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“He thinks it is a big deal. So does his wife. They are very grateful you were there.”
McKenzie wasn’t sure what Lance expected her to say. She’d just been at the right place at the right time and had helped do what had needed to be done.
“He wants us to ride on his float in the Christmas parade.”
“What?”
“He invited us to ride on his float this Saturday.”
“I don’t want to be in the Christmas parade.” Once upon a time she’d have loved to ride on a Christmas parade float.
“You a Scrooge?”
“No, but I don’t want to ride on a Christmas float and wave at people who are staring at me.”
Ever since her fighting parents had caused a scene at school and her entire class had stared at McKenzie, as if she had somehow been responsible, McKenzie had hated being the center of attention.
“That’s fine,” he said, not fazed by her reticence. “I’ll do the waving and you stare at me.”
“How is that supposed to keep them from staring at me?”
“I’m pretty sure everyone will be staring at the mayor and not us.”
“I hope you told him no.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a half grin. “You’d hope wrong.”
She stopped walking. “I’m not into being a spectacle.”
She’d felt that way enough as a child thanks to her parents’ antics. She wouldn’t purposely put herself in that position again.
“How is participating in a community Christmas parade being a spectacle?”
She supposed he made a good point, but still...
“Besides, don’t people stare at you when you run your races?”
“Long-distance running doesn’t exactly draw a fan base.” She started toward his car again.
“That a hint for me to come cheer you on at your next run?”
She shook her head. “I don’t need anyone to cheer me on.”
“What if I want to cheer you on?”
She shook her head again. She didn’t want him or anyone else watching her run. She didn’t want to expect someone to be there and then them possibly not show up. To run because she loved running was one thing. To run and think someone was there, supporting her, and them not really be, well, she’d felt that disappointment multiple times throughout her childhood and she’d really prefer not to go down that road again.
Some things just weren’t worth repeating.
“I tell you what, if you want to come to one of my races, that’s fine. But not as a cheerleader. If you want to come,” she challenged, stopping at his car’s passenger side, “you run.”
He opened the car door and grinned. “You’re inviting me to be on your team? I like the sound of that.”
“There are no teams in the races I run.”
“No? Well, maybe you’re running in the wrong races.”
“I’m not.” She climbed into the seat and pulled the door to. She could hear his laughter as he rounded the car.
