My gaze shifted from the email to my list of ideas. So far I had a number one…and nothing else. That blank number one had taken a whole hour to figure out. I felt it was promising. I rolled my eyes. Who was I kidding? I still wasn’t there. My column was taken. I had to send back new ideas, not my old ones. No more stories on why Mr. Settle-For-You would never compare to Mr. Perfect-For-You. I was such a sap.
I hunched back over the computer and typed:
Ten things to do if your husband dies.
#1. Move out of your shared house. It saves time on being haunted.
#2. Hide the booze from others. You’ll want it on those nights when everyone leaves you alone, and that happens faster than you think.
#3. Smile. They may be perfect strangers, but they don’t like to be reminded they are.
#4. Get plastered every night so you don’t play your husband’s death over and over again in your head. This ties back to #1.
#5. ---------------
I shoved back from the computer. I couldn’t send that. Going into the bathroom, I looked in the mirror. That person staring back, she was most definitely a downer. Sad eyes. Bags under those same dark eyes. Hair that used to shine in the sunlight—that was what Liam had said. It was a sandy-color blond that fell past my shoulders. It looked like a limp mop now. I shook my head, cleared my thoughts. Yes, whoever was staring back at me wasn’t me. She was grieving, but me, I was trying to live again.
Sia had said to try to get back to work. That would help. This morning was my first real try at it.
It was a big-time fail.
I was supposed to meet Sia for lunch at Gianni’s, and instead of us walking together, I’d gotten a message from her earlier just to meet her there. That meant I had three hours to kill before walking down the block, and writing had been supposed to fill that time.
I eyed my sneakers and headphones. I’d been avoiding Dawn in the gym, but she was friendlier lately. Chewing the inside of my cheek, I considered… I could do a hard workout and still be done with stretching and even cool down before she entered the elevator. It wasn’t that I wanted to avoid Dawn. I just didn’t want to push my luck with her. Sia was her new bestie, or so she thought, and I didn’t want to be pulled into the middle of that either—just like Sia and Jake and whatever was going to happen with them.
I grunted. Even Sia was better at living my new life than me, and thinking about that, my decision was made.
Changing clothes, I grabbed my sneakers and laced them up. My headphones in one hand and my phone in the other, I headed downstairs. The doors slid open at the lobby, and I stepped out, turning toward the door to the back area.
“You’re going for a workout, Miss Addison?”
“Addison, Ken.” He still refused. “Just Addison.”
Ken stepped out of his office and chuckled, his wrinkled face immediately rounding. His cheeks colored, and he pulled his hat off, tucking it against his chest. “Might you feel up for a run today, Addison?”
My name came out so reluctantly. I could imagine his teeth grinding together. Wait. What did he say? A run? “Is the gym closed?” I usually used the elliptical, then the treadmill for my cool down.
“No, ma’am.”
“Ken,” I warned.
“No, Addison.” His gaze shifted to my left, over my shoulder. “Our running track’s nicely heated, though, if you were to feel up for a real run today.”
“I…”
He turned back into his office, and I trailed off. That was different. I turned, and with a last glance over my shoulder at him, I pushed open the door. I paused on the other side. My hands found my hips and rested there, but then I shrugged. He wanted me to run on the track. Well, I liked Ken. I figured he said it for a reason.
Jake said he’d used the running track a few times, and it was long and winding. It dipped down next to the basement parking lot and back up to go along the side of the building before it circled back inside.
I opened the door to the track and had to pause again. Jake never mentioned that the track was literally a clear tube. It had two lanes, and beyond the tube I could see the gardens that decorated the pool area. Ken was right. I was beginning to feel more and more like a run.
I was popping my headphones in after a quick stretch when I heard soft footsteps on the track—the sound of someone running. They were coming in quick and strong, and then they rounded the last turn, coming right for me. The runner’s head was bent, his hood pulled low. I was off to the side, so when he zoomed past me, I couldn’t quite see who it was. It wasn’t Jake, or I didn’t think it was. He was probably at work, and the guy was taller than Derek. I doubted it was William. Maybe the mysterious fourth-floor resident?