A few eager beavers shot by us, but I knew they wouldn’t last. They were all flash, cheetahs capable of short sprints. Silently, I bet Ian and I would overtake them by the first mile.
I’d been running this race regularly for nearly twenty years. Except for that one Thanksgiving when I’d had a fever of one hundred and two, I’d almost always placed in the top five. I knew who my competition was, and I’d keep an eye out for them. But most of these people were looking for a fun holiday run with their families. And the cold would have them wheezing and walking before too much longer.
I was thirty-six. I knew there would come a day when sixteen-year-old Gretchen Rose Tate or college track star Tom Gordon would probably take the top spot. But that wouldn’t be today. Despite the frigid temperature, I felt strong and fast. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted a good finish for the man at my side.
Yes, he was a spoiled movie star, and he’d started training dishonestly because of some weird, unfathomable crush on me. But he’d shown up, worked hard, and improved a lot in the last month. Ian had taken my advice to heart. Who knew it was so hot when a man actually listened to the competent women in his life?
I was proud of Ian, and I wanted us to do well today so that he could be proud of himself, too.
Running next to Ian was familiar by now. I was still aware of his body next to mine, all the defined muscles and broad expanse of masculine beauty. But there was an easiness about our movements that had grown slowly over all the miles we’d put in together. It was strange to think I was actually comfortable with the man who had fan club chapters in over thirty countries.
Yet here we were, breaths and steps in sync, the steady rhythm of my heart a soundtrack to our growing friendship.
At eighteen minutes into the race, we turned the final corner and started up the short incline that would take us across the finish line. Folks caught sight of us, and cheers went up. People were lining the road on either side, shouting out encouragement. Someone had a cowbell.
Ian puffed out a heavy breath, and I knew his lungs were burning with the effort, but I caught his gaze and said, “You’ve got this.”
He nodded, focused, and kept going.
As we closed in on the crowd and the giant time clock, Ian slowed. I lost him in my periphery. Worried that he’d gotten a cramp or something, I looked back over my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He looked fine, not doubled over in pain or hobbling through a muscle spasm.
My gaze shifted briefly over Ian’s shoulder to see Tom Gordon, maybe thirty yards behind us, arms and legs pumping hard up the hill.
Ian waved an impatient hand toward the finish line. “Go ahead. Take it.”
Oh, this idiot. He thought he’d just hang back andletme win.
We’d trained together. Ian had worked hard for this, and now he wanted to diminish that with some well-meaning sweetness.
Rolling my eyes, I reached over and snagged Ian’s hand, pulling him into step beside me as we crossed the finish line together.
He let out a strangled laugh and squeezed my hand. Despite the chill on my face, I could feel my pride warm and near to bursting as Ian and I grinned at one another in the face of our victory.
Neighbors and strangers clapped and cheered as we eventually slowed to a stop partway down the block. I saw Brady, Mac, Candace, and Dad standing with George and Sophia, so I steered Ian in their direction.
My brother held a sign that said, “Run like zombies are chasing you.” I could tell Mac had done the artwork because a pretty impressive zombie was illustrated beneath his messy lettering.
Everyone congratulated us, and my dad thoughtfully passed over a couple of water bottles.
“Mom wanted to be here,” Candace said, “but she and Mark are cooking. The turkey had to go in, and he’s getting all the pies ready.”
“You guys looked great out there,” Sophia said.
“Thanks,” I told her. Then held my hand up for a high five from George.
“I still think it would have been more fun if there had been turkeys running with you,” the kid said seriously, earning some laughs from my family.
Just then, a golf cart came squealing to a halt beside us. Darren and Becca were mid-laugh as they climbed out. Of course, she was the volunteer he’d been assigned for the security detail. They were probably best friends already. I didn’t think I’d ever heard Darren laugh before, but it made sense that Becca made it happen. Everybody loved that girl.
Will’s fiancée came up and immediately hugged me, completely unconcerned with the fact that I was sweaty. “Congratulations, Joan!”
I smiled. “Thanks, Becca.”
“And congratulations to you, Ian.” She just went ahead and hugged him, too.
