Heartache and Hope by Mary Manners Page B

ourselves.”
    “Where do you run?”
    “I’ll surprise you.” He reached for the last of the fries and considered a slice of pie but decided against it. “Does that work for you?”
    “Against my better judgment…yes.” She took a tentative bite of the burger, chewed and swallowed. “Last time I trusted you, I ended up taking cover in a storage shed in the eye of a downpour.”
    “It wasn’t so horrible, being stuck with me, was it?”
    “No…” Daylin grinned at him. “I kind of liked it, actually.”
    “Kind of?” He bit off the end of the fry, chewed, swallowed. “So, if we were swept up together in another storm, that would be OK with you?”
    “We’ll see.”

6
    Daylin parked in the Locust Street garage and walked the block or two over to Market Square. Her thigh muscles protested beneath the strain of the past few days pounding the treadmill, and she did her best to ignore the deep ache. She felt good, toned in a nagging sort of way. The pain wouldn’t win; she was stronger than that. She just wondered how she would manage to complete a run with Patrick tonight.
    The weather had cooperated; a southern breeze chased away storm clouds that had threatened throughout the day and replaced them with a sparkle of sunshine and warmth. It was barely five-fifteen, and the sky sang with hues of bubble-gum pink and soft lilac. The aroma of sweet chocolate fudge drifted from Polly’s Pastries, making Daylin’s mouth water. Too nervous to eat since the bowl of bran flakes she’d wolfed down at breakfast, Daylin had worked through lunch and was headed that way with dinner, as well. What had happened to finding that happy medium?
    Patrick’s shop was at the far right-hand corner of the square, and the quarter-mile walk allowed the butterflies that had swarmed Daylin’s belly a little time to settle down. Her shoes slapped along the sidewalk as she picked up her pace, letting the last vestiges of sunlight chase away a chill that crept through her. She’d changed into running clothes in the staff bathroom at work and now wore black cotton leggings that flared at the ankles and a long-sleeved T-shirt blazoned with a ‘give blood…give life’ logo from the last time she donated blood to the blood-mobile months ago. Both pieces of clothing had been culled from her cast-off drawer and run through a quick cycle in the dryer to dispel caverns of deep-set wrinkles since she could barely recall the last time she’d worn them. Remembering what Patrick had said about the importance of layers, she carried a sweatshirt and hat in one hand and her purse in the other. Inside the purse, she’d tucked a small gift for Aubree. She’d ask Patrick to carry it home to her.
    The square lulled between afternoon shoppers and the evening-into-night crowd. The bandstand stood vacant, and only a few of the hardy sat in the open dining areas of restaurants, enjoying their meals in what remained of teasing daylight. Through long fingers of shadows, Patrick’s shop came into view with its eye-catching window display. The glass was polished to a shine and carefully-positioned mannequins donned a colorful array of the latest sports apparel and equipment.
    Suddenly, Daylin’s sensible ensemble turned to a dull, lifeless gray. She caught her reflection in the glass and groaned inwardly at the frumpy appearance. It was enough to make her yearn for a hasty retreat toward Locust Street and the parking garage. But Patrick managed to nix that thought as, working diligently at a register behind the counter, he caught sight of her and immediately rounded the counter to stride toward the doorway.
    “Right on time. I was just finishing up here. Come on in.” He ushered her into the shop to an upbeat song spilling from the radio. Then he turned the sign to Closed. The earthy aromas of leather and rubber mingled with coffee. Daylin noticed a small coffee bar across the way, near a display of shelves stocked with energy supplements. The carafe