Chapter 4

My worries are doused by the crisp September air when I step foot outside and suck in a restorative breath. It’s chilly, but I don’t give my body a chance to feel the cold before I start jogging. My feet pound the sidewalk at a steady pace while I force myself to focus on the landmarks and layout of Sky Ridge, taking the attention off my thoughts of The Fold, Jonathan, and whether I’m a complete fool.

“Hemlock Street,” I mutter, passing the street sign under the orange-tinted streetlight. At each intersection, I repeat the name, hoping it will help me learn the area. I’m sure I’ll know this town backward and forward after a month or so.

“Marshall…”

I jog another block. “Payne…”

Another block. “Spencer.” I turn right and head down the side street. This is my favorite street in Sky Ridge. The tidy homes line each side of the street. It’s Small Town, USA, right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. I admire the historic Victorian architecture, which has always fascinated me with their verandas and turrets. Most are modest folk-style versions likely built around the turn of the century. Warm light shines from the inside, and I imagine what the families are like that live here.

Almost every house has a white-painted porch with ornamental posts. Decorative planters with autumn mums and orange pumpkins dress the wooden steps. It’s all so different from the rows of shotgun houses where I grew up.

There’s something to like about every house on this street, but one is my favorite. I’m not sure what it is about the Victorian I love so much, but every time I see it, hope spreads in my heart. I feel a connection to it. Seeing that house makes me feel positive about my future here; it’s reassuring. I like to believe that someday I could own a house like that one and make it a home. After I pass the lovely 218 Spencer, I explore the rest of the neighborhood, finding new architectural details to appreciate.

The people who live in these adorable homes probably made good decisions all their life. They were smart. They thought for themselves. They wanted something and worked hard until they got it. A strange sense of homesickness washes over me, but how can you feel homesick for something that never existed in the first place?

“Scottie!” a voice booms behind me, and I freeze. Slowly turning around, I exhale and drop my shoulders when a familiar face jogs toward me. Callahan.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and smile. With my hair pulled into a ponytail, a breeze blows, sending goose bumps across the damp nape of my neck.

I pant out a “Hi,” and lift my hand in a weak wave. He’s donning sweats and a light jacket, and he wears the hell outta both. I’d say he’s roughly six feet tall, which puts him about nine inches taller than me. It seems I’m not the only one who took advantage of tonight’s cool air for a workout.

“Hey,” he says, out of breath. “Out for a run?”

My smile widens. “How could you tell?”

“Ya know, I wasn’t sure at first, but the outfit and jogging kinda gave it away. Plus, I didn’t see anybody chasing you.” He nods to my leggings and sneakers. I swear his gaze lingers a second longer than normal.

“Those are some deduction skills you’ve got.” I continue my run, and he paces himself beside me.

“Thanks.” We jog in silence for a few beats. “So… do you live around here?”

I bark out a laugh and slow my strides after his question. Despite my dream to someday own one of these homes, I find his timing quite amusing.

His head swivels back to me since I’m a few steps behind, then he pauses for me to catch up. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s kinda creepy to ask a woman if she lives nearby when she’s running alone.”

He shrugs. “Seems like you’re already taking your chances by running at night.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, it would be awful if some stranger came up and started asking me where I live…”

“Good thing I’m not a stranger then, huh?”

I glance up at him, and he winks. Damn that smile of his. Straight, perfect white teeth. It’s confident. “I suppose that’s true… still, I try to avoid making friends with liars.”

“Even liars who jog at night? Maybe we could run together sometime, assuming I’m not on the road for work.”

“Busy traveling to aquariums to train those dolphins?”

He grins. “You know it. But seriously, if you ever want to jog together, shoot me a text.”

What’s his endgame? I raise an eyebrow. “Are you hitting on me?”

He extends his arm in front of me, and we slow our gait, coming to a halt at the intersection of another street.

“Real talk. I’m not just giving you a line. There can be a lot of nomads in town for work. Not all of them are someone I’d want you to run into by yourself. I’d say the same thing to my sister.”

I catch my breath and study his features, searching for any sign of insincerity. “I’m not a big fan of talking when I run,” I state.

“We don’t have to talk.”

“I’m just trying to learn my way around town.”

“Want a personal tour? Okay, now I might be hitting on you a little bit.”

There’s that smile again. He’s determined.

“Maybe. But I should probably head home, I’ve got an early morning,” I say, turning right at the intersection.

“It was nice running into you,” he says.

I wave goodbye and take a few more steps backward. “Get home safely, I hear there’s some weirdos in this town,” I joke.

Cal smirks. “Consider my offer?”

“I’ll think about it.” Spinning around, I return to my jogging pace.

“That’s not a no,” he calls after me,

“It’s not a yes,” I shout back, turning my head to the side.

I take another right at the next intersection and return to my apartment. I smile seeing my building, gaining confidence in my newfound independence. Though, once I get inside my studio, my smile slips. After looking at all those pretty houses, it’s a pathetic sight with a floor mattress and a laundry basket filled with a few of my belongings. The road to Spencer Avenue will be a long one. My apartment has a damp, musty smell, and I make a mental note to get a candle or something when I have some extra money to splurge.

In the small bathroom, I yank the sweatshirt over my head. Red splotches on my chest match the ones on my cheeks after the run in the brisk air. I turn on the water in the shower and frown at the weak water pressure. My phone buzzes in my hip pocket, and I tug it out, then peel off the leggings.

Cal the liar

Checking in to make sure you got home safely.

Even locked my door to keep out the riff raff.

Callahan Woods. I go into my contact settings and change his name to just Callahan.

Callahan

Smart girl.

I bite my lip as the butterflies invade my stomach again. Talking to Callahan is like getting a hit of dopamine. It’s invigorating. I like flirting with him, it’s fun and exciting and new. Makes me forget who I am or where I come from. After stripping from my sports bra and underwear, I step under the shower spray and drag the flimsy curtain across the rod.

“Someday…” I promise aloud, “things will be different.”

This time, the silence doesn’t creep in around me. Maybe it’s simply the high from running, but my heart feels almost… light? I quietly hum a song I heard on the radio. Even the music is better on the outside.