Page 22 of The Write Place

“I wanted to tell you I’m going home, but I saw that smile on your face and I had to stay,” she teases. I groan and lay back, covering my face with my other pillow.

“Smother me now, please.” My voice is muffled, and Jenny’s laugh is too loud in the quiet of the night.

“Not a chance, honey. I wouldn’t want to see lover boy’s sad puppy face when I told him you were dead.”

I groan again, pushing the pillow down harder, and Jenny calls, “Good night, Lizzy Bennet!”

I pull the pillow off my face. “How does that even fit?” I call after her.

“Come on, it’s obvious!” she returns. I hear her shoes scrape against the entryway tile as she pulls them on. “He’s a rich guy trying to woo you; you’re a witty, well-read commoner who is trying to convince yourself you want nothing to do with him. You’re one saving-your-little-sister-from-a-ruined-reputation situation away from falling madly in love.”

“I don’t have a little sister,” I yell, staring up at my ceiling.

“No, but you have me!” I hear her stand and grab her purse off the barstool where she left it.

“Your reputation is already ruined!”

“You can’t see me flipping you off right now, but it’s happening!” She almost sings the last word in an overly cheery voice.

“A Bennet sister would never.” I feign shock. She laughs as she pulls open the front door.

“I’ve contemporized it. Modern Lydia absolutely would flip the bird and you know it. Good night.” She sings the last word again and pulls the door shut behind her.

Chapter 9

I don’t hear anything else from Daniel all weekend, not that I’m waiting or anything. He doesn’t seem like the type to hole himself up and write all weekend, but I don’t know what else he’d do since he doesn’t know anyone in town. Maybe go to Tony’s and pick up another girl, my traitor brain thinks sometime on Sunday, and my traitor heart gets this pressing, angry feeling which is about when I grab my shoes and headphones and go for a long, long run.

Usually running clears my head and helps me sort out my scattered thoughts. About three miles into this one, though, and I’m still a mess. Living in Leade Park rather than in a neighboring town means that I have gotten very good at defining a solid line between my personal and professional lives. That’s not to say they never mix—I see students in public all the time—but, with only a few exceptions, I don’t become friends with them or their families like some teachers. It’s not necessarily wrong; I just like my privacy. Being a teacher, that sort of gray area is unavoidable, but when it comes to dating, I’ve always tried to keep a solid line between my job and my romantic interests. I would never date someone who works at LPHS, and I’ve never had a boyfriend who has even seen the inside of the school. There’s no rule against it, but I wouldn’t be able to handle seeing reminders of that person every day. There’s something about Daniel that breaks through my filters, though. I know I’m not technically working with him, but he’s straddling the line between my school life and my personal life in a way I’m not entirely comfortable with, and the man is like some kind of magnet. When I’m around him, I feel this pull sometimes that’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

Except he doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Or he does, but in a really delicious way. Did I describe Daniel as delicious? Of course, my traitor brain would latch on to that word, and then jump right to that delicious, musky kiss. My stomach turns to jelly, and I try to run harder to shake the feeling.

I tick off another mile, turning onto a path that loops around a park. Leade Park is aptly named, with beautiful recreation areas all across town. I’ve always loved this particular place, especially in the fall. It’s early October now, and the air is chilled but not cold. The first leaves are starting to change color. Bursts of gold and red are spreading among the lush, green leaves. The reds, yellows, and greens are reflected with the brilliant autumn blue of the sky in the pond at the center of the park. The surrounding path is almost exactly four miles, and they always keep it plowed in the winter, so it is a great loop to run in any season, but fall is my favorite time to watch the huge oak and maple trees turn bright colors and to run on the path, crunching their fallen leaves beneath my feet.

I’m still running hard, though, and my stomach lurches a bit like it usually does when I’m over-exerting myself, so I slow and walk off the path, stopping next to an oak tree. I brace myself against the tree trunk and take in huge gulps of air, leaning forward slightly. It’s not like me to go so hard on a run that I have to stop and catch my breath. Get it together, Milcrest. You’re a mess, I scold myself, my headphones still blaring music in my ears, sweat starting to really pour down my forehead.

My heart rate slows to a manageable beat, and I straighten slightly. I turn my head to wipe the sweat, and there is a man about a foot in front of my face.

I jump, tearing one headphone out of my ear. I shout something incoherent, but I can’t be sure what it was because he’s yelling something, too.

“Mac! Hey it’s just me!” And that’s when I realize it’s not some random man standing in front of me. It’s Daniel.

One of my hands flies to my chest where my heart is pounding again and one tears my other headphone out. I can hear the faint beat of my music from the headphones dangling from my neck, so I pull my phone out and turn the music off to take an extra second to collect myself.

“Daniel! What the hell?” I breathe-yell, trying to come down from the shot of adrenaline he gave me.

“I’m sorry! I thought you saw me,” he indicates a bench a few feet from the tree I’m still standing under. His bag, laptop, and notebook are strewn about, and it looks like he’s probably been there for a while. “I thought that’s why you stopped.” He’s smirking now, and the sight of it fills me with equal parts rage and longing. I push my own mouth into a thin line to not betray my embarrassment.

“I did not.” My words are clipped, but it only makes his grin widen.

“You really should pay attention to your surroundings,” he scolds, but his tone is teasing.

“Yeah, well,” I scoff. I’m still breathing a little heavily, though I feel more in control. “I’m usually very aware of my surroundings. I was… thinking.”

“Must have been some thinking.” The grin hasn’t disappeared, but now I feel his eyes on me more intensely. A bead of sweat start to tickle its way down my temple, and I brush it away, wiping my hand on my leggings. I tug and fiddle with the hem of my tank top. His expression turns serious, and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I ask, confused.

“Don’t fidget. Don’t adjust. You look…” he stops himself and swallows. “You look fine.”