Fix You Read Free Page B

still sleeping on the pullout couch.
    Of course I’m going out. The guy needs his jacket back, after all. I spent a lot of time last night thinking about how to graciously return it, how to say something witty, seem cool, or at least less crazy—all of that. Then I spent a lot of time worrying that I’ll cry again.
    I don’t think I will. The boys and I had dinner last night and talked about their dad, and I did cry then. But a lot of stories made me smile and laugh too. Mostly I just felt that familiar tight ache under my collarbones. That’s how I feel when I miss him.
    At the front door, I take the jacket and stuff it into a daypack I found in the closet.
    Mom comes down the hall. “Are you going out again today?”
    “I want to give that guy his jacket, Mom.”
    Her brow furrows. She’s always been a worrier. “Just be sure he’s not some stalker. Don’t tell him anything.”
    “The way he left yesterday was more stalkee than stalker.” I put the daypack on my back.
    Mom pulls me into a hug before I can get the door open. “You hanging in there? I know yesterday was hard.”
    “I have to go, Mom.” I don’t want to have this conversation right now. I want to run.
    “Sure, Bug. Have a good run.” She kisses me on the cheek, just like she did when I was five.
    Even though my mom drives me nuts sometimes, spending time with my parents here in Indio is always peaceful. I get a bit of a reprieve from the taxi-service-mom routine, and the boys enjoy hanging out with their grandparents. This morning I’ve got a bit of extra time: Mom and Dad are taking the boys with them to run errands.
    As I stretch out and find my rhythm, I start to worry. I feel like a loser with the jacket in the daypack on my back. I am not a marathon runner, and normal runners with daypacks look like they’re trying too hard, in my opinion. Also, the mystery guy’s departure was odd. Is he a wanted criminal? Because the way he took off sure seemed a lot like that.
    I’m almost to the coffee shop. What am I going to do if he’s there? Do I jog on up, pull out the jacket? Then what?
    I slow down, check the bistro tables out front. No one. The inside looks empty too. I stop for a moment, look around. The only person inside is the lonely barista behind the counter. I check my watch. It’s roughly the same time as yesterday. Mystery guy is a no-show.
    I’m a little relieved, actually. All the guy did was help out someone bawling her eyes out. I’m silly to think I’ll run into him again.
    So I’ve been spared some humiliation. That’s what I’m thinking about twenty minutes later when I finally come up the street to the condo and stop to stretch and cool down.
    I peel off the daypack and toss it on the grass by the sidewalk. The shade of the big palm tree out front is a good spot to stretch. I sit and start with my hips, turning across my body to lengthen the outside leg. Beauty queens. That’s what Hunter’s soccer team calls these stretches. Mid-beauty queen, I hear someone walk up the sidewalk behind me.
    “Um, hello.”
    I unwind out of the stretch to face the voice. It’s him. Same baseball hat. Same sunglasses.
    “Hi…How’d you find me?” It starts me to worrying for a second. How did he find me?
    “I pulled up to the coffee shop and saw you leaving, running home. I kind of followed you. That sounds bad.” He tucks his hands into his jeans pockets, his shoulders shrugging up. He’s uncomfortable.
    “You needed your coat back.” I jump up, brush off, and go for the daypack. I will be gracious, cool, and let him get out of here without embarrassing him. He wants to be on his way; I’m sure of it.
    “Did you have a better run today?” He doesn’t look rushed.
    “I did. Yeah, I did. Thanks for asking.” I try to hold still.
    “I’m Andrew.” He puts a hand out to shake.
    I wipe mine off before I do. “Kelly. Nice to meet you.”
    “Are you busy?”
    He’s asking me. Really?
    “No, I’m not.” I have