Chapter 22 Now
Now
@ainsleygreenwrites: Meet-cute attempt: Christmas tree farm edition. For once, it wasn’t a total dumpster fire. A very real lumberjack named Jack helped me pick a tree, reminded me how to flirt (or maybe just actually flirted with me?), and even asked for my number.
Comments:
@notcarriebradshaw: wait…success?? character development???
@dogmom1996: lumberjack Jack sounds HOT
@laurenellis7: flirting at a TREE FARM? you’re in a Hallmark movie
After weeks of funerals, false starts, and me pretending that binge-watching rom-coms counted as research, I decided enough was enough. Lucas has been holed up in his apartment, I’ve been stuck in my own head, and Maddie swears she has the cure: Raleigh Brewing run club.
“Fresh air, hot people, free beer at the end,” she promises. “Your meet-cute series isn’t going to record itself.”
So I tell Lucas we’re going. Correction: I tell Lucas he’s going and it’s nonnegotiable.
Which is how the three of us end up standing in a sea of neon Hokas and Lululemon, holding plastic cups of water like we’ve been conned into running a marathon when we’ve only trained up to a brisk walk.
Maddie is already chatting up strangers, while Lucas looks like someone just informed him the brewery is out of his favorite IPA.
“Remind me why I let you talk me into this?” he mutters.
“Character development,” I say. “Also because I need new content and you need fresh air. It’s a win-win.”
Maddie jogs back over from the sign-in table, waving the little paper wristbands they gave her. “Okay, we’re officially registered runners. Don’t we feel accomplished?”
I roll my eyes. “So accomplished. I’ve already hit my cardio quota for the month just by walking here from my apartment.”
She laughs, then turns to Lucas. “So you must be the infamous Lucas.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Infamous? That doesn’t sound good.”
“I’ve heard stories,” she says with a shrug. “Like the one about you getting kicked out of trivia night for telling the host he was wrong?”
“Everyone knows that Ross and Rachel were not on a break!”
Maddie gasps dramatically and swivels to me. “Ainsley, settle this. Were they, or weren’t they?”
I hold up both hands. “Absolutely not getting involved.”
Lucas smirks, but Maddie just shakes her head, laughing. “Dangerous move. Now he thinks he’s right.”
“I know I’m right.”
As they’re about to rope me back into their pointless argument, a voice calls for runners to line up. We shuffle toward the crowd gathering at the starting point. I pull my phone from my pocket and smile at the camera.
“Okay,” I announce, half to the camera, half to myself, “today’s meet-cute experiment is infiltrating a local run club, because according to my new friend Maddie, all the hot people in Raleigh run.”
I pan over to Maddie, who waves enthusiastically.
Just then, Lucas leans into the frame with a grin. “Hey, I’m here too—”
I stop recording and shove the phone into his hand. “Not this again. My followers already like you too much. You’re on camera duty.”
He smirks. “Please. Everyone knows the videos with me in them get more views.”
“Just make me look athletic,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
“So special effects then?”
I elbow him in the ribs, trying to hide my smile.
Behind us, Maddie tightens her ponytail. “I’ll see you two at the finish line,” she says, bouncing on her toes before disappearing into the pack.
The whistle blows, and suddenly everyone around me surges forward. I stumble into a jog, determined not to humiliate myself in the first thirty seconds, though that’s pretty ambitious.
A tall guy runs up alongside me, easy and steady. I try my best to match his pace.
I suck in a breath and try to sound casual. “So…is this where you pick up girls?”
He doesn’t even crack a smile. “It’s where I train.”
“Romantic,” I wheeze, already losing ground.
He speeds up, leaving me behind. I glance around desperately, spotting another guy with a backward hat and easy smile jogging just ahead. I push harder to catch up.
“Hey,” I puff, “do you come here often?”
“Uh, every Thursday?” he replies, then takes off like I’ve personally offended him.
I barely get another step before my shoelace betrays me. My foot catches, and suddenly I’m airborne, arms pinwheeling, before I crash full sprawl onto the pavement. Concrete scrapes my palms. Runners leap around me like I’m an inconvenient pothole, not a humiliated woman starfished on the ground.
“Did you get that?” I groan, looking up at Lucas.
He tilts the phone toward me, snorting. “In 4K.” Then, with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen, he flips the camera around to face him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, she didn’t just trip—she sacrificed herself for the drama.
Notice how the herd of runners simply ignores her, leaving her to perish on the sidewalk.
And this is why she writes romance instead of fitness blogs, because her true enemies-to-lovers story is with cardio.
Smash that like button for more tragic love stories between Ainsley and cardiovascular health! ”
I flip him off from the ground.
He laughs, then extends a hand. “Come on, let’s get you vertical again.”
I take it, and he hauls me up with ridiculous ease. By now, the run club is long gone, and the brewery patio is practically deserted. It’s just us, my scraped knees, and the faint sound of sneakers pounding away in the distance.
“Bathroom,” Lucas says, steering me back inside. He flips the phone off and tucks it into his pocket.
In the fluorescent light of the women’s bathroom—because of course it’s empty—he dampens a wad of paper towels and crouches in front of me. The tile is cold against the back of my legs as I sit on the counter, letting him clean up the gravel that’s embedded in me.
Suddenly, I realize how alone we are. How quiet it is.
How he’s down before me, eyes skirting up to check to make sure I’m not wincing as his fingers brush my skin.
He holds my knee steady while he dabs at the scrape, his other hand braced on my thigh to keep me from sliding off the counter. It’s practical, nothing more. Still, the heat of his palm lingers, buzzing under my skin in a way that I don’t want to admit feels kind of nice.
“It could’ve been worse,” he says with a smirk. “You didn’t break your nose. Although that would’ve probably skyrocketed your engagement rate.”
I try to laugh, flicking him on the top of the head, but my pulse is already racing from more than the run.
When he’s deemed me all patched up, he grabs my hands as I hop down from the counter, and for a moment, we’re close, my head tilted up, his eyes curious and bright.
That’s when a woman swings the bathroom door open, her eyes going wide.
“This is the women’s room, right?” she asks, making me laugh and turning Lucas pink as he drops his hands and steps away, mumbling something about a run club tragedy.
By the time we make it back outside, most of the runners have returned.
Maddie’s already staked out a table on the patio, cheeks flushed, waving us down.
Lucas disappears to the bar and returns, balancing three pints, sliding one in front of me and one in front of Maddie before taking the last for himself.
“Sympathy beers, as promised,” he says, clinking his glass against mine.
Maddie takes a long sip, eyes drifting toward the bar. “There are actually some decent options here tonight.” She leans back, smirking. “Which leads me to wonder: What’s your type?”
I blink at her. “My type?”
“Yeah,” she says, gesturing toward a guy with arms the size of tree trunks. “Like, would you go for that?”
“Absolutely not. Too much muscle,” I say quickly. “He’d crush me. I’m not willing to risk death by missionary.”
Lucas nearly spits out his beer. “Jesus, some of us are trying to drink here.”
Maddie bursts out laughing. “Okay, fair. But if it’s not muscles, what’s your thing? Tattoos? Mustaches? Sneaker heads?”
I shrug. “I don’t know if I have a thing. I haven’t really thought about it.”
Maddie leans forward, propping her chin on her hand. “See, that’s the difference. I’ve been single forever, so I’ve had way too much time to think about it. I know exactly what I like and what I don’t. And let me tell you, the list is extensive.”
Lucas arches a brow. “Sounds less like a list and more like a background check.”
“Exactly!” she replies. “Saves time. If he can’t clear the bar, he’s out. Easy.”
I toy with the rim of my glass. “I guess I just haven’t had the chance.
I was with Cole for years, and that’s obviously over now so…
” I trail off. “Right now, it’s less about figuring out my type and more about trying to get over the fact that he moved on in about five minutes.
I’m still kind of in the healing phase, I guess.
Throwing myself into work, the next book, and the whole meet-cute mission thing has helped me stay distracted. ”
“Fair enough.” Maddie gives me a sympathetic look before turning to Lucas. “What about you? What’s your deal? Are you seeing anyone?”
He tips his glass back, buying time, then sets it down. “Nope. Fresh out of a breakup myself, actually.”
“Wait, seriously?”
“Yep, about a month after Ainsley’s. We’ve been breakup buds.”
I groan. “Don’t make it sound like a group project.”
Lucas smirks. “More like a support group.”
Maddie clinks her glass against ours. “Just be glad you have me now! I’ll get you out of these heartbreak ruts.”
We linger a little longer, trading stories and finishing our drinks, but by the time I get home, I’m back in full gremlin mode, curled up on the couch with Winston asleep on my foot, a bag of frozen green beans balanced on my ankle, and my hair in a bun that’s 60 percent dry shampoo.
I splice together the run club footage—my attempted flirt with the backward-hat guy, the glorious sprawl on the sidewalk, and Lucas’s smug commentary—before posting it with the caption: Cardio is not my love language #FindingLoveInTheCerealAisle.
I toss the phone aside, expecting nothing, but the comments come in fast.
@jazminebeam: falling ten steps in? queen behavior. proud of you
@corinnaaa: not me thinking the cameraman was hotter than both runners combined ??
@smutshowpod: Girl the way he said “enemies to lovers with cardio” had me WHEEZING!
@fairytalesbyfaith: next: home depot. man who knows how to find a stud = husband material
@michaelamadden54: Okay but why are we not talking about Christmas tree farm guy???
@aspiringauthoralex: just date the cameraman instead ??♀?
I bite the inside of my lip, staring at the screen longer than I should. It’s wild how quickly the internet picks up on things I’ve been actively trying to ignore. The tree farm guy. Lucas in my videos. The fact that I still haven’t figured out what I want to write about.
Before I can talk myself into another existential crisis, a new text lights up my screen.
Lucas: Finally, the internet gets what it wants: more me
Ainsley: Don’t flatter yourself
Lucas: Too late, I’m reading the comments
Lucas: Fan favorite
Lucas: Cameraman > runners
My phone buzzes again before I can respond.
Lucas: Also, the Christmas tree farm guy comments aren’t wrong
Lucas: You should text him
A strange heaviness drops into my chest. I should feel encouraged, but instead it stings that he seems so ready to push me toward someone else.
These meet-cute missions were never supposed to be about actually dating.
They were supposed to be for content, for inspiration, for tricking my brain into believing in romance again long enough to write about it.
So why does it feel different now? Why does it matter that he wants me to reach out to someone else?
I think back to Thanksgiving, to the funeral, to the deeper moments we’ve shared recently. Somewhere along the way, our friendship shifted. I don’t know what that means yet, but I do know that I can’t pretend not to notice it forever.