Page 49 of See You at the Finish Line

He snorts. “And let me guess? Idiots are the ones who wreck it for everyone else.”

“Yup. I once saw a woman wearing flip-flops on the trail and another time there was a guy with his baby strapped to his back.”

Nate shakes his head. “There should be an intelligence test to become a parent.”

“Agreed.”

“So ... You used to live in Utah. Are you planning to go back?”

“Not if I still have this job. Ask me again in a month and a half.”

“Oh, right. I just assumed you were a shoo-in—everyone talks about how amazing your hands are.” His eyes dip to said hands and catch on my lips as he brings his gaze back to meet mine. I clear my throat.

“I meant to thank you for opting out of my massage. It was a nice gesture,” I say, steering the conversation again.

Nate waves his hand like it was nothing. “I felt weird about it,” he says simply. I nod my agreement, scooping up another bite. The scallop melts on my tongue and I involuntarily let out a moan.

“Good?”

I smile sheepishly. “So good,” I say around my mouthful and Nate laughs.

“So why don’t you want to do the race?”

Damn it. I thought I had successfully changed the subject.

“It’s a long story.” I inwardly cringe at the cliche.

He answers in kind. “I’ve got all night.”

I laugh and then can’t stop the tear that leaks from my eye. I try to brush it away quickly, but Nate sees me, his brows furrowing.

“What’s wrong?” He reaches over to take my hand.

I sniffle as more tears fall. “I lost my mom just over a year ago, and I miss her.”

His eyes soften. “I’m sorry, Paige.”

“Thank you.” I hesitate and realize he’s still waiting for me to give him an explanation about the running. “I took a break from running a little bit before I lost her, and then after her death, I couldn’t bring myself to lace my shoes up again. I’ve tried a couple of times since the email went out but haven’t made it out my door.” Not the whole truth, not the part about the panic attacks that do not allow me to leave my apartment, but it’s a start.

I clear my throat and take my hand out of his to dab my eyes with my napkin.

“Probably not how you thought the night would go, huh? Me crying into my food.” I laugh and wipe my nose asdiscreetly as I can. When my hands are no longer occupied, he reaches across and grabs both of them, leaning in and whispering to me.

“Well, I did expect tears, just not until later after you realize how good I am in bed.”

I snort out an unexpected laugh, and my chest feels a little lighter than before, even though the line is a little sleazy. I hate it when Leah and my therapist are both right. Sharing was helpful, even if it wasn’t my entire life story. Small steps.

“And what makes you so sure you’re going to get me into bed?”

“Have you seen me?” He gestures to himself and I laugh again.

“Yes, my eyes may never recover.”

“I have that effect on people.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Before he can retort, there’s a camera flash, followed by a swell of whispers and more flashes.

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