We jog for a while, and I have to admit, while the chill is practically an assault on the senses, the exercise is invigorating and the park, nearly empty, open and peaceful.
We circle along the edge of the reservoir, encountering the occasional speed walker or Canada goose.
After a while, Zoe, breathing heavily beside me, puffs out, “So, how’d you do with my list yesterday?”
I wince. I don’t want to be lying to her.
“I… I may not have followed your list yesterday.”
She slows for a moment and looks at me.
“Oh. Okay.” She picks up the pace again and, after a few moments, asks. “What did you do, then?”
I scrub my hand over the back of my neck and shoot a look towards her as we round a corner. “Actually, George suggested some places to check out. So I did that.”
“Oh! Really? George?” She looks completely taken aback, but after a minute, she shakes her head and regains her composure. “Well, okay. Cool. Did you have fun?”
“I did actually.”
A smile threatens to break out on my face, but I suppress it. I don’t need Zoe asking any questions. At least I think I suppress it. She is studying me a little strangely right now.
But then the group starts up a hill, and the woman leading the pack turns to run backwards. “Okay, gang, that’s enough of a warm-up. Let’s pick up the pace!”
The group surges on ahead. One woman actually whoops. Zoe half stumbles to a stop.
“Oh God, no!” She doubles over, breathing hard and trying to catch her breath. So much for running club.
I pull up to her side and put a hand on her back to steady her.
The last few stragglers run past us, one silver-haired gentleman giving me a lingering look and an actual wink as he goes by. Which is… weird?
“Zo…” I say to her back, since she’s still doubled over, “Why do I get the feeling there are a lot of queer people in this running club?”
She turns to look up at me. “Okay, so it’s an LGBTQ+ running club.”
I raise a brow.
“What?” she says. “There weren’t a lot of choices. Not that many people like to get up at dawn and run around Central Park in December. Come on, I think I can run again.”
She takes off—not entirely steadily—after the group. Leaving me to watch her. I just shake my head and laugh before following her up the path.
Sweatyand tired and sipping hot drinks wepicked up at a bodega along the way, Zoe and I make our way toward the nearest subway station.
“I’m okay now,” Zoe insists. “You really don’t have to walk me.”
I grin at her. “I know. This is just easier than worrying that every siren I hear is an ambulance coming to peel you off the sidewalk.”
“Just because I almost threw up once, suddenly you think I can’t handle my exercise.”
I laugh. “You have my sincerest apology.”
We arrive at the entrance to the subway, and Zoe pauses, playing with the plastic lid on her drink.
“Listen, I’m glad you had fun yesterday. And I’m sorry if my list didn’t, you know, do it for you.”
Damn. Well, now I feel bad.
“Hey, no worries! I love that you’re thinking about me,” I say—and mean it. I hold my arms open, and she dives into them, wrapping me in a tight hug.
