by Nancy Warren
She hated jogging. But today, violent exercise felt like exactly what she needed. She started off imitating the pace of the jogger in front of her, but soon had to slow down when she was in danger of cardiac arrest. Once she found her pace, she let her mind roam free. The physical discomfort mirrored her mental state as she recalled again and again the moment that terrifyingly elegant woman had kissed Dylan on the mouth and announced she was his girlfriend.
It was like a recurring nightmare vision. Again and again the same scene played out in her head. The worst part was that she had no right to object to Dylan having a girlfriend: she was engaged for goodness sake. Except that she wasn't, and she had truly believed that what he felt for her might be more than friendship. That it might come close to what she felt for him.
Crazy romantic. That was the trouble. She spent too much of her life inside the covers of a novel, or within the popcorn-scented comfort of a movie theater. Fantasy was not good for a gullible romantic. Romance novels and movies should be outlawed. From now on, she decided, she was only reading dark, gritty thrillers, and maybe nonfiction. Yes, that's what she should do. She should read edifying books about philosophy and art. No! Not art, art was romantic. She looked at gorgeous paintings and always made up a story about the image. That would not do. No, she’d stick to reading about science and history.
She felt heat prickle her skin, especially the back of her neck, uncomfortable beneath the heaviness of her hair, which bumped against her neck in a very unpleasant manner. She looked at the joggers running towards her and the huge number who sped past her as though she was a broken-down car in the slow lane. They all seemed so comfortable with this horrible exercise. Some even looked happy. Runner’s high. As if. She glanced at her watch. She'd been going for nine minutes. She kept running; this had to get easier.
Dylan had no idea where Meg had gone but he knew he had to find her. He thought, from the little he knew about her, and the things he’d read on her roommate's blog, that she was the kind of woman who would go home and retreat to a familiar place if something was bothering her.
He’d caught a glimpse of her face when Amy had announced that she was his girlfriend, and she’d looked stricken. He couldn't stand for her to think that he was attached when he was so clearly single. Whatever was going on with her, he really needed to know the truth once and for all.
He felt a strange sense of urgency, or maybe just an eagerness to see her again, to assure her that whatever her story was, he was a single man. It occurred to him that even if she actually was engaged, she wasn't making much effort to see her guy, so maybe he wasn't the right man for her. Meg deserved someone who’d be there for her, who wanted to go to her movie premieres and book signings and whatever events she was involved with. If her fiancé wasn't up to the job, Dylan wanted to step in and be that man.
He pulled out his phone and realized he needed to see her, talk to her, work things out face to face. So, not many minutes after his final goodbye to Amy, he found himself knocking on Meg’s door.
“Come on, come on,” he said under his breath, hoping she'd be home. If she wasn't here, he had no idea where to look for her. He didn't want to call her. This was not a conversation to have on a cell.
To his relief he heard the door lock turn and then the door opened. Even as he set a foot forward to talk to Meg, he froze in place.
The woman staring back at him seemed equally shocked to see him. “What are you doing in Meg's apartment?” He asked the woman who had come into his store and tried on the wedding dress, claiming it was for a pregnant friend.
She tossed her hair. “She’s my roommate. What did you do to her?”
“I didn't do anything to her.”
“Well, she came here looking wild-eyed and strung out.”
“I really need to talk to her.”
The woman looked very much as though she didn't trust him. “She's not here.”
“Do you know where she is?”
She narrowed her eyes at him like she suspected he was here to case the joint. “She's jogging.”
“Jogging?” Somehow Meg had not struck him as the jogging type.
“She looked like she had some energy that needed burning off.”
“I don't suppose you know where she went?”
She glared at him. “Are you the reason she came here looking crushed and broken?”
He didn’t want to think of Meg hurting. He said, “Probably.”
“Are you going to make things right with her?”
“Yes. I want to.”
“She's at Griffith Park.”
He’d never find her. “Griffith Park? There’s fifty miles of trails in there.”
The roommate rolled her eyes. “I drew her a map. I might as well draw you one too.”
“And this is where she went?” he asked when she handed him the hand-drawn trail guide.
“It’s where she said she was going.”
As he was leaving he said, “Hey, how’s your pregnant friend? She still in the market for a wedding dress?”
The woman didn’t blush or even look embarrassed. She said, “I’m helping you find Meg. That makes us even. Don’t make me snatch that map back.”
He headed straight for the park. Didn't have time to go home and change into jogging clothes. He wore jeans, loafers, and a black T-shirt. When he got to the park, he followed the path the roommate had drawn for him. He began by striding along and then, frustrated, he broke into a run. He searched the faces of every runner coming towards him, but none of them was Meg. His jeans were not made to run in, his loafers certainly weren't. But he didn't want to waste one extra minute before he found Meg and told her he was single, available, and that he had feelings for her.
He jogged an uncomfortable mile, maybe two, and then he saw her coming towards him. She wasn't moving very fast. She looked overheated, her face red and streaked with sweat, her hair escaping from her ponytail in wild wisps. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. “Meg!” he yelled, and ran towards her.
She didn't exactly look overjoyed to see him. Mostly, she appeared confused. She slowed to a walk. She was panting. “Dylan,” she wheezed. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to find you.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. They were hot from exertion.
She looked up at him. “Why?”
Those intense brown eyes told him everything he needed to know. Words did not seem adequate to express what he wanted to say. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Her lips trembled beneath his, and then she clung to him. He tasted salt from her workout. He pulled away much sooner than he wanted to, because, from the way she'd been panting, she needed the oxygen. He gazed down at her and if possible she was more flushed. “Amy's not my girlfriend.”
Two young moms ran by, pushing infants in jogging strollers. He led Meg off the busy path and they found a grassy spot to sit on.
“She seemed to think she was.”
He took her hand. She didn't pull away. It was old-fashioned, romantic, and he didn't care. Her hand felt right in his. A little hot and sweaty, but small and fine-boned. “She was my girlfriend in college. We tried to keep it going but she lives in San Jose. I’m here. It’s true, we never officially broke up, but things petered out. I haven't seen her in two months.”
“You haven’t seen her for two months?”
“No. When she arrived today, I could not have been more surprised.”
“Neither could I.”
“I know. I'm so sorry about that.”
“What made her come back now, after two months? And announce that she was your girlfriend?” she asked, still panting a little.
“She saw the pictures of us. The wedding pictures from an ad I ran online. And you know what she said?”
“What?”
“She said, that in the picture it seemed like I was crazy about you.”
He felt her hands tremble. “That is a very talented p
hotographer.”
“It's true. I am crazy about you.”
She made a sound sort of like a moan.
“Are you okay?”
She was flapping her hand in front of her face. “I was already breathless. Now I feel like I don’t have any air.”
He opened up her water bottle and handed it to her. She drank some and closed her eyes for a second.
Then he said, “I have to ask. Is there any hope for me? Is there any chance that you maybe might not get married?”
She put her hand over her eyes. He wanted to kiss her again so badly, but resisted the urge.
She said, “I'm not engaged. I never was.”
After a second, she dropped her hand and looked at him, presumably to see his reaction. Then her jaw dropped. “You don't even look surprised. Did you know?”
“I didn't know for sure. But, I was hoping.” He was so happy, and she was so adorable. “He’s never around, you seemed to have no actual plans. You never talked about him. And, there was this thing developing between us. So, I hoped.”
“You don't think I'm a crazy person?”
He laughed. “Not at all.”
She leaned forward. “It was the dress. One minute, I was minding my own business, walking down Melrose on my lunch hour. And then I saw the dress and it was like it cast a spell on me. I couldn't help but walk into Joe’s Past and Present and then I tried it on, and you looked at me and you asked when I was getting married, and I couldn't say I hadn’t had a date in months. I just fell into fantasy.”
That was a good way to put it. “We both did.”
“Really?”
He stretched out his legs and leaned back on his elbows then stared up at the sky. “I'm a rational man. I write business plans and calculate profit and loss statements. I don't fall for a girl the first time I see her.”
She gave him her sweet, shy smile. “You did?”
“I did.”
“So, we’re both single.” She offered him that quirky grin that he adored.
“Are we?”
Chapter 11
When she looked at him that way, nothing in the world could stop him from leaning over and pulling her closer. This time, their kiss was long, deep, and full of promise.
“I just got my breath back,” she complained. She put a hand to her chest. “Now I'm breathless again.” Her eyes twinkled. “But in a good way.”
“I have an idea. Why don't we go back to your place and you can get cleaned up and then I'll take you out to celebrate.”
Her eyes lit up. “I'd love that.” And then a look of embarrassment crossed her face. “But, I'm not sure . . . My place is um, my roommate is home and she—”
“Came into Joe's and tried on your dress and pretended it was for a pregnant friend?”
“How did you know that?”
“I went by your place earlier.”
“Honestly, I could have killed her when she told me she went into the store and asked about the wedding dress. I have no idea what she was doing.”
“Don't worry. We're cool. How do you think I tracked you down?”
“June?”
“Is that her name?”
“Yeah. Usually she's out all the time, but she's in intense writing mode right now.”
“That's okay. I'll play nice.”
“Good.”
“Do you want to jog back to the cars?”
“I am so done with jogging.”
He laughed put a hand out and pulled her to her feet. And since he pulled a little harder than strictly necessary, she ended up chest to chest with him and he went in for another deep kiss. He felt as though he could spend the rest of his life kissing this woman and never grow tired of it.
Since they had two cars, they met back at her place. Sure enough, the roommate was on the couch working on a laptop when they got there. She glanced up and seemed relieved to see the two of them together. “Did you kiss and make up?”
He loved the way Meg blushed as she answered. “We did.”
The roommate seemed genuinely happy. “Good. You two fit together.”
While Meg excused herself to shower and change her clothes, he took a seat on the single chair in their small living area facing the couch. He said, “Meg mentioned that her roommate writes a dating blog. Are you by any chance Single Chick in LA?”
“How did you figure that out?”
“I stumbled across one of your posts. It was funny. About dating a bowler.”
She nodded. “It was the big balls headline. Pulled a lot of traffic.”
“You're a good writer.”
“Thanks.”
He gestured with his chin to her laptop. “Writing your latest blog post?”
“I’m going over a novel I wrote. But writing is tough. As difficult as acting.”
“Most things worth doing are difficult.”
“What, retail?”
“Well, running a vintage store has its challenges, but my real gig is working on a startup.”
“Wow. That's cool.”
“Cool, terrifying if we don't get the funding, even more terrifying if another company puts a better product out before we can get to market. But, exhilarating too.”
“And then there's Meg, struggling to get her big break so she can get promoted at her agency. What is with us? Why isn’t any of this easy?”
He shrugged. “I think if something’s easy you're probably not trying hard enough.”
“Words to live by.”
They chatted for a few minutes, mostly about being single in LA, though he suspected that state was now over for him. And then Meg returned. Her hair was still wet from the shower and lay in loose, damp curls. She wore a green sundress that showed off her slender curves. And slung over her shoulder was a bag big enough that an optimist could imagine it contained at least a toothbrush and a change of clothing.
As they were leaving, June said, “Since I don't know when I'll see you again, can I email you my book and get some feedback?”
Meg felt embarrassed, as though June had X-ray vision and could see inside her bag where she’d slipped her makeup case, and a change of clothes in case she ended up not coming home tonight. For Meg this was a big deal, and June all but broadcasting the fact left her deeply mortified.
Then, she had the added stress of knowing that June would expect her to be an in-house editor. It brought back to her clearly the days of her last relationship, the needy writer desperate for praise, and her attempts to give helpful editorial suggestions without crushing his delicate writer’s ego. It had been horrible with her boyfriend, but at least they hadn’t lived together. She wasn't sure she could handle having to live with a temperamental writer who, if she praised the work, thought she was blowing smoke, and if she criticized it in even the gentlest fashion, felt that she was attacking.
However, she’d promised and it was a big deal to finish a first novel. “Congratulations on finishing the book. Sure, go ahead and send it to me.” And then she and Dylan headed out the door.
He said, “You didn't seem too thrilled with the idea of reading June's manuscript.”
She was so glad she was finally free to tell Dylan anything she wanted to. She told him about her last relationship and how on the one hand dating a needy author had led her to her current career and on the other hand the relationship had left her deeply distrustful of needy creative types.
“I'm no expert, but I bet June is tougher than you think. I've read her blog. She gets pretty harsh comments and actually handles them really well.”
She turned to stare at him. “You've read June’s blog?”
He chuckled and she felt that he was genuinely amused. “Absolutely. Single Chick in LA is my go-to place for dating advice.”
“Very funny. Really, how did you stumble across her blog?”
“Wow, this is really a day for you and I to share our secrets, isn't it?”
“I like sharing secrets with you.” She felt warm and intimate knowing that she
could probably tell him anything and he’d understand or at least try to understand and she hoped she could do the same for him.
“I was in my favorite coffee shop over my lunch hour checking out how our ads were doing and looking to see if any fashion blogs had picked up the press release about the Evangeline gown. Somehow, her blog came up. I would have flipped past it but there was a headline about big balls that made me laugh and so I read her blog post.”
“The bowler from Winnipeg.”
“That very one. Then, do you know what her next post was?”
“No. Honestly, I don't have time to read her blog consistently. I hope she wasn't mean about the men in LA. You can't take it personally. She gets a little bitter sometimes.”
Once more he grinned at her and she thought his smile was one of the most charming things about him. “The title of her blog post, I recall, was something like, ‘How my roommate met the guy of her dreams and then pretended she was engaged.’”
Her jaw literally fell open. “She did not!”
His chuckle was truly evil. “Oh, she did.”
“I am going to kill her.”
“Don't. She did me such a favor. You had mentioned over dinner that your roommate wrote a blog about dating in LA. Even though there are probably hundreds of those blogs out there, something about it made me wonder. And then, when I read back over her older posts, I noticed that when she mentioned the roommate, that woman sounded like you.”
“Tell me you didn't read the post about our double date.”
“It was hilarious.”
“If you can like me after that, anything is possible.”
“Oh, liking you is the least I can do.”
They drove through the evening and found a small bistro with an outdoor patio. Now that her secret was out and they were free to be honest about their feelings, they couldn’t seem to stop talking. About everything from her hopes and fears about her future at the agency to his about his startup. After dinner, he said, “I have to take you to my favorite place for gelato.”
