Chapter 12
I liked my solitude in the mornings. Liked getting up earlier than anyone else in the house and then running for a mile or five before the rest of the world slowly got out of bed.
Mom used to call it her Me Time. As a single mom, she left me alone for brief spells as soon as I was old enough.
It meant that at seven thirty each morning, I’d stand by the door to welcome her back from her trail runs, we’d make breakfast together, she’d drop me off at school, and then she’d spend the next eight hours at the little boutique that paid her minimum wage.
So, that steady rhythm of my feet against the empty New York sidewalk every other morning had become my trusted companion. If I couldn’t rely on anything else, at least I had my alone time before work.
Or so I thought.
“You know the deal was one week in your shoes, right?” I asked, lungs burning in that deliciously satisfying way. Now if only there wasn’t a second pair of steps beside mine, annoyingly easily holding my best-effort pace. “It wasn’t an invitation for you to follow me around, too.”
“Funny,” Elliot said from beside me. At least he had the decency to sound out of breath. “I thought I was doing you a favor. You love my company, don’t you?”
I sped up, just to show him that was not the case. I didn’t just not love his company. It was enough when we had to see each other at work every day, but it had gotten worse once he moved in. At least for those forty minutes in the morning, I’d like to be rid of him.
But he caught up, still holding my pace. My legs ached, and the burn in my lungs was no longer satisfying or delicious. Painful would be the right way to describe it. One look at my watch told me we were still at least three miles out, though. We’d just gotten to Central Park.
And if Elliot had the audacity to invite himself on one of my runs, the least he could do was suffer for it. Judging by the laborious breaths from beside me, we were getting closer to that point of regret. Unfortunately, my energy levels were running low too.
He must’ve interpreted the second glance at my watch correctly. “Giving up?”
“I didn’t know this was a competition.” At least not officially. Still, I’d gotten dressed faster than him, ate my banana faster than him, and emptied my glass of water first.
“Maeve.” He exhaled loudly, and I wasn’t sure if that was one of those signs of surrender or if he just liked saying my name that way. Panting and breathing heavily. “When has anything between us ever not been a competition to you?”
Touché.
Central Park continued flying past us in a blur. Our path wound through thick trees and open fields, around small ponds and bigger lakes until another mile must’ve passed, and Elliot still looked too determined for my liking.
We’d both gotten slower, though.
And I was desperate. To take a proper breath again and stretch the muscles in my legs out. “You could . . . you know?”
“I could what?”
“Give up.”
Elliot still had enough energy to throw his head back in a laugh—but it cost him precious seconds. He trailed behind me now. “So, this is a competition.”
“Always has been.”
“Maeve Peterson,” he tutted between breaths, and I finally saw it. Exhaustion. Defeat. Victory, so close I could taste it. His next words confirmed it. “On three?”
I knew exactly what he meant.
“On three.”
I let him catch up to me just as we approached Bow Bridge and waited for his sign to finally put an end to this. A tie was better than a loss, and my ego wasn’t bigger than my need to breathe.
“One, two . . .” he started counting down. We both slowed.
“Three!” My legs stopped all on their own. I had no control over how my feet screeched to a halt, and I slumped over, hands on my knees, breathing heavily. I paused the workout on my watch, and the roaring in my ears was so loud, it took me a second to realize it.
Elliot wasn’t beside me. That bastard had fucking tricked me.
My head shot up as I watched him skid to a stop several feet away. He had gained at least ten seconds on me, and the smirk on his face told me he wouldn’t let that go easily. With sweat clinging to his brows and hairline, cheeks flushed, and his shirt soaked, he was reveling in his win.
I’d be madder if I weren’t so preoccupied getting my breathing back under control.
“Come on, Maeve.” He snickered, walking the few feet back over. “I’m surprised you didn’t keep on running another mile just to beat me.”
“Some of us want to win fair and square,” I muttered.
Slowly, steadily, I caught my breath. Maybe I just stood in his eyeline, and he was actually watching the ducks swimming a few feet below us, not me.
Maybe I just happened to look at him whenever he happened to look at me, and any other second, he was admiring the iconic buildings of the Upper East Side in the distance as well.
“Can you see your penthouse from here?” My question just slipped out, surprising us both.
“Nope.” He nodded ahead of us, urging me to follow him farther onto the bridge.
Surrounded by the green crowns of trees, the dirty water below us, and the brown brick buildings at the edge of Central Park, we were alone.
Or as alone as one could be in New York City; with a few runners passing by and ducks below us quacking, it felt weirdly calm.
At odds with our usual dynamic too, which was loud and combative and anything but peaceful. Then again, we’d just expended all our energy on a race neither of us had announced.
Elliot pointed toward the Upper East Side. “You can’t see it through the trees in the summer, but it’s back there.” I followed his gaze, imagined the building he’d grown up in and what growing up in a building like that might do to a person.
I couldn’t really blame him for his arrogance, entitlement, and whatever else happened when you grew up with everything you’d ever wanted at your fingertips. But I blamed God and the universe for putting him in my way regardless.
“High up?” I asked to distract from the jealousy trickling down my back. From thoughts of how tight my budget had always had to be, and how he’d probably never even bought his own groceries before.
“Very.”
One of us should’ve moved by now—should’ve suggested heading back home. It was almost seven, and we still needed to get to work on time. I didn’t know why we were still here.
Out of nowhere, Elliot asked, “Do you miss them?” I had no idea who he meant until he added, “Your grandparents, I mean.”
An oddly intimate question with an easy answer. “Every day. Why?”
He shook his head, like he’d wanted to say something and changed course last second. Like he wasn’t sure whether he should tell me at all.
He decided to wave me off, and it was probably for the better. “Nothing.” He shrugged, leaned his forearms onto the balustrade. “I just wonder what that’s like, you know? To feel something other than anxiety or annoyance when I hear his name.”
The way he said it was casual, a throwaway comment he didn’t think about further—but there was more below it. A confession, a plea. For what, I wasn’t sure.
“It’s just this interview later,” he added quickly, while I was still searching for the right words. “They’ll ask me about Hunter, and I’ll need to play the loving grandson he never had.”
“Or what?”
“Or once again, I’ll disappoint.”
I didn’t know why my first instinct was to defend him against . . . himself? “I’m sure you don’t—”
“No need to pretend you care. Or disagree. Or even want me to be here.” The tight smile on his lips when he turned his head looked wrong. Felt that way, too. “Sorry.” He shook his head again, snorted in faked amusement. “I shouldn’t have even said anything. We should head back, right?”
We should.
Just like I should have let that simple confession go too.
But for the rest of the day, it lingered.
I thought of it when I sat across from him in a meeting, when we both got afternoon coffee for our bosses, and when, a few hours later, he took me along to that interview; a late-night show appearance I was his plus-one to.
Every time I looked at him, I wondered what else hid behind his perfectly tailored facade, and if I’d ever get to find out.