Every Minute

by C J Burright

  If only everything could be left behind so easily.

  Swerving into the parking lot leading to all the running trails, she didn’t slow. The most difficult path called to her, but it was longer than the others and the gunmetal-gray clouds and dropping temperature promised more snow soon. Or worse—ice. Besides, she needed the extra time to figure out the budget this weekend, to come up with a solution and present it to Austin, give him time to study it for himself. Whatever the plan, she had to make it good and compelling enough to save her job.

  She loved her job. Pre-Joey, she knew she’d been the fun teacher, the one kids liked and parents hoped their child got. Post-Joey, she’d shifted into strictness, and she didn’t know if she could go back to before, but she had no idea what she’d do if she wasn’t a teacher, how she’d start over somewhere else. Alone. Her breath clouded the air, a temporal phantom gone in a blink. She had to keep her job.

  The terrain changed from pavement to soil, squishing beneath her shoes enough that she slowed. Color flashed in the trees ahead, around a bend in the path. Dang. Another early bird. She’d wanted the trails all to herself.

  Each slushy step brought her closer to the other jogger. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, definitely a man, and he was struggling. He gasped in rhythm with his slow jog and his bright pink-and-orange beanie bounced on his head, slowly slipping. Good for him, working to get in shape.

  The beanie slid another inch and fell to the ground, exposing the runner’s hair, golden in the muted light, pulled back in a messy man-bun. He stopped and turned for his hat.

  Garret.

  You’ve got to be kidding. Whether she spun and ran the other direction or sprinted ahead, she couldn’t avoid being noticed. He was less than ten yards away.

  Garret stopped and braced his hands on his thighs, wheezing. At least he wasn’t throwing up. He plucked his hat from the snow, a hat that looked a lot like the scraggly tea cozy Tatum had crocheted for her as a Christmas present.

  Something unsettling sprouted behind her breastbone. He could have chosen any hat, and he went with a colorful monstrosity crocheted by his niece’s inept third-grade fingers. She shook her head, kicking the thought out of her head and her heart. Any decent uncle would do the same.

  His shoulders heaving, he stuffed the beanie back on his head and attempted to smile. It looked more like the grimace of someone about to toss his cookies. “Great morning”—he gulped in a quick breath—“for a run.”

  Sighing, she stopped beside him. “I’m not sure what you’re doing could be called running. You look a little…doughy.”

  “Doughy?” He gasped, lifting his eyebrows. “Like that little baker boy”—huff—“made of dough”—puff—“who giggles when you poke him in the stomach?”

  She poked his belly, and heat invaded her face. What am I doing? Touching someone I hardly even know, let alone poking him like an undercooked pastry?

  To his credit, he tried to roll with it and giggle, but it came out more as a dying Wookie gurgle.

  Adara wiped her brow to hide an almost-smile. His pallor might look doughy, but his stomach hadn’t felt mushy. At all. She jogged ahead before she did anything else stupid. “Okay, then. Happy hobbling.”

  “I could use a running mentor,” he called after her, “for inspiration.” His voice grew more distant as she put space between them. “Or resuscitation!”

  Since he couldn’t see her, she surrendered to a smile. A small one. If he was well enough to joke, he’d make it without her and hopefully be gone by the time she made her second round.

  The cold kept tempo with the heat building from her run, and the sky slowly darkened to a foreboding blue-black. Adara ran faster, pushing her legs and lungs with her luck. Her breath left lingering clouds in the air. The snow didn’t worry her, but if the heavens decided to pelt ice, it would be slow and sketchy getting home on foot.

  Three-quarters of the way through her second round, she found Garret, limping. She slouched. If a snowstorm struck and he froze to death because he couldn’t shamble home in time, his death might weigh on her conscience. Then again, if he happened to have a granola bar on hand and shared it with her, it could totally count as fulfilling their dinner bet. Dinner was open to interpretation. Sometimes it was popcorn, when she remembered to eat.

  She slowed to match his gimp. “Hurt your ankle?”

  His smile erupted like sunshine from behind a cloud. “I knew you cared.”

  She snorted and adjusted her ear warmer, her blood thrumming hot and fast. Freezing to death wouldn’t be a worry for at least a few more minutes. “You’re overestimating your charm.”

  “Adara, you don’t need to pretend, not with me. Simply admit you couldn’t wait until our dinner date to bask in my presence.” His dark eyes gleamed. “I’m not offended…truly.”

  She managed not to roll her eyes. “Do you have a granola bar handy?”

  The sudden subject change must have thrown him off. His smile stumbled, and he patted his jacket, as if searching for a snack. “Sorry, no.”

  So much for her plan to avoid dinner with him. She slid her hands into her pockets and steadied her breath. “With your Igor shuffle going on, you’ll probably finish the trail in an hour or so. I’m sure you’ll make it before the storm hits.” As if even the weather plotted against her, a dusting of snow chose that moment to drift from the sky. Leaving him to become an icicle was too unfeeling, even for her. She could at least make sure he made it out of the park. If he collapsed on the streets, someone was bound to find him sooner or later. “When I see Tatum on Monday, I’ll ask her if you showed up. If not, I’ll know where to send the search party.”

  “You’ll see me before Monday. You’re not getting out of our bet, Miss Dumont.”

  “We didn’t set a particular day or time. Who’s to say it can’t happen a year from now? Or better still, ten years? If you had a granola bar, it could happen right now.”

  “You sly vixen.” His expression was equal parts accusation and approval. “Were you trying to avoid our date?”

  “It’s not a date. It’s a dinner so you can gloat over an extremely lucky win.”

  He laid a hand on his heart. “I do not gloat. I celebrate.”

  “Semantics. Why are you running so early this morning? Here, of all places?” Gia was so dead for divulging her running routine.

  The fast subject change didn’t seem to faze him. “This park borders my back yard, I was already up, and I’ve been neglecting exercise. I’m not ready to be chubby again.”

  She looked him up and down as they walked, unable to picture him other than tall, lean and strong.

  “It’s true,” he continued, with no prodding from her. “Pudgy duckling to sexy swan.” He ignored her exaggerated gag. “My life was violin, school and sleep. Violin practice before school, violin at school, private lessons after school, violin, violin, violin. Plus, I loved food.” He shot her a grin. “I still love food.”

  Adara didn’t want to know about his past, didn’t want to spend extra time with him, didn’t want to keep walking companionably beside him as if they were a couple out for their usual early morning run, because it felt that way. It felt like it would be so simple to fall into step with him and hold that rhythm for days, months, years. She picked up her pace. “So you grew out of your pudginess and your violin lessons paid off. End of story.”

  “Yes and no.” He dropped his gaze to the path, frowning slightly. “I sometimes fantasized about quitting for something cool, like football or basketball, but my moment of clarity came when I asked the girl I liked to the eighth-grade dance. The biggest deal of middle school, right? She laughed at me and said she’d never go anywhere with a fat band geek.”

  “Bummer.” Adara kept her voice toneless. She didn’t care, but ouch. That was rough.

  “Devastating.” He didn’t look particularly bothered by the memory. “I decided then I’d never let someone else marginalize me. I took stock of what I did and didn’t like about m
yself, what I could change and what I wouldn’t. Violin is an essential part of who I am, a fact I understood even then. I like my food, and that wasn’t about to change. My extra padding, however, was a source of woe.”

  Adara hid another smile. Barely. “A source of woe?”

  He nodded, solemn. “I started getting my chunky butt out of bed early and worked out before my morning violin practice. I cut back on the doughnuts, chips and candy and learned to like vegetables, which was harder than playing Bach, by the way. But I don’t believe in surrender.”

  No matter his determination factor, when it came to pursuing her, he’d quit. She’d make sure of that. “Is that what made you long to be a pirate? To escape all those mean girls by sailing the seven seas and playing your violin while swabbing the deck? I can’t believe you left your boots and silver rings behind on your run—and no gold tooth? Total fail.”

  He stared at her a moment then threw his head back and laughed, a rich, rolling sound that seemed to fill the park and expand into the sky.

  For a second, her breath hitched, and no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t turn away. He was joy personified, pure and unselfish, utterly captivating.

  His laughter faded but his smile didn’t. He straightened his hat and sighed. “Ah, you remind me what it’s like to be back in the real world.”

  She forced her gaze away. “As opposed to Never Never Land?”

  “Never Never Land’s an accurate description of my last three years. Days blurred by until I couldn’t remember the last time I’d personally seen my family. The last song I composed was before I went on tour.” He looked down at his shoes, his eyes crinkling as his smile dimmed. “In the string of anonymous audiences and empty parties with emptier people, I had a moment of clarity. If I didn’t get off the carousel, at least for a while, I’d burn out. I was fulfilling my dream but not really living.” He lifted his head and met her gaze. “Sometimes, you have to step back from the crowd and focus on the individual. So I came home—and here I am.”

  That fluttering aberration in her heart stirred weakly again and she countered it with a cold stare into his dark eyes. Is this the therapy session Gia wanted for me with Dr. Violinist? So not happening. “Whatever Gia told you, I’m not anyone’s project. I don’t need to be fixed.”

  “I wouldn’t fix you for anything,” he said softly, all humor gone. “It’s our brokenness that makes us who we are. Without the shattered pieces, our lights would never filter through to the rest of the world.”

  The fluttering in her chest rose, out of reach. She clenched her hands into fists, to anchor herself to the ground where she belonged, where it was safe.

  “Which reminds me,” he said, “what time is sunset?”

  Weird change of subject, but if it veered away from broken things and life stories, she’d go with it. “I’m guessing five-forty-five-ish.”

  He nodded. “Will five-forty-five work?”

  “For another run?” She glanced at her watch, pretending he wasn’t talking about their evening food bet. She refused to call it a date. “Sure.”

  “You like being difficult, don’t you?”

  “Difficult keeps my personal space clear, the way I like it.” She arched an eyebrow at his smirk. “Usually.”

  “Must take a lot of energy, keeping people out.”

  “Tons.”

  “You’d better stock up on the carbs, girl.” He bumped her with his shoulder, sending her a step to the side. “You’re going to need them.”

  Adara regained her balance and focused on the familiar fir trees lining the path, a sign the parking lot was near. Thank God. For reasons beyond her comprehension, Garret refused to be shut down. She liked other people fine, but connecting beyond casual was rare, and only Joey had dogged her into abandoning her solitude. With Garret, it felt like accidentally alighting on land after floating on the wind, and whatever that meant, she couldn’t go back to being part of someone else. It hurt too much when the most important piece went missing.

  The trees opened into the empty parking lot. The sky loomed low, clouds twisting in ominous forms shaped by the hand of a raking wind and the darkness shadowed the snow, stealing its brightness. It was time to get home, as fast as her feet could carry her—as far away from Garret Ambrose as possible.

  “Come Monday, we’ll be working together.” His tone was all reason and logic. “We should get to know each other first.”

  “I know enough.” She sloshed through the snow faster. She’d waited with him longer than necessary. He could get home on his own.

  He gave her puppy-dog eyes, his limp seeming to improve. Insufferable man.

  But getting it over with was better than giving him another reason to harass her. “Fine. Five-forty-five. Dinner. That’s it.”

  “To be clear, five-forty-five p.m. tonight. Dinner. The beginning….” He used the same snap she had, with the exception of the last two words, which were soft and alluring.

  She huffed, her breath clouding in the air. “And you say I’m difficult?”

  “Persistent,” he said smoothly, digging in his jacket pocket. “Completely different.” He pulled out a pen and scrap of paper and scribbled something.

  “You take pen and paper when you run?” Weirdo.

  “Of course. When inspiration strikes, you have to be prepared.” With nimble fingers, he folded the paper into a tiny origami boat and shoved it into her hand.

  “I don’t need your phone number.”

  “It’s not my phone number.” Even though she hardly knew him, she knew a devious smile when she saw one.

  She unfolded the note. ‘GAA’ was embossed at the bottom in silver and small, neat numbers took up the center. Forty-seven. It didn’t make any sense. “What’s this?”

  “Something for you to figure out.” He moved ahead toward the sidewalk, looking smug. “I heard you like puzzles.”

  She clenched her teeth. She loathed puzzles with a passion, mainly because she sucked at them and was too proud to admit it. Somehow, some way Gia would get major payback for spilling unauthorized personal details. Good intentions meant nothing.

  “Don’t worry, Adara. If you get stuck, I’ll give you a hint.” He spun to face her, walking backward a few steps, long enough to wiggle his eyebrows. “Although, it might cost you.”

  Adara crinkled the number in her fist and shoved it in her pocket. She surged into a run and left him and his laughter behind. If only he’d challenged her to a race. Then she wouldn’t be stuck with him tonight. She lifted her face to the ice chips falling from the dark sky. Then again, convincing him to set his sights elsewhere over dinner would be a more satisfying challenge.

  And that was one challenge she wouldn’t lose.

  Chapter Seven

  After a brain-numbing day of crunching numbers, Adara squinted in the bathroom mirror at her eyes, bloodshot from staring at scratched out equations, a price she’d pay again for the progress she’d made. It wasn’t ideal, but she had a plan to save her job if the budget failed.

  Now to get through dinner with Garret Ambrose—persistent violinist, gloater and slowest jogger ever.

  She smirked at her reflection. She had a plan set in motion for that hurdle too. Her best ‘go away’ vibe—worn-out jeans and an old university sweatshirt, sass and snark. No man would last long, no matter how much he smiled and let stuff roll off him. She’d be home by eight and would never have to bother with him again, beyond the classroom. Three months and he’d be gone from there too.

  Despite the lingering annoyance at the intervention attempt, Adara had forced herself to text Gia, to find out what information she’d leaked. As it turned out, not enough to hold a grudge. Joey’s death was common knowledge, as was her occupation. Gia swore that the remainder of her discussion with Garret had revolved around him. He’d assured Gia his intentions were nothing but honorable.

  Pshaw. He was friends with Ian. Enough said.

  And when Gia had suggested again that jumping on
Garret Ambrose would end her funk, she had quit the conversation with a final few sentences on preposterous theories, the joy of solitude and how to best prepare for silent treatment of an indeterminable length of time. Friends were overrated.

  She scrunched her nose, practicing her disgusted look. Perfection. She had only a few more minutes to prepare for Operation Shutdown. Garret had, sadly, been provided a staff directory, and had, most vexingly, located her number and address. He’d texted her not long after their unfortunate meeting on her sacred running trails, which she was still trying to forget, and she’d agreed to let him pick her up. That way, she’d be forced to deal with him and set him straight. She had a feeling that was the only way Garret Ambrose would understand she wasn’t relationship material—or even one-night material.

  Leaning over the sink, she gazed at her reflection for a closer inspection, the first time she’d really studied herself in months. No wonder people whispered. The shadows beneath her eyes added five years to her twenty-five. Her pale skin could rival any vampire’s and with her smooth black hair, she’d fit right into the Addams family. Lines that hadn’t been there pre-Joey bracketed her mouth.

  She twitched her lips into an almost-smile, softening those lines. Joey had always teased her about having a Steve Tyler mouth, that it was the one thing that saved her face from being severe. An ache ricocheted in her heart. He probably wouldn’t say that now. She ran a comb through her already-perfect hair one last time. Making a public appearance in purposely shabby clothes wasn’t a problem. Her hair was a different story.

  Beethoven’s Fifth gonged, vibrating through the walls, impossible to miss. One of Joey’s first implementations after they’d bought the house was to personalize the boring doorbell. Garret was here. Showtime.