Read Online Running from Love: A Story for Runners and Lovers by Rozsa Gaston - Free Book Online

Whenever they’d discussed questions of taste, Will would say “not my tea bag” when something wasn’t to his liking, which had been frequently.
    “Not much you can do about it now.”
    “Well—that’s why I’m calling.”
    “Come again?” She used the phrase deliberately to put some space between them. He had hated it.
    “Farrah, don’t say that. It sounds ridiculous.”
    “Don’t tell me what to do anymore. Just tell me why you’re calling.” She willed herself not to sound shrill. There was no reason to let him get under her skin.
    “It seems there’s a certain—uh—window of opportunity with my situation right now. So I wanted to find out how you’re feeling.”
    “About what?”
    “About—uh—me.”
    “We haven’t spoken in three years, and you’re asking me how I’m feeling about you?” He had an incredible nerve, a quality she’d always admired in him, until she’d loathed it.
    “I—I thought maybe you might have thought about me from time to time.”
    “And what about you? Have you thought about me from time to time?” Keep it low and smooth girl. Smooth and cool as silk.
    “I have.”
    “You know my mother used to say something her own mother used to tell her.”
    “What’s that?”
    “You made your bed, now lie in it.” If only she felt half as fierce as her words. Instead, her heart pounded at the sound of Will’s polished voice. He was so refined; so everything she wasn’t, yet wanted to be.
    “Listen—Farrah—can we get together for a drink? So we can talk about this in person?”
    “I still don’t understand what we’re supposed to talk about. Your marriage? I don’t really want to know anything about it.” That wasn’t entirely true, but she wanted to put up a strong front.
    “I’d like to see you so I can explain a few things in person.”
    “Did I ask you for an explanation?” In fact, she did want an explanation—an explanation of why he’d broken up with her so inexplicably when everything had been going so right.
    “Not just an explanation. I just want to see you again and—let you know about a—a development that’s come up.”
    “I’m not a punching bag, Will.” Strike two. She’d said his name again.
    “And I’m not a pugilist.”
    Arch-toned Will had been the man she’d loved and desperately wanted. He’d represented everything sophisticated and civilized in her life that she hadn’t started out with back in Jackson Heights, Queens. A pugilist was someone who liked to fight. She hadn’t known that before Will had introduced her to the word.
    “Unless you have something new to tell me, I see no point in meeting,” she said weakly, resolving to e-mail Jude the second she got off the phone and firm up their dinner plans. It was time to take charge of her new life, not slip back into the uncertainty and heartbreak of her old one.
    “I do have something new to tell you.” Will was relentless, just as he’d been when he’d pursued her at the start of their relationship.
    “I have something to tell you, too. I’m not up for being your sounding board either.”
    “That’s not it.”
    “Okay, then what?” God, if his wife was pregnant, she would just die. No way did she want to know that.
    “Can we meet at the Boathouse Café?”
    “When?”
    “This Saturday afternoon?”
    “I’m busy.” She wasn’t.
    “Sunday afternoon?”
    “I’m flying to Phoenix for work.” She paused. “Okay. Maybe I can move some things around Saturday. What time?”
    “Say around four?”
    “You’re talking about the Boathouse Café, right? Not the takeout window next to the cafe?” How could she forget one of their first dates, when she’d thought he’d invited her to the upscale Boathouse Café in Central Park, until he led her to the takeout window of the informal snack kiosk next door and bought her a hot chocolate. It had been the first moment it occurred to her he might not be the man he presented himself as. Then, she’d gone