The next morning, I’m fully decked out in my new boulder-holder and enough layers that I feel confident I can run two miles on my own before the public humiliation of the next group run this weekend. I remember that Isaac Brady will be there again—I refuse to call him Zack, because that’s just not the right nickname for Isaac and he’s a smug jerk who hasn’t earned a nickname from me yet.

This entire week at work, Tim hasn’t shut the hell up about the relay team. He’s ”Tim Stag Excited,” which involves micromanagement and 100 texts per day about stretching and lactic acid. I will never, ever reveal to him that I did wind up doing some of his leg stretches and they did actually feel really good.

I only tried them because I was curious, damn it.

The only slightly redeeming factor is that the other guys from work are all also receiving these hyper-detailed info dumps. At least Tim’s not assuming I’m clueless because I’m female.

I lace up my new sneakers, pull on a knitted hat with a puff ball on top, and walk out back through my sun room door. I decide I’m going to stretch while the sun rises, because that feels poetic or something. Only as I make my way through the frosty grass out back, I notice the ridge isn’t so much a ridge as a trench.

”Mother fucker,” I screech as I walk closer. Valerie was absolutely right about this thing. The bottom half of our back yard is a foot lower than the part where I sit to drink beer in the summer evenings. So much for my test run. I consider banging on my neighbor’s door, but I remember it’s six in the morning.

”Emma,” I mutter. ”Emma will be awake.” I dial my girl, who picks up almost as soon as it starts ringing.

”Nik! You’re up early. Well, you don’t sleep, do you?”

”I sleep and I’m up early. Ems--there’s a fucking trench in my back yard.”

”What do you mean?” I hear rustling on her end, like she’s sitting up in bed.

”I don’t know. My stupid neighbor says we’re having a landslide. What the fuck do I even do with a landslide?”

”Hmm.” I can hear Emma shifting around and something makes a gurgling sound.

”Are you holding a baby right now?”

”I am! Ricky is going to keep on nursing while Mama does some phone research. Aren’t you? Aren’t you, precious? Yes!” I tune her out while I walk back inside and start making coffee. Emma used to be a reporter. I know she’s probably simultaneously searching her special databases while she coos all that nonsense to her kid.

I hear Thatcher start murmuring to her in the background and I nearly gag. He’s so freaking smitten with her. He even makes glass sculptures of her and the kids to display in his gallery along with his other glass art. I shouldn’t be so bitchy about that. Emma’s in a good place. But I also don’t need to hear her husband waking up in the morning. It feels too intimate, and reminds me that I’ll never have anything like that.

”You want me to give you a call in a bit?”

”No! Nik, stay on the phone. If we end the call I will get too deep in baby work and forget all this has ever happened. I’m pulling something up about urban landslides. You need to call a…geotechnical engineer.”

”A what now?” She repeats herself. ”Huh. I had absolutely no idea there was a specific person you could call about this.”

”Well,” she says, chewing. Thatcher must have brought her some food. I approve of this. ”I don’t think they just work with landslides. Like, they are the people to call about fracking and earthquakes and stuff.”

”Fracking?”

”I mean, and other stuff, too…”

I sigh. ”Thanks, Emma. I appreciate your help.”

”I’m glad we connected! I miss your angry voice!”

”We just hung out.”

”Well, and I had to end it early because Ricky was a mess…”

”I love you and I’m hanging up now because I have to go to work and get Mark to make me an appointment with one of these fracking guys.”

”Are you wearing the new bras?”

I smile at this. ”As a matter of fact I am.” We hang up and I change for work, sliding into a navy blue lacy bra that lifts my boobs so high and cinches them in so tight in front that I look like the prow of a ship. I swear, my clothes fit differently when I wear this thing.

Even without the run, I feel much more centered as I head for the office in my killer outfit. I decide stressing about the yard trench must be as much of a workout as actually running. Or maybe having a good friend to lean on builds as many endorphins as a workout. Either way, I feel great.

At work, I stop in the kitchen to get my breakfast from Alice in person.

She smiles at me and wolf whistles. ”I see you met with Judy,” she says.

”Is it that obvious?” I grab a muffin, skeptically.

Alice nods. ”Oh yeah. You’re walking differently today. You look amazing.”

”Well I will accept the compliment, Mrs. Stag. Thank you.” I grin. She waves and gives me a thumbs up as I head out.

By the time I sit down at my desk, I actually ask Mark for help in a nice voice, which leads him to burst into my office and place the back of his hand on my forehead.

”What the hell are you doing?” I crumple a muffin wrapper and throw it at him.

”Oh thank god,” he says, brushing crumbs off his shoulder. ”When you used the word ‘please’ I worried you were dying.”

I roll my eyes. ”Well, whenever you get a chance, I need to call one of those engineer bobbies.”

”Oh, please, god, let his name be Bobby. In tight jeans…maybe a hard hat.”

”Mark, we have a ton to do for the foundation meeting.” I tap my pen on the edge of my desk, trying not to let my thoughts drift to Isaac Brady in a hard hat and faded jeans. I am absolutely not picturing him in a tool belt. Nope. My running coach is nowhere near my thoughts at all as I busy myself to launch a new arm of the company.

I cross and uncross my legs, eventually deciding I need the treadmill desk. I pace out my nervous energy until Mark sends a text confirming an appointment with a geotechnical engineer.