Page 35 of Well Played

“Oh, sorry for not recognizing you.” I don’t release her hand, and she doesn’t pull it away. “I meant to call the school and leave a message. Thank you for everything you’ve done for Charlotte. She told me how safe she feels with you when she isn’t up to dealing with the playground.”

“I’d be lying if I didn’t say Charlotte has a special place in my heart.”

“Wanna run together?” I ask, not knowing how I’ll react if she rejects me. This isn’t a date. But it could be the first time I spend with a woman while wanting it to be a date.

“Do you think you can keep up?” She shoots me a look and turns to take her place in the starting lineup. But Willow doesn’t release my hand. I’m pulled along to run with her and I feel lighter than I have in months.

For the firsttime in forever, I run without a competitive bone in my body. When Willow slows down to take a break, we talk. After she catches her breath, we run.

“Are you training to get back on the field?” Willow pants, as we slow.

“Nah, I used to run with another group and needed a change.” I take a swig of water while she does the same. “What about you? A budding Olympian?”

“I wish,” she snorts out a mouthful of water with her laugh and it is the most adorable thing I’ve seen. “I needed a hobby and friends recommended running or online dating.”

“I’m going to leave that alone,” I say with a laugh. “Not that I know anything about online dating.”

“Well, I can’t think of anything worse than parents at school seeing my dating profile, and I hope running will work off all the food I love to eat.”

“You look perfectly proportioned to me.” Okay, I allow myself a long, lazy inspection of her body, just so she knows it’s appreciated. “Do you prefer to cook or eat?”

“Both, what about you?”

We walk the next kilometer as people overtake us. Willow describes her favorite cookie recipe with sour cream instead of butter. I tell her how I prefer to crush up blocks of chocolate instead of using chocolate chips to deliver unexpected surprises.

When we break into another jog, I take it easy and fall into step, trying to decide what other recipe to discuss but she takes the decision out of my hands.

“Okay,” she gasps and stops, bending over with hands on her thighs to catch her breath. “You’re on death row and can only choose one cake.”

“Boil and blend blood oranges, use almond meal instead of flour, best chocolate I can find, chocolate cake.”

“I’m sensing a theme here and it’s going straight to my ass,” she sighs. “Bad chocolate, bad chocolate.”

“Would you be offended if I say you have a cute ass, and I have a sudden urge to feed you chocolate?”

“Mr. Parker, are you hitting on me?”

“Ms Caton, are you going to give me detention if I am?”

“How would you serve the orange and chocolate cake?”

“With a side serving of whipped cream and chopped strawberries.”

“If you throw a handful of raspberries in, I might even eat it.”

“Yes,” I say before stretching for another run.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’m hitting on you and yes, I’d like to make you dinner that ends in the chocolate cake of your dreams.”

“How aboutIcookyoudinner, and you bring the cake.”

“Deal.”

We talk about everything and anything as I finish with my worst run time, and the best time. Willow Catan has made me laugh more in the last hour than I’ve laughed in years, and as she drives off, I’m counting the minutes to our first date.

FIRST DATE

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