The Complete Where Dreams

by M. L. Buchman

  Another hill? The machine had it in for him today. He grabbed his towel and wiped off his face and eyes. They stung with the salt from his sweat.

  Another mile the machine warned him. And one last high resistance climb. He was dying here. The only way this could possibly be worse…

  He focused on a machine two over from him. The woman climbing onto her elliptical was one he’d recognize in a white-out blizzard even if she were wearing a parka and hood. Though that sure wasn’t what she was wearing now. A dark maroon sports bra left her shoulders and midriff gloriously bare. It left so little to the imagination that his blood pressure was threatening to pop. Matching running shorts that exposed one of the nicest lengths of leg he’d ever seen. And lemon yellow sneakers like the laugh line on a great joke.

  Jo Thompson looked incredible. And she wasn’t looking at him. Either hadn’t noticed him or, far more likely, was studiously ignoring his existence.

  A hundred percent snub.

  There were rules in workout gyms. Everyone was in their own space, doing their own thing. You never messed with that. And it was truly bad form to stare at a woman. His own headphones were spilling out The Boss because who else could help you with your Italian mother better than Springsteen. Born to Run? You betcha!

  Jo was probably listening to opera. She sure wasn’t looking his way. She must have seen him, had purposely left an empty machine between them, and then ignored him to rub in how angry she was about last night’s meal ruining her date.

  He slowed his pace. The machine began blinking the “Pedal Faster” sign at him. He slowed to a stop. She was staring up at the TV screens set above the wide glass window with the view of the lake. CNN or the James Stewart film. He couldn’t tell which she was watching.

  He wiped down the machine and headed for the showers.

  One glance back showed him a view he’d never forget, the beautiful and brilliant Jo Thompson running away from him at high speed.

  Chapter 5

  “Hey, Angelo.”

  Jo noticed that he’d parked his Tuscan-yellow restaurant van with dark blue lettering next to her car’s passenger door. Glancing over at her he dropped his keys. He leaned down to fetch them, then stood up under the van’s mirror. He whacked his head good and hard, then slid nervelessly out of sight.

  She sprinted around her car to see if he was still alive.

  He sat on the ground beside his dropped gym bag and keys, with his back against the van’s door. His head was between his knees and his hands were wrapped around the back of it. A string of Italian that sounded beautiful, but she’d wager was actually some serious invective, streamed out into the air. She’d studied French, which gave her some of the roots, but the sound of the traffic rolling along on Eastlake Ave. muted his words just enough that she couldn’t make them out, which was probably just as well.

  “Are you okay?” she squatted beside him.

  He raised his head enough to inspect his hands.

  “No blood.” He patted his head gingerly and looked at his hands again. “Feels like there should be though.”

  “Here, let me look.”

  Angelo shrugged, winced at the motion, and acquiesced.

  Growing up a fisherman’s daughter she’d seen enough bumps, bruises, and cuts to last a lifetime. Also enough to make a quick and probably accurate diagnosis.

  “No blood. I can’t feel a crack. Big bump rising already though.” His hair was still damp from the shower and smelled lightly of shampoo.

  “Thanks, I knew that.”

  He sat up and lay his head back against the van door right on his restaurant’s logo. “Ow! Ahi!” He leaned his head back between his knees and reclasped his hands over his head.

  Jo wanted to laugh. She knew it wasn’t seemly, but it bubbled up inside her anyway. He looked so sad and helpless. She took a deep, pre-jury summation breath, then another and steadied down quickly enough.

  She set her gym bag on the ground beside her own car door and sat on it to wait with him until she was sure he was okay. The brutal hour-long workout had done nothing to clear her head of Renée’s offer. She’d focused her mind and driven her body until every muscle screamed, but she still didn’t know what she was feeling. Even as she waited for Angelo to recover, she could feel her muscles stiffening. She was going to be seriously sore tonight.

  Cassidy really needed to get back from her honeymoon. Jo needed a sounding board at the moment and found herself a bit distressed to realize that she really didn’t have anyone else.

  Angelo sat up more slowly this time, keeping his head well clear of the door.

  “How are you feeling?”

  He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment in a hard wince, then opened them wide as if trying to make them focus once again.

  “Okay, I think.” He shrugged. “Mostly like a total klutz.” He made a gesture slapping the back of one hand against the other, as if running into a wall. He started to stand.

  Jo rested a restraining hand on his arm as he let himself slide the two inches back to the ground.

  “Oh! Maybe I’ll just sit here for a few more minutes. You should go though. I’m okay. Don’t let me keep you here.”

  “No, that’s fine. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  He nodded his acceptance but didn’t say anything more. He closed his eyes and rested his head back very tentatively.

  Jo checked to make sure he was still conscious in case he’d actually concussed himself, but his body hadn’t gone limp, simply quiet. She’d somehow forgotten how handsome he was. His short hair, as dark as her own, curled foolishly about his ears compared to her own dead straight fall. His skin glowed with the warmth of a tan from the Italian beaches, though she knew he’d grown up in New York City. Broad shoulders but trim build. And she’d seen how fit he was when they used to run into each other during workouts, though it had been a while.

  It was his hands though, presently hanging limply from where his wrists rested on each raised knee, that were his best features. They were slender for a man, but strong from cooking. She’d never actually seen him cook but could easily imagine the exacting confidence and incredible speed they could apply to each task.

  “You’re speaking to me.” Angelo had opened his eyes slit-wide against the sun shining on his face and was studying her.

  “No,” she worried again about his head perhaps being injured. She hadn’t said anything.

  “You aren’t?” He pointed at her as if there was some question who he meant even though only the two of them sat there.

  “I wasn’t. Now I am.”

  “Why not?”

  Jo huffed out a breath. “Where did this conversation go astray? I didn’t say anything before. Is your hearing okay?”

  “My hearing is fine. I’m not hallucinating.” He held up two fingers squinted at them as if trying desperately to tell how many really were there. “I thought you weren’t speaking to me, as in never again.”

  “Oh. Why would I do that?”

  “Last night’s dinner.”

  Jo blushed. She was pretty sure that it had all been her fault. “Look, I’m really sorry about that.”

  “What? No, I am. I’m the one who served that food. If you can call it that.” Angelo scrubbed his hands over his face. “Thank the great Patrono in Heaven that Mama wasn’t there. She’d have murdered me.”

  Jo remembered the charming woman from the wedding. She barely came up to Angelo’s shoulder and kept bursting out with how proud she was of him. She couldn’t stop talking about how handsome he was, how beautiful his restaurant was, how amazing the food her son had served tasted. And it truly had been amazing. His mother had also clearly read every review and followed every award. Her joy of her son radiated straight from her heart.

  Several times Jo had to bite back the envy burning deep in her gut at having a mother like that. A loving parent who cared about how you did, and supported it.

  But she was also clearly very Italian. If she knew Ang
elo had served a meal like last night’s…

  “Yes, I expect she would have murdered you but good. Thankfully for you, she’s three thousand miles away.”

  All Angelo did was groan and put his head back into his hands.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No. But that’s not your fault.”

  “Well, last night, I suspect, was.” She knew it was. Angelo had been giving her such total puppy-dog eyes at the wedding, it was impossible to miss. Then she’d flaunted Yuri at him without intending to. She might not want to be with the man, but she should be more considerate of his feelings.

  “Again, I’m sorry about that.”

  Angelo raised his head and looked at her. She could see the question clearly and was relieved that he had the decency not to ask. So, she answered it anyway.

  “Yuri is a business acquaintance who thought he was more than that. I disabused him of that misconception last night, much to his distress. He should be back in Alaska by now.”

  “Oh. Good.” He slid a hand across his mouth as if to erase the last word. “Uh, I am sorry about the meal.”

  “That’s okay. It made a point of Yuri’s shortcomings, a matter I might not have noticed otherwise.”

  “If you need any assistance in that, you know, getting some guy to show their shortcomings, just bring him by. I’ll be glad to ruin another meal for you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she made her tone as dry as possible.

  Angelo laughed and she joined in. It felt good. It felt friendly as if they’d each managed to apologize for last night without having to apologize.

  He struggled to his feet and she helped him up. He didn’t sway much, any more than anyone else who’d rapped their head hard.

  “I’m fine. Just need some aspirin. Then I’ll be fine.”

  Jo dug into her gym bag and found her emergency stash and a water bottle.

  Angelo took them gratefully.

  “Thanks, Jo. And again, I’m sorry about last night.”

  “Me too. You sure you’re okay to drive?”

  He nodded and only winced a little at the unwarranted motion. He started to reach for his bag and keys, but she got them before he had to bend over. He’d have a screaming headache by now at the very least.

  “Thanks.” He had his van’s door open.

  “Do you want to work out together sometime this weekend?” Now where had that come from? Was she really so needy for company? No, she was simply that desperate for anything familiar in a world that contained something as crazy as Renée’s offer.

  Angelo looked as surprised as she felt.

  “I, uh, usually go for a bike ride on Saturday morning. My sous chef does lunch and we both do dinner. Do you ride?”

  “Sure. Loop of the lake?”

  “That sounds great.”

  Jo felt a little manipulative. It was her standard training ride, but it was also a long ride. Yes, she had an ulterior motive, that somewhere along the way they’d be able to discuss Renée’s offer to take over the management of Pike Place Market. She needed a sounding board so badly.

  But it wasn’t just an ulterior motive, it would also be nice to have someone to ride with. Cassidy was a runner and Perrin looked at exercise as a disease contracted by the undeserving as punishment for a wicked former life.

  “I’m done shopping for the restaurant by seven.”

  “Perfect. We can start the ride while the day’s still cool. Meet on the trail under the Fremont Bridge at half past?”

  With a shared smile and nod they climbed into their cars.

  Angelo buzzed through the morning shopping.

  Or he tried to.

  But his mother had insisted on coming along. When he was selecting a long side of swordfish from the iced counter at the Pike Place Market fish vendor, his mother was chatting with Henry.

  As he chose only the most perfect avocados and artichokes, she’d found out that Uli had two children and a third one on the way though it wasn’t showing yet. At least not that he could politely see.

  Maria Amelia greeted the bread baker in passable French, and she stopped them for a cup of espresso and to split a morning baklava at Mister D’s Greek Delicacies even though he wasn’t really open and serving yet.

  Angelo barely tasted it and seared his mouth on the hot coffee.

  It was past seven, almost seven thirty by the time he got back to the apartment and changed. Then Russell’s cat, Nutcase, still thinking she was kitten-sized, had decided Angelo’s hand was an invader from deep space resulting in a long bloody scratch that Angelo had wiped on his bike shorts without thinking, so he’d had to change again and get a Band-Aid.

  His mother stopped him in the hallway and he almost exploded with frustration.

  “You go have a nice ride. She must be very pretty.”

  That stopped him cold.

  She patted his cheek. “I am only retired. It does not make me blind, mio figlio. I hope she is as pretty as that nice girl at the wedding. I see you later at the ristorante.” She held the door open and shooed him out with his bike before he could respond.

  Angelo had planned to ride the couple miles to meet Jo, now he tossed his bicycle and helmet into the van and sped through the early-morning streets. His nerves may have made him squeeze a couple of red lights on the way.

  He found a spot only a few blocks away and almost worked up a sweat sprinting down to where the Burke-Gilman Trail cut under the Fremont Bridge. He was worried that she’d have given up and gone without him, but saw her right away.

  He’d thought she looked amazing in workout clothes at the gym. In the warm morning, she wore shorts and a cycling jersey made of the most amazing, brilliant crimson form-fitting Lycra. They covered more, but hid not the least little curve. The dark, wrap-around Oakley shades only served to make her look even more fearsome.

  You will speak to her normally. Like a normal person. Angelo admonished himself as he rolled up to where she was stretching her hamstrings with a heel resting on the back of a park bench. A little park was all that separated the paved bike-and-running trail from the Fremont Cut where Lake Union flowed down to the sea.

  Already, pleasure boats were working their way along the cut. They were heading for the Chittenden Locks which would let them out onto Puget Sound. He and Jo would be heading the other way. Along north Lake Union, through the University of Washington, and then north beside Lake Washington they’d follow the Burke-Gilman for fifteen miles before turning south.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Angelo managed against a dry throat. Too glad that he hadn’t missed her, which would just give him a new offense to worry about. “My mother…” He cut himself off.

  “Is she okay?”

  “Sure.” She was fine. He was the one going quietly mad.

  Jo faced him with those power glasses. “You ready to ride or do you need to warm up a bit?”

  “I’m good to go.” He’d take his morning shopping at Pike Place Market as his warm up. A slow start and he’d be fine.

  Then he looked at her bike and whistled in appreciation. It was an electric-red Rodriguez custom-built road bike with Dura-ace shifters and a lay-down bar. There was no way he was going to keep up with her. The machine was almost as hot as its owner.

  “I know. I know. The bike is ridiculous for a rider like me, but it feels amazing. I feel fast just looking at it, even if I’m not. A friend told me it was the best, so Cassidy insisted that’s what I should buy. I don’t like buying things twice.”

  After the first mile or so of weaving among the local joggers, they rode clear of the city foot traffic. Okay, I can do this without making a complete idiot of myself.

  Jo had led the first half mile which had given him a chance to get his legs warmed up and his heart rate under control. Following just a bike length behind Jo was immensely distracting. Her hair flew behind her like a banner from underneath her helmet. Her fine figure was only accentuated by the cycling position and her long legs spun quickly with t
he evidence of long practice and training. It was enough to make him overheated even without the exercise.

  There was the steadiness of a practiced rider about her. Clean strokes, fast spin, and a quiet body position on the long flats of the Burke-Gilman.

  At the half-mile mark, she swung to the center of the trail, letting him zip past her on the right side. In his peripheral vision he could see her tuck in close behind him. Now it was his turn to take on the extra work of blocking the wind, letting her rest in the slipstream of his draft. It wasn’t a skill for beginners, but she held her position perfectly, her own front tire perhaps a foot behind his rear one. He thought about taking a full mile, but that could look as if he was trying to impress her. He thought of it as being gentlemanly but decided that discretion was the better part of valor and swung aside and let her pass after he’d led a half-mile matching hers.

  They rapidly fell into an easy rhythm of alternating lead and draft, spinning along the shore of Lake Washington and its stately homes. The trail, dappled with cool shade and warm sun passed by more easily than it ever had before.

  Past Juanita Park, Jo had the lead when they hit the hill. She downshifted and began the grind up the hill. It was a long slog. At this speed there was no advantage to drafting, this was just about low gears and a lot of spinning. Angelo dropped back a bit and they each focused on their own climb.

  She’d woken so sore this morning that she’d almost called Angelo to cancel. Might have, if she’d had his number. She’d arrived only moments before he did, and she half hoped she’d missed him. But now with the miles rolling beneath them, she was glad she’d come. The ride had loosened her muscles and been beautiful so far.

  Though, her muscles reminded her as she climbed, the ride was barely half over. A loop around Lake Washington ran forty-five to fifty miles depending on which exact route you took.