Eversea A Love Story

and jogging down the boardwalk, I turned left. It would be a short run that would end at the inlet, but at least I was getting some exercise and clearing my head.
    The sea was getting cooler even though our days were still warm. There was a haze over the water. One or two people were out with their dogs, but the beach was mainly empty.
    I got into a great rhythm, my strides long and sure, my breathing even and deep. I made it about half a mile before an approaching figure in black shorts and a white t-shirt with familiar aviators came into view ahead. I slowed a tiny bit, wondering if it was Jack. Shit, I knew it was. Should I acknowledge him or stop and talk to him? Damn it. This was supposed to be a Jack-free run. I should have gone kayaking instead.
    I could tell when he noticed me, as he did the same thing where he slowed slightly, and then picked his pace back up. When he was about fifteen yards away, I gave up my internal battle about what to do and smiled politely at him. He didn’t slow like he was going to stop. So I didn’t either. Seriously ? Were we really just going to run right past each other without saying hello?
    My spirits sank with disappointment when he passed me, much as I hated myself for it. But then a few seconds later he appeared up alongside me. I snuck a sidelong glance at his profile trying to form a question with my eyebrows. His dimple quirked but he didn’t say anything. Okay then. I affected a nonchalant shrug, turned my music up and picked up the pace.
    He’d obviously already run to the inlet and was headed home, and he was going to have to double his run to keep me company. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but I wasn’t going to try and talk and break my running mojo. When he was around I didn’t think I could walk and chew gum at the same time, let alone run, talk, breathe, and try not to trip over my own feet.
    Jack kept pace with me, our footfalls finding a rhythm. We got to the inlet and I turned quickly and headed back. I was sure that had probably been a natural place to stop and rest and I don’t know... say hi, like a normal person. But I didn’t act normal around him. Following my lead, he smiled at me. As we headed back, I cursed the fact he had his sunglasses and I didn’t. And of course, because of his glasses, when I repeatedly glanced at him, my eyes were drawn straight to his mouth. Ugh. I squinted inelegantly back into the sun.
    As we approached my exit, I was heaving with exertion, and probably looked my best again. I slowed and got ready to peel off with a wave, but Jack slowed too and before I could react he reached toward me. I paused, surprised, as he lifted my earbud out of my ear and held it up to his, listening to my music.
    “The Cult? I seriously don’t think I’ll ever figure you out,” he said, laughing and gently placing the bud back in my ear. Then he jogged backward for a few steps and gave me a two-fingered salute like he had from his motorcycle that first day, before he turned away and ran off.
    * * *
    All day Saturday at the grill I was mentally at home and bodily at work. I guess I was technically ‘mooning’, despite giving myself a mental kick in the ass earlier. Having never gone through ‘mooning’ over someone before, I wasn’t quite sure if that’s what I was doing. Whatever it was, it was embarrassing.
    I kept thinking of our run and how hardly a word had been exchanged and how it still felt like an important moment. I was totally reading into it, I knew.
    Hector kept catching my eye and winking. I’d told him what the arrangement was between Jack and I, swearing if I heard even one rumor, I would know it was him and tell Paulie I saw him stealing silverware. He had clutched his chest in outrage. “ Tienes mi palabra ,” he muttered, which I believe, from what I remembered of high school Spanish, meant something along the lines of I had his word . At least I hoped it did.
    I had texted Jack right after I showered from my run, letting him know the back door was unlocked. He never responded. In the quiet moments between the lunch and dinner rush, I had almost given in to the temptation to pop home and see if he was there. It was like some kind of bizarre reality home-makeover show, or worse, I was being punked. I expected a camera crew to jump me at any moment.
    * * *
    On Sunday morning, the only evidence I had that Jack had been in my house was half missing wallpaper, and a grocery list on the counter along with a