney Spears pumping in my ears.
As a kid I hated all activities which required me to be outside and around people.
I was happier playing with my sisters or by myself, coloring the walls of our apartment or reading under a blanket.
My sisters take after our mother and they’re social butterflies, Dad and I are more reticent.
Which is why this arrangement works for us.
We both need time to ourselves to prepare for the day ahead, to clear our heads.
After my first mile, I can’t even feel the cold anymore. I’m careful to avoid any snowy/slushy areas and it quickly becomes obvious that running in Silverpine in the winter is taking your life in your hands. It’s a quiet town, a sharp contrast to my morning runs back in Brooklyn and Manhattan.
I lose myself in the rhythm of the music and the feel of my feet hitting the pavement. It doesn’t take long before I’ve left the town behind me and I’m running down an unpaved road with snow piled along the sides and an open field around us, now covered in snow.
As the sun starts to rise, I become aware of something in my peripheral vision.
I turn my head and see in the distance, there’s someone riding a horse.
They’re too far away for me to make out any details, except for the fact that the rider is wearing a black cowboy hat riding a gorgeous black horse.
The image of the rider against the stark white snow is striking.
I see the rider turn to look at me as the horse speeds up.
Maybe it’s my competitive side, but I can’t stop as my feet push harder against the ground.
I realize competing against a horse is insane, but I don’t want to let that person win.
I’m pushing faster and harder, running right alongside the horse and its rider.
My music is loud, but I still hear the honk of the car behind me. Dad is warning me not to do this because he knows that I can’t let this competition go.
I stop abruptly when I hit a bend in the road and a gate blocks my way. I reach up to pull off my headphones. My heart drums wildly in my ears.
The rider pulls on the reins and the horse stops with a whiny.
The rider and I just stare at each other across the distance.
He’s so far away that I can’t make out his features, but I know he’s looking at me.
I can feel his eyes on me, which is so stupid because for all I know, he thinks I’m an idiot for competing against a horse.
Something keeps me rooted to the spot. Some inexplicable pull inside my chest which tells me to stay a minute, to breathe in the cold air, feel the sweat cool on my body.
I take a step forward.
Snow crunching under footsteps startles me and I turn around to see my dad walking towards me. The car is idling a few feet away.
“Angel, we should get back to your mom and sisters. You know they’ll have a whole list of things planned.”
I nod. “Okay, let’s go.”
Dad throws a look behind me at the horse and its rider before walking back to the car. I glance over my shoulder, and the rider lifts his black cowboy hat and tilts his head towards me.
I almost smile, almost. Until I remind myself that I’m only here for two weeks, and I’m also done with men.
Shaking my head, I turn and climb into the car.
“He’s cute,” Dad says.
I laugh, picking up a cinnamon roll. “You can’t even see him.”
Dad makes a three-point turn and starts driving back the way we just came.
“I can pick up on vibes. The next thing I know you’ll be falling in love and moving to Silverpine.”
I choke on my cinnamon roll. “There is no way I’m falling in love or moving to Silverpine. I’m probably going to be living at home when I’m sixty with you and Mom.”
Dad hums quietly. “You say that now but the next thing you’re going to say is that you’re getting married.”
It’s a good thing he’s teasing me because I don’t have to tell him that’s probably never going to happen.
I’ve already fallen in love and had my heart broken once.
It’s not an experience I wish to repeat.
No one tells you how hard it is to recover from a heartbreak when you thought that you met your soulmate.
I look in the side mirror and the horse and its rider are still there.