Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5)

by Heather Wardell

  He squeezed my hands then released them. "Now eat your chocolate before I steal it."

  I popped the square into my mouth and said around it, "Good luck with that."

  We walked back to the office through the drifting delicate snowflakes, the cool December light making them sparkle, and the sweetness I felt flooding me had nothing to do with the chocolate and everything to do with him.

  *****

  We were a bit shy with each other for a few days after that, until he arrived at my cubicle for Friday lunch in time to hear my phone call to Sandra.

  "Look, bud, I'm sorry," I said when she came on the line, "but I can't do dinner tonight."

  "Really? I wanted to bore you senseless by showing you a billion wedding invitations and making you help me narrow it down to the top thousand or so. "

  I laughed. "While that sounds like no fun at all, I still have to say no. I missed my run this morning and I totally have to get it in."

  In the short pause that followed, I could feel Sandra struggling whether to point out that a missed run would do me, who wasn't training for anything but fitting into a bridesmaid dress, no harm at all. She'd want to, I knew, but she also wouldn't want to interfere. She'd told me on a few occasions that she truly didn't care what I weighed and that I shouldn't be losing weight for her, and the last time I'd done my best to explain that I really wasn't doing it for her. She was the catalyst, yes, but I wanted so badly to be a success at it.

  In the end, Sandra said, "I'd offer to run with you but I know you don't want me to."

  "You're way too fast for me."

  "I am capable of slowing down."

  "But why waste your time running slow with me?"

  "Better that than wasting it on this ridiculous call," she said. "I swear, if you ever decide to become an evil overlord, we're in huge trouble. If you turn all that obsession—"

  "I prefer the word 'focus'."

  "And I'd prefer to be a millionaire, but we don't always get what we prefer. If you turn all that focus slash obsession to evil purposes, we are doomed."

  "Well, hope I stay focused on this then."

  "I suppose. Will we still have coffee tomorrow morning or are you canceling that too?"

  "No, I'm keeping that one. Unless you keep mouthing off."

  "See you never, then."

  When I'd hung up, Andrew said, "Sandra?"

  I nodded. They hadn't met yet, but Sandra was growing increasingly vocal in her demands for that to happen. I hadn't told her about all our hugs, or that he'd called me gorgeous, but she still knew how I felt about him and insisted she had to make sure he was good enough for me. I'd said she could meet him when something significant happened, and she was reluctantly fine with that. "For now," she'd added ominously.

  "But you were here at the crack of dawn for that meeting. Why not run tomorrow? You must be exhausted."

  I was exhausted, but... "Nope, I have an elliptical workout then."

  "Do that on Sunday."

  "I have another run Sunday."

  "When's your rest day?"

  I pretended to ponder. "June?"

  He shook his head. "Well, if you insist on running, I'll have to go with you."

  "The two halves of that sentence do not go together."

  "Sure they do. I want to hang out with you. You are running. Therefore I must run too."

  "I'm slower than frozen dirt."

  "I'll tie my legs together."

  I'd been expecting a "oh, you can't be that slow" kind of response and burst out laughing.

  "I'm taking that as a yes."

  "Andrew, seriously, you don't have to. I'll be fine."

  "I know." He looked deep into my eyes. "I want to."

  His sincerity was so obvious I couldn't say no, but snow began to fall during the afternoon and I assumed we'd cancel the run.

  When he stuck his head into my cubicle at six and said, "Ready to go?", I pointed at the window. "It's snowing."

  "So?"

  "I can't run in the snow."

  "Sure you can. Why not?"

  I frowned. "Won't it be slippery?"

  He shook his head. "Not enough's fallen. Come on, it'll be nice. Hardly anyone'll be out."

  "I wonder why," I muttered, but we drove to his house so he could get his running shoes and were soon walking around his neighborhood for a warm-up. I'd fortunately chosen my nicer running pants and a long-sleeved shirt that made me look halfway sleek when I'd packed my gym bag that morning. Andrew offered to lend me a jacket, but I refused, afraid it might not fit me and I'd be embarrassed, by insisting it wasn't that cold out and I didn't need the extra layer. I did accept mittens and a hat, though. Under his jacket, he wore a shirt from the same marathon Sandra had done in the summer, and I knew she'd be thrilled.

  Once my GPS watch had figured out where we were, I started the timer and we set off. He'd been right, actually; the gently falling snow was lovely, and the faintly lit empty streets seemed magical. The flakes sparkled in the air but didn't linger on the ground, so we could run with no problem.

  Well, except that he was a far better runner than I could ever dream of being.

  "You don't need to drag yourself along at my pace," I said, panting a bit and trying to hide it. Once I'd been running for fifteen minutes or so my breathing always smoothed out, but the start of each run was tough and today's was even tougher. "It must be annoying for you."

  "To be out for a nice relaxing run? No way."

  "'Relaxing' and 'run' do not belong in the same sentence."

  "They should. It's the best when I'm working at home and get frustrated. After a run, everything seems clearer. You don't do that?"

  I shook my head and held up my watch. "I program the goal speed and make myself stick to it."

  "You never just go by how it feels?"

  "Nope. It always feels bad."

  "Always? You never enjoy running?"

  "When it's finished, sure."

  We ran in silence for a few moments, save for my panting, then he said, "Come with me."

  "Huh?"

  "I'm speeding up and you're coming too."

  "I can't run fast."

  "Bet you can. Come on."

  And he pulled ahead like he'd strapped rockets to his shoes.

  I stayed at my own pace at first and watched him go, but the freedom and beauty of his long relaxed stride made me want to emulate it so I pushed myself forward. To my surprise, it actually felt better, as my usual short steps were replaced by much more fluid movements.

  When I reached his side, he said, "Nice. Let me know when you've had enough."

  I held the pace as long as I could, liking the relative speed and not wanting to make him slow down, but eventually had to gasp, "I need a break."

  "We count down from ten and then you get one."

  "What?"

  He began counting, continuing at the same speed. I gave the last three numbers with him and then we slowed to a gentle jog.

  "Did you like that?"

  "I don't know. Now I'm all tired."

  "So we rest until you're not, and then we go again."

  "But this isn't as efficient. Joel says I should do the long slow burn."

  "If Joel told you to jump off a cliff, would you?"

  "Would I lose weight if I did?"

  He gently elbowed me. "There's more to life than your weight, you know."

  "Really? I hadn't heard."

  "Well, hear me now, then." He proceeded to say, "There's more to life than your weight" over and over until I had to run faster to get away from him. He followed me, of course, but as we went back and forth between faster and slower speeds he did at least shut up.

  Until we were done.

  As we walked to cool down, he said, "What does your watch think of all that?"

  I checked, then double-checked, surprised. "Pretty much my usual distance and calories."

  "A bit more enjoyable, though, right?"

  I wavered, then admitted that was tr
ue. I expected him to press his advantage, but he just said, "I'm glad you had fun. Me too."

  I didn't know what to say to this, and apparently he didn't either because we stayed silent for a while before he said, "I think I had a heart attack today."

  His tone wasn't quite serious, but not entirely joking either. "And we went for a run?"

  "Not a real one, although it was probably close. I heard someone telling Jackie to head home early."

  I said innocently, "Really? And who might that have been?"

  "I swear I thought I was going insane. You telling someone to rest and take time off?"

  "She'd been working overtime all week, and she seriously needed a break."

  "Do you hear yourself? You were there as long as she was."

  Longer, actually, but I didn't think telling him that would help my cause. "It's different."

  "Why?"

  "Because it just is?"

  He chuckled. "Nice explanation. Got a better one?"

  "Obviously not, or I'd have given it instead."

  "True. But seriously, come on. You must see what I mean."

  I sighed. "I do. I can't help it, though. I never think I've done enough."

  "Even with that list you showed me?"

  "I know. I'm just obsessive that way."

  He let it drop, but I knew it wouldn't last.

  After we got back to his house he suggested he take a quick shower then meet me at my place so we could figure out what work needed to get finished over the weekend.

  He arrived after I'd taken my own shower and we worked for an hour or two then settled on the couch for a break.

  I'd known we weren't finished, and sure enough he brought it up again. "If that were my list, would you think it was impressive?"

  I hedged but eventually had to admit that I would.

  "So?"

  I sighed. "It's not just the work. It's how I did the work."

  "Don't follow."

  I looked for an example. "Okay, take yesterday afternoon. I'd planned to spend two solid hours working on the new game area, but then I checked my email a few times and spent five minutes chatting with Liz when she wandered by. I did finish everything I'd planned to do, but I didn't do it how I meant to."

  He considered this. "So if you'd done exactly the same amount of work and worked for exactly two hours, you'd be happier?"

  "Well, yeah, because I'd have stuck to the plan. I'd have done a better job."

  He looked down at Ruby, curled up in his lap. "Are you following this, fur ball? Working more time to do the same amount of work means she did a better job. Does that make sense?"

  Ruby yawned.

  "Poor baby, you've tried to straighten her out so many times you're exhausted. Let me take over."

  "Stop using my cat against me."

  Andrew smiled at me. "Neither of us is against you. We just don't want you to work yourself to death."

  "I'm not."

  "Why is working two hours without a break better than working two hours with a ten-minute break? Especially if you get the same amount of stuff done."

  "It just is."

  He pulled his mouth to one side and studied me without speaking.

  I stared back, but eventually gave in. "Okay, maybe it's not. But it feels like it is. The first way, I'm in control and doing my best work. The other way, I let myself wander off and stop working."

  "That's what a break is."

  "But I didn't plan the break."

  "So that's it? You can't stick to the arbitrary schedule you gave yourself so you feel bad? You're not a robot, you know."

  "I might be," I said in my best metallic voice. "Foolish human."

  He knocked gently on my forehead. "You're not made of metal. Definitely not a robot."

  "Cyborg?"

  He shook his head. "Doubt it. Look, why not plan for breaks each hour? Then when you take them, it'll be okay."

  I sighed. "I've tried that, but if I go even a bit off the plan, I get upset about it. I guess I have to accept that I'll never think I'm good enough."

  He eased Ruby off his lap onto the floor, then moved closer to me on the couch, the intensity in his eyes setting my heart pounding. "You're more than good enough. You're amazing. I wish you knew it."

  His arm slid around me, and I turned into him and pressed my face to his shoulder. "You're the amazing one, putting up with me."

  He stood, drawing me to my feet too, and wrapped both arms around my upper back. "Nothing to put up with. I just wish you could see how much you achieve."

  I wound my arms around his waist and snuggled into him. I felt so safe in his arms. Safe enough to tell him anything. "I do see it. I know it's a lot. I just can't accept that it's enough."

  His breath stirred my hair as he said, "Why not? Do you know?"

  "Not for sure, but I do remember the first time I felt that way." I shut my eyes, more to savor his embrace than to bring back the memory. "In second grade, I got a perfect score on a spelling test. I'd been pretty bad at spelling before, so my parents were so happy and so proud of me, kept going on about how great it was and how I should be so proud of myself for working so hard."

  "Okay," he said softly, encouraging me to keep going.

  "But I hadn't done my spelling homework for days because I hated it so much, and I'd only learned the words by cramming them all in at recess right before the test. I couldn't tell my parents that because they were so happy, so I had to listen to them keep on praising me for working so hard..." I shrugged.

  "When you hadn't done the work."

  "Yeah. I remember being so confused, because I did do well on the test, and I could have been proud of that, but I couldn't be proud of how I'd worked."

  "It's that whole journey and destination thing."

  I nodded against his chest. "'It's not the journey, it's the destination', as they say."

  "Say that again."

  When I did, he said, "That's not right. It's 'It's not the destination, it's the journey.'"

  "And what did I say?"

  "The opposite."

  "Oops."

  He tightened his arms around me. "But a meaningful oops. Remember your pattern from the seminar? You're all about the destination. Sure, you need the destination, but you have to enjoy the journey too. Planning your life is good, but so is actually living the plan. Correct me if I'm wrong, but right now you don't seem to be having a good time on either front."

  I wanted to argue, but I couldn't really. "I only have a good time when I do lots of work and do it exactly how I planned."

  "Which goes back to the robot thing." He squeezed me even tighter for a second then loosened back to his previous comfortable hold. "And I'm now a good ninety-nine point six percent sure you're not a robot."

  I sighed and let myself lean into him. "Kind of wish I were. I so want to be good enough, to do things right."

  "You do. You are. You're incredible."

  His sincerity made me smile into his shirt front. "Even though I fell asleep and made you do all the work that first night?"

  He chuckled. "Hey, nobody's perfect."

  I was starting to think he might be. I hadn't felt so warm and cared-for in ages. I could have stayed in his arms forever, but I made myself pull back a bit. We were still just friends, and I couldn't dump all my issues on him all the time.

  He smiled down at me. "But you're about as close as it gets. Time to get back to work?"

  It was, and we did.

  And a week later, I slept with Joel.

  Chapter Twelve

  I won't think about that. I won't, I won't. It makes me feel terrible.

  But then what will I think about? The steady ache in my foot and the growing feeling that I have to try again to escape?

  I didn't check the computer's clock when I heard the siren but it feels like it's been at least twenty minutes. If they'd seen me, surely they'd have sent someone to rescue me by now. Of course, they must be insanely busy because of the storm, but still. />
  I try to turn my attention to the idea of another escape attempt, but just like the car earlier my mind won't turn. It seems to have accepted the idea that I am stuck here and it doesn't want to explore what being stuck means in terms of what happens later.

  Not wanting to consider that word too closely, how little time 'later' can encompass, I instead focus on Sandra. She doesn't know about Joel, because I was too embarrassed to tell her. Andrew wouldn't know either if he hadn't arrived at my house at exactly the wrong time.

  How did this come up again? I am not supposed to be thinking about Joel. Right. Sandra.

  I watched hundreds of people cross the marathon's finish line before she did. Some crossed cheering for themselves, some cried, and a few looked so angry. Angry at themselves for being too slow? I didn't talk to any of them so I don't know, but the fury coming off them was hard to watch.

  There was no fury in Sandra's face when she arrived, though. She'd been expecting a four-hour marathon but ended up closer to four and a half. I was nervous as the time ticked past, afraid she'd be upset and not sure how to comfort her. I didn't have to, though. She was ecstatic.

  "I finished! Did you see me? I was running even at the end." I could barely understand her words through her panting. "I did it. I made it. I can't believe it."

  Pointing out her slower-than-planned time would have been cruel, so I didn't. Once she'd eaten half a bagel and a few bites of banana, though, she brought it up herself. "My time's not the best, but I don't care."

  "You don't?" I couldn't tell whether she meant it or was trying to convince herself.

  She gave me a tired smile. "If you had any idea how many times I nearly quit in the last six miles, you'd understand."

  "How many times?"

  "Nearly every step."

  That didn't sound like her. Sandra wasn't a quitter. I knew it was hard, but...

  "Your brain just starts going, 'Why am I doing this? I paid for this, for crying out loud. It hurts and I'm doing it to myself.'"

  I grinned at her. "I can see how that would be tough."

  Her still exertion-reddened face blushed even more. "You know what kept me going?"