“Pardon…erotic.” He huffs a chuckle. “Straightaway.”
My head tilts. We’re halfway through the second lap without me realizing it. And, somehow, I’ve loosened the death-like grip on the rope, just a bit. It’s nowalmostdeath-like.If that’s a thing?
“Thank you,” I say softly.
I feel him shrug his shoulders before he follows with a mumbled, “Just making small talk.”
Soup.This man is soup. He nourishes. He’s hot. He comes in a can that you need to pry open. Soup can also scald and burnif you try to eat it too soon. That’s something I need to remind myself.
“Rut on the left, moving to the right,” he calls out and moves us closer to the fence that hugs the field.
Anxiety may cascade within me, but it doesn’t stop me. Even if I haven’t loosened the reins completely, I still proceed. That is such a huge victory in itself. As we move down the first straight-away of our second lap, I offer just a little bit of slack. Not much. I still remain close enough to Garrett for his body heat to caress me like soothing kisses against my forehead, a promise that everything will be okay.
“Bend,” he calls out again as we round the track and start our third lap.
The pattern of our path imprints itself into me. Each turn. Each little dip. Each avoided rut. My fingers twitch against the rope before I loosen the slack a little more. Garrett offers two quick tugs of the rope as I increase our distance. It’s so quick, but those two tugs almost paint his pleased smile that I’m pushing past my own boundaries.
I must trust that Garrett will keep me safe. Just as he has to trust that I’ll do the same thing. So often, people assume the human guides are the ones with all the responsibility. That’s such a short-sighted way of looking at it. The visually impaired person is just as responsible for their pair’s safety. This is a relationship where we both need each other in order to make it to the finish line safely.
The more familiar I get with this track, the less holding tight to Garrett I do. By the time we round for the fourth, and final lap, I’ve allowed myself to slacken the rope enough that I no longer feel his body’s heat lapping against me.
“Crossing the finish line, but let’s gradually slow to a walk before we stop,” he calls out.
“Yup,” I say, panting just a little bit. I try not to fixate on how his words are even-paced as if this is nothing, despite my shallow breath.
“Stopping,” he says, as our now gentle walk slows to a halt. “You did it.” He turns to face me.
Inhaling deeply, I look around the track. We’re just where we started, but we’re not. I did it. I power walked an entire mile without stopping. Without tripping him or myself. I trusted him, and more importantly, myself.
“We did it.” I let out a breathless laugh.
He pulls on the rope, tugging me a little closer before unwrapping the binding from my hand. “I’m just the service human,” he says, a smirk playing in his tone.
“Nope.” I take his hand, threading it in mine. “We’re a team, remember? I can’t do this without you, so this is half yours.”
“You can do this without me.”
“Should I find a new service human?” I flash a sassy grin.
“Absolutely not.”
That blasted pitter-patter ramps up in my chest with the swiftness of his response. Protectiveness of me. Loyalty to Anker. Dare I even daydream, jealousy? Whatever his reason, delight ripples within me at how exasperated he gets at the idea of me doing this with anyone else.
It isn’t good for me to get caught up in those feelings. Clearing my throat, I drop his hand.
“That was a good first session.” Nibbling on my lower lip, I pluck the rubber band at my wrist. The sting does its job, and I step back.
“Yeah.” He rolls the rope around his hand. “One mile down.”
“Only 25.2 more to go.”
“Piece of cake.”
Thanks to the darkening sky, I can’t see his smile, but warmth radiates from him. I can almost picture the lopsidednessof his lips. It’s as though his mouth isn’t sure if it wants to smile or remain in a firm line.
“Piece of cake.” My grin meets his. “Now, I want cake.”
“Maybe they’ll have a cake pop at the coffee shop. Here’s your cane.” He hands me my cane.
