“Great, let’s take a look.” Oliver inspects my work thoroughly, turning it over in his hands a few times. “That’s great. See here?” He points to a spot where it looks a little wonky. “You only got the front loop of the stitch. You want to make sure you’re hitting both, unless the pattern specifically calls for something else.”
“How do I fix it?”
“Eh. Don’t worry about it for this. Let’s get you to the next row.”
It kills me to let it go, but I try to focus on Oliver’s calm voice as he shows me how to start the next row of the piece. Then he hands it back and tells me to do the same, slowly stitching across the row.
It’s slow going, at best, but I manage to get five rows done before Oliver calls it quits for the night. The tiny piece that I started with has doubled in size while we were together, clear evidence of the work that I’ve put in. I didn’t expect to feel anything, especially once I learned I wouldn’t be working on my pattern tonight, but there’s a strange sense of pride bubbling up over my work. It’s uneven and flawed, but it’s mine.
“Next time, we’ll start on your pattern. There are a few different stitches involved, but it’s mostly the same.”
Given how big the blanket looked in photos, I’m concerned about how long it will take to put together. I spent an hour doing those few short rows. Maybe I should pick something smaller, like a scarf or a washcloth?
“Don’t worry. It’ll go faster once you get used to it.”
Oliver has a knack for reading my mind. Something that should bother me. Normally, I school my expressions pretty well. It’s a good thing to have in my field so that when someone’s explaining why some piece of equipment suddenly stopped working, I don’t look at them like the idiot that they are.
At least most of the time. So how does Oliver always seem to know what I’m thinking? How does he always know the right thing to say?
“I believe you.” Once all my stuff is gathered, there’s no reason for me to hang out here any longer.
“I’ll send you what you should do for your next runs.”
“Wait.” Oliver grabs my arm. “What do you mean by my next runs? You aren’t going to be with me?”
“You need to run three days a week. I’ll try to make sure I do one of them with you, but it would be hard for us to get together that often.” The little pout he’s put on is adorable. While I managed to put aside most of my attraction while focused on crocheting, it’s coming back to me now that I’m looking into his dark eyes. “You’ll be fine. Try to slow down.”
“I guess,” he says, clearly not convinced. “I’ll probably collapse and die, though. Plus, I don’t even have one of those ridiculous watches to time things for me.” Oliver waves his hands wildly.
“You can use an app for it. I’ll send you a link.” Seeing him panic sends a shockwave through my system. I didn’t expect it to matter so much to him. “I’ll check in, too. Make sure you understand the workout and how to make it all work together.”
“Okay. But if I die, I’m coming back as a ghost to haunt you.”
“You won’t die,” I assure him. “It just might feel like it for a while.” It’s a lie. I routinely feel like I’m going to die during workouts. Not every time, but often enough to remind me I’m not invincible. Or getting any younger. I figure I’ve got a few more years to hit personal bests before age starts to catch up with me.
“Fine. I’m still going to haunt you.”
I don’t doubt it for a second. I pull him into my arms to hug him before I leave. I’m not sure what compels me to do it. I didn’t even think about it. Having him in my arms like this feels right. I let him go before I’m ready, not wanting to give him the wrong idea. If I’m not willing to turn this into more than friendship, then my lines in the sand need to be clear.
“I’ll see you next week,” he says. “If I make it.”
“Next week.”
CHAPTER 10
AARON
“What are you doing tonight?” Barrett asks me.
He’s fishing, though I’m not sure exactly what for. A running partner? A drinking buddy? Gossip? With him, any of those is possible. The first two I can’t give him. Lastly, I don’t want to. My personal business is exactly that, and I try not to let it influence anything at work. So far, I’ve been very successful.
“I’m hanging out with a friend tonight.” Technically true.
“Oh, anything good?” I swear he perks up, like he’s caught a whiff of something interesting. He knows I hang out with my college friends on Thursdays, without fail, and that today is not Thursday. Not that I only see them on Thursdays, but I usually discuss them by name.
“Nope, just dinner and television.” Also, not technically a lie. More of an omission. Oliver and I are having dinner and watching TV, but after we run. There’s also my crochet project.Both the running and the crocheting are going well. After a month of meeting up, we’ve both come a long way.
Oliver no longer thinks he’s going to die, but he’s unwilling to admit that it’s not pure torture. He hasn’t missed a single run, though. Even when he’s on his own twice a week, he does them without fail. I know because he’s given me access to the data on his app. I told him it’s so I can analyze his runs and help him get faster. What I really like is getting notifications on my phone that let me know he’s logged a workout. Not that I necessarily need it. He sends me before-and-after selfies every time.
