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“Workplace crush,” Luke repeated, pretending to scribble the words.
“Don’t write that down!”
“I’m just trying to get all the facts.”
“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”
“I’m not laughing!”
“You’re making fun of me. In your head. I can tell.”
“I’m just happy that I can be of service while you’re trying to impress your workplace crush.” Lydia popped out of her chair but he caught her hand. “Kidding! I’m kidding. Please.” He gestured back to her chair and she sat. “However you got to this point, the New York City Marathon is a big goal. Have you ever attempted anything like it before?”
“First time.” Lydia bit her lip. “You think it’s a bad idea?”
“No.” He sat back in his chair, tapping the pen to his chin. “I think it’s bold.”
“You don’t think I can do it,” she accused him, narrowing her eyes.
“Oh, I believe you could run this marathon. The question is how bad do you want it? This race is a huge deal. People train for months—years, even—to be able to run it. Is this something you can do? Absolutely. I’m just saying it’s not gonna be easy.”
“I don’t need it to be easy,” Lydia said.
“It’s going to take work. That means early mornings. And sweat. And less cold foam.”
“Okay,” Lydia complained, “now you’re crossing a line.”
Luke laughed. “If you’re serious about this, and about putting in the work, then I promise to get you across that finish line no matter what. Deal?”
A flicker of something—amusement, thrill, fear?—passed across her face. Whatever it was, she didn’t back down. “Deal.”
“Great.” Luke passed the consultation form over for her to sign. “We can celebrate our new partnership by running a celebratory mile.”
Lydia’s face did melt into something he recognized then. Disappointment. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I need to see what I’m working with.”
Lydia’s face fell even further. “I sort of thought we’d ease into the whole running thing.”
“Did Dara tell you to wear running shoes?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go break them in.”
Ignoring the look of utter displeasure on her face, he led her out to the running room—a space filled with soft lights and treadmills and TVs that flicked between the weekly news and sports programming.
“We’ll start slow,” Luke said as Lydia climbed onto his chosen treadmill. “A walking pace to get the blood pumping.”
“I can’t wait,” she muttered.
“Now, this isn’t a test,” Luke said. “I’m just trying to get a baseline so I know how to build your program. No pressure. If you need a break, we can drop it back to a walk. I’m gonna up the pace to a light jog in three, two, one...” Luke adjusted the speed, and Lydia started jogging. He kept track of her breathing and her stride, watching to make sure she wasn’t falling behind the pace. The last thing he wanted was for her to tumble off the treadmill on her first day.
At just over twelve minutes, Luke dropped the speed back down to a walk, and Lydia grabbed the handrails, bracing herself. She’d finished the mile without any kind of voiced distress, so Luke figured she’d probably do well with three miles as a starting short run distance. When he told her that, her eyes widened comically.
“I didn’t mean today,” Luke cut in before she could really start to panic. “Though I did enjoy the look of pure horror on your face.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, climbing down from the treadmill. “You’re a jerk, you know that?”
