Page 49 of Trial Run

Eyes down, deep breaths. He ran down his steps to the sidewalk, then eased into a jog. His sneakers ate up the pavement, thudding to the time of his heartbeat. Time to open up into a run.

Drawing his elbows tight to his sides, Ben lengthened his strides into a sprint. His long legs ate up the distance and soon he’d reached the first turn of the block. A woman pushing a stroller appeared in his peripheral vision, but in front of him, it was just pavement and his own feet.

His breath echoed in his ears, accelerated from running, but not a panic attack. Another minute and he’d be around the second corner.

He increased his pace a notch, coming close to his top speed. And there it was—the moment when his breath and heartbeat and the straining of his muscles all fell away, and there were nothoughts, no anxiety, only pure exertion. Heaven. This was why he ran, why he would always be a runner.

He rounded the final corner on the block and slowed a fraction as he approached his porch. He took the steps two at a time, and jogged in place for a few minutes to cool down. He rested his hands on his knees, breath going fast, sweat dripping down the sides of his face and soaking his shirt.

An unexpected laugh bubbled out of him. His first run outdoors in over a month. Tomorrow, he’d go again, for longer.

He’d always told his patients there would be bad days and good days in the fight. And this was one of the good ones.

Chapter 14

Nell was fifteen minutes late when she rang Ben’s doorbell on Saturday night, and not just because she’d spent a lot longer than usual getting ready. After a long debate, she’d settled on a mid-thigh length sundress with a halter neck and a black and daisy print, paired with her white sneakers. Ben would be more dressed up than she was, but there was no way to avoid that. The man always looked like he’d just stepped out of a clothing ad.

But now that she knew what he looked like with his hair rumpled and his shirt unbuttoned … She shivered. Messing him up again could be fun.

Marco had been thrilled with his new babysitter, Amy’s niece, who’d brought books and craft supplies along with her. He’d barely waved goodbye as they settled into a slime-making project in the kitchen.

She couldn’t blame her lateness on Marco, or anything else other than nerves. Ben had been so reserved the last time she’d seen him, the afternoon they’d sat on his patio, and she hadn’t seen him since. When he opened the door, she wasn’t sure which version of Ben she’d find—the aloof, formal one, or the one with the soft, kind eyes. The one who’d told her she was beautiful, a memory she’d relived more than once this week.

“Only one way to find out,” she told herself as she checked her makeup one last time in the rearview mirror and climbed out of her car.

Ben opened the door and stared at her for a long minute, long enough that she suddenly doubted everything. This would be worse than awkward, worse than their first meeting.

“You said 6:00, right? I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late.”

Ben cleared his throat. “Yes. Sorry. Come on in.” He stepped back and she followed him inside. He shut the door behind them and turned to face her. Another long moment of silence.

“Your, uh … Your hair is down.” Ben gestured in the direction of her head.

“Oh. Yeah, I leave it down once in a while.” She’d clipped the long waves to one side with a barrette, and the length of it fell down to her mid-back. Impractical hair, most days.

“It’s so long. I didn’t realize.” His eyes continued roaming over her, and warmth flooded her face.

“I like it,” he said, his voice sounding deeper than usual.

“Thank you. You look nice, too.” He wore charcoal dress pants and a black button-down. No vest, tie, or jacket tonight, which was his version of casual. He looked sharp and luxurious, and also nervous.

He opened his mouth as if about to say something else, then shut it.

“I can get you a glass of wine, if you want?” he asked after a beat.

“Sure.”

The word unfroze him, and he went to the counter, where he’d uncorked a bottle of merlot, and poured her a glass. She cradled the glass in the palm of her hand, took a sip, then set it down.

“Is something wrong? We can do this another time, if you’re not feeling—”

“Nothing’s wrong.” He shook his head, shutting his eyes for a moment. “God, I’m sorry. I made all these plans for tonight, and it’s awkward already, isn’t it?”

“The last time I saw you, we had a hard conversation. You seemed like you wanted your privacy afterward. And to be honest, part of me thought you wouldn’t even want to go ahead with this date.”

“That’s not it.” He set down his glass and braced a hand on the counter. “I do want to do this. But I think … I’m still struggling with the contrast between what I could do before, and what I can do now. I had a nice dinner delivered by caterers. I set up the dining table with actual china and cloth napkins. When I planned all this, I thought it would be as good as a restaurant, as good as taking you out on a real date. But the truth is, I feel ridiculous. If I’d met you a year ago, I would have taken you out someplace nice. This is not good enough for you. I mean, look at you.”

“What about me?” She took a step closer to him.

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