Page 57 of In the Long Run
Impossible.It’s such a good face.I must say that out loud too because as my eyelids close, the last thing I hear is Knox’s surprised, throaty laugh.
It’s early afternoon when I wake.Sunshine dances across Knox’s face, bathing his skin in a golden glow.I’d sit and watch him for a bit longer but my bladder protests.He glances over when I stand.
‘Hey there,’ he says, closing his laptop.He must’ve gone to grab it from his place and come back.
‘Hi.’
He looks good on my couch.Nestled into the corner, with a coffee tucked against his hip and a plate with a few crumbs on it next to him.He nods towards the coffee table.‘I got you a sandwich.’
I peek inside the brown paper bag sitting next to Caleb’s stack of cookbooks.
‘I got you several sandwiches,’ he clarifies, and the tips of his ears go adorably pink.‘Wasn’t sure what you’d feel like.There’s soup in the fridge, too.’
The word ‘fridge’ makes me pause.My brain starts sending up smoke signals that it’s significant for some reason and then I remember: Caleb’s drawing of Knox.The caricature gets more ostentatious every few days.The newest additions?A backwards baseball cap and a large gold necklace with a diamond-studded ‘Stern Croissant Daddy’ pendant that hangs between what I can confirm are not outrageously inaccurate assumptions about Knox’s chest muscles.
‘Caleb did the drawing.It wasn’t me.’
Knox looks down at his hands, his lips curling into an embarrassed smile.‘Please don’t ever show it to Celeste or Yeti.’
‘I won’t,’ I reply, grateful he’s not going to make it into some big thing.‘Um …’ I pull at the neckline of the jumper I’m wearing and realise it’s huge.And blue.And not mine.
‘You got cold,’ Knox says, and the pink on his ears moves to his cheeks, his neck.‘Woke up and demanded my jumper.’
That sounds like me.‘Do you want it back?’He’s changed into a pair of slouchy jeans and a black hoodie.Showered too, based on the fresh, clean scent that fills my nose when I breathe deeply.
‘It’s okay,’ he says.
‘Oh, well, thanks.’I clear my throat.‘For everything.Today, I mean.’
‘It seemed like you could use a friend.’He pauses, shakes his head like he’s trying to talk himself into something and then says, ‘And I wanted that friend to be me.’
Friend.Oh.Oh.
This morning’s embarrassment resurfaces.Knox isn’t talking himselfintosomething.He’s already talked himself out of it.There’s no denying the attraction between us, but we can’t keep going on like this.If we do, we’ll be stuck in uncharted waters and every time I think I see land, it’ll be gone in a blink.
Knox isn’t just nestled into the corner of my couch.He’s giving me space.Setting a new boundary for us.Reminding us both that this can’t go anywhere anyway.
So what’s the point?
It’s another bit of proof that Knoxisa good guy.
Being friends is the smart call here.My client list’s finally at a level where I can breathe properly again, we’re heading towards the pointy end of marathon training, and it’ll be much easier to see Knox when he visits Eugene in the future if we keep things platonic.
‘I can go, though …’ He starts to pack up his things and I realise I’ve been silent for too long.
‘No, no.’My words tumble out all over each other.I take a deep breath.‘I’m glad you’re still here.’
Because I am.
We share an awkward look and I’m saved from not knowing what to say next when my bladder reminds me that it’s in charge.‘I’ll be right back.’
‘Have you heard ofThe Barkley Marathons?’Knox asks.
Never.
‘It’s a documentary about an ultramarathon in the States.Do you want to skip work and watch it?’
‘Sure.’
