Page 1 of Between the Lines

Chapter One

Paige Wheeler had long ago noticed that the fitness center at the Colony had a particular smell. Not a bad smell, but a very distinct one.

Clean towels, rubber mats, a slightly lemony disinfectant, and the faint, ever-present hint of some man’s aftershave lingering in the air longer than it should have.

Add in the low whir of treadmills, the clank of free weights, and daytime television murmuring from wall-mounted screens, and it was as close as Paige ever wanted to get to chaos before breakfast.

Even so, the fitness center was one of her happy places. Yes, there was a small measure of chaos, but it was well-controlled and predictable.

Her treadmill hummed beneath her feet, the belt moving at the brisk pace she’d worked up to over the last few years. It was one more thing she’d built from scratch after her life had been leveled by her ex-husband’s betrayal. She kept her gaze forward, earbuds in, and let the playlist do its thing to keep her motivated.

Outside the big front windows, palm fronds waved lazily in the morning light, as if the trees had all the time in the world. Well, they did. Nobody asked a palm tree what it planned to do after retirement.

Paige increased the incline by one and felt the burn build in her calves.

The fact that her body still responded when she asked it to was satisfying. It pleased her that she could set a goal and meet it. That her muscles were still capable of doing what needed to be done.

There were a lot of women her age who couldn’t say that.

She glanced at the row of treadmills. Half full. That was normal for a Thursday. The Colony ran on routines like the rest of the world ran on caffeine.

She recognized nearly everyone, which was also normal. A man with a bright orange sweatband who always walked like he was late to an important appointment, even though he was retired and had nowhere to be. Two women power-walked side by side on the second-story track that overlooked the main weight and machine room, their arms swinging in aggressive unison, as if that movement alone would tone them up.

Larry Marsden was at the far end of the free-weight section, hoisting dumbbells with an exaggerated intensity that suggested he wanted someone to notice.

He probably did.

Paige kept her eyes forward.

Larry liked to wave. He also liked to flirt. Larry, whom she’d been out with once, liked to imply that Paige’s entire adult life had been a warm-up for the moment she met him.

Larry was wrong. She was involved with Graham now and he was the only man who mattered.

Her phone sat in the treadmill’s cup holder, screen dark, but Paige could feel the invisible tug of it anyway. The irresistible urge to check if somewhere, someone had commented, liked, shared, or saved one of her posts.

But she didn’t like to check it during workouts. If she looked at her TikTok, she’d end up slowing down, getting distracted, and thinking about what kind of content people wanted from her next. Or she’d get bogged down responding to comments.

In fact, she’d switched off her TikTok notifications at the moment to keep herself from getting distracted.

She reminded herself she was in the fitness center to take care of herself. She was here to sweat, burn calories, and build muscle. To stay strong and to maintain good balance. That was the only way to really overcome age and stay healthy.

Still, the comment she’d seen last night wormed its way into her thoughts, unwelcome. Cute little community you have here. Hope it stays that way.

She’d told herself it was nothing. Trolls existed. People enjoyed stirring the pot because it made them feel powerful. The easiest thing in the world was to type something outlandish and then watch the comments go wild. It was standard troll behavior.

And ever since her channel had blown up, the trolls had multiplied. She supposed it was just part of the business.

But she was not going to give that person the satisfaction of taking up space in her head. Any more than they already had.

She raised the speed by a notch, as if forcing herself to pay attention to her stride would cause the thought to go away. A shadow moved in her peripheral vision, someone approaching the treadmill beside hers.

Paige kept her pace steady and eyes forward. People were there to work out, not chat. Most of them, anyway. And Paige had her earbuds in, a sure sign that she wasn’t interested in conversation.

The treadmill next to hers powered on with a cheerful beep and a woman stepped up.

Paige caught the reflection of her in the mirror across the room. Tall, slim, late fifties or early sixties, hair a glossy dark bob that looked professionally maintained. Her workout outfit was coordinated enough that it suggested she didn’t just “throw something on.”

Paige didn’t recognize her, but that didn’t mean anything except that she might be new to the gym or working out at a different time than her usual.