Running from Love: A Story for Runners and Lovers by Rozsa Gaston Read Free Book Online Page A

and for all. Thinking back to the race of the day before, she conjured up the steely resolve she’d mustered as she’d begun to overtake Jude Farnsworth.
    But then, she’d tripped. Was it a metaphor for her life? Sighing, she moved past the newsstand.
    “American Airlines flight number 384 to Baltimore will now begin boarding at Gate 37,” an overhead female voice droned. She checked her watch. Right on time. Hurrying toward the gate, Farrah told herself that was the last time she’d allow an airport newsstand get the best of her.
    The broad shoulders of Jude Farnsworth popped into her mind’s eye. How could she have screwed up their conversation so badly the evening before?
    After that fatal conversation with Will, she had never regained her confidence on the phone with a man with whom she felt emotionally vulnerable. The problem had been that she hadn’t seen it coming. Everything had been smooth sailing with Will—warm intellectual and not-so-intellectual banter back and forth, spiced with sexy undertones. Then, wham, “There’s a disconnect sometimes when we talk.” Followed by, “Maybe we shouldn’t see each other so much.” Never had love’s hang glider crashed to earth so quickly.
    She would not subject herself to another sucker punch like that. Once in a lifetime was all her heart could take.
    What could she do to let Jude Farnsworth know that she would be receptive to a dinner date, after all? Should she text him? Call? She could send him a quick text message while waiting to take off, before the announcement to shut off all electronic devices.
    Doubtfully, she eyeballed her phone.
    No way. She was wary of e-mailing and texting as a means to get to know a member of the opposite sex. Girlfriends had regaled her with tales of woe stemming from overuse of electronic messaging early on in a budding relationship. She knew how easily messages from a potential romantic partner got forwarded to giggling girlfriends, then dissected, until whatever dignity the contents contained ended up shredded to bits. She would take her time and wait until she was certain of her tone before responding to Jude. But while she boarded, she couldn’t help but think of his navy blue eyes flickering over her.
    Leaning back against her headrest, she gripped the arm of her seat as the plane took off down the departure runway. It was time for more than just another business flight to take off in her life.
    T WO DAYS LATER, Farrah was back home. It hadn’t been a bad trip, as business trips go. Her meetings had gone well, and she’d been able to set up a new account with a large doctor’s practice. Often, the fact that she was a runner helped her establish common reference points with doctors she met. Some of them actively ran, while others were former runners whose demanding jobs had taken over their free time.
    When she had left teaching, Farrah had vowed not to let anything take over the space she’d carved out for her running schedule. Running wasn’t just something that kept her in shape. It was her mental armor, buffering her from any and all slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that came her way. Hamlet was one of Farrah’s least favorite of Shakespeare’s characters—too indecisive, but the words the playwright had put in his mouth resonated. Her childhood had been filled with wounds from such arrows. She was determined her adult life would not be.
    Dumping her carry-on suitcase in its permanent spot by the bedroom door, she changed into track clothes. Tuesday evenings, the club held its speed workouts down at the Van Cortlandt Park track. If she hurried, she had time to jog down the hill from her apartment to get there. If she drove, she’d be forced to circle around for minutes, trying to find parking, time that she’d rather use warming up her muscles in the cool autumn air.
    Out on the sidewalk, she jogged past An Beal Bocht, a neighborhood Irish pub that featured Guinness on tap and shepherd’s pie, with