Heartache and Hope by Mary Manners Page A

me…I’m not so sure.”
    “Just go with it. Trust me. Along with the shoes, you’ll need some warm, comfortable clothes to train in. Layering is important.”
    “Layering? I vaguely remember that concept.”
    “Right…T-shirts, thermals, a hat to hold in the heat on cold, pre-dawn mornings.” Patrick saw the confusion register to widen her eyes, and knew he had his work cut out for him. “You do own a hat?”
    “It’s not the hat I’m worried about. I’ve got at least that much covered. But what do you mean by pre-dawn?”
    “Just that.” Patrick sliced the burger and handed her half. “You’ll need this. You look good, Daylin. There’s no need to starve yourself.”
    “I’m not…” But she was doing just that…no breakfast, no lunch, and now barely dinner. Was it possible to find a happy medium?
    “Take it.” Patrick lifted his half of the burger to his mouth but paused before taking a bite. “You know, pre-dawn…that time between dark and light when the entire world seems to be sleeping—everyone except for you and me.”
    “Good grief.” Daylin choked on her coffee and bobbled the mug as she tore a handful of napkins from the dispenser to swipe at her lips. Her voice was a twisted strangle of syllables. “Is this training or boot camp?”
    “Pick your poison.”
    “I should make it clear that I’m not much of a morning person.”
    “Not yet, but you’ll learn to love the crisp, morning air.” Patrick took a bite of the burger, chewed and swallowed. “The streets are devoid of traffic and, when you run, your breath curls out in a trail of white puffs. It’s invigorating.”
    “That’s the best word you have…invigorating?” Daylin chased a cherry tomato around her plate with her fork. “What about insane, crazy, beyond reason.”
    “Beyond reason is a phrase, not a word.” Patrick washed the burger down with a sip of tea and reached for another fry. He drowned it in ketchup.
    “Word—phrase…whatever you want to call it, it’s an apt description.” Daylin captured the tomato and popped it into her mouth. “I was thinking of something a little kinder and gentler. Pre-dawn is not in my vocabulary. I’m more of a night owl. Can we go for lunch-hour runs or after-work jogs?”
    “Sure, we can compromise and mix things up.” Patrick finished off the burger. “But I try to get in at least a couple of runs in the morning each week in order to free up my evenings for Aubree. Mom homeschools her, but I can’t expect her to stay late every night. I wouldn’t want to, anyway. Aubree needs me to be there. But I’m willing to sacrifice an evening or two each week if you’re willing to meet me on the greenway before work another morning or two.”
    “Oh, I neglected to think—of course mornings are better for you.” Daylin sipped her coffee. “I wasn’t even considering Aubree. How thoughtless of me. I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be. She’ll understand.”
    “Mornings will work.”
    “Of course they will. And evenings, as well.” Patrick drained his tea glass. “Stop by my shop tomorrow, and I’ll hook you up with the proper equipment. We’ll start our training from there.”
    “How long have you owned The Runner’s Source?”
    “Two years this August.” He’d have liked to open the store earlier, but Sandra had been against the venture, unsure of the outcome and less than willing to shoulder the risk with Aubree to care for. At the time he’d first considered starting the business, Market Square was just beginning to flourish. Patrick had done his best to convince Sandra to give it a go; it was his dream. But, her resistance had prevailed. Her death had caused him to toss caution to the wind and go for it. In the end, it was one of the best decisions he’d ever made. “So, does tomorrow work for you?”
    “I don’t get off work ’til five-thirty. Can we make it six?”
    “That’s perfect. I’ll close up shop then so we should have the place to