At Wits' End - Kenzie Reed Page 0,28

defensively when she sees me frowning at her shoes.

“What size shoes do you wear?”

“Seven wide. Why?”

“I’m going to buy you a proper pair of running shoes today. You’re not going to use shin splints or a twisted ankle to get out of running.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re the Marquis de Sade of running.”

I grin fiercely. “Mess with the bull, get the horns.”

“Eww.” She scrunches up her face in adorable distaste. “I’m married to a man who actually says that.”

“Quit stalling. The jogging is going to happen.”

Resignedly, she falls into place beside me.

We walk through the parking lot to the grassy area where people are warming up. Pamela waves at her and comes jogging over, with her husband Angus by her side. He’s a lawyer at her firm.

“Where’s my favorite baby?” Sienna asks.

“Oh, mom’s watching Amelia. That means I’m going to get my daughter back in an outfit that’s covered in hideous pictures of cartoon leprechauns, which I will promptly burn, but it’s a small price to pay for free babysitting.”

I’m impatient to get running, but I know that Sienna’s going to say hi to everyone in town first. Partly because she’s outgoing and friendly and likes everyone who’s not a Witlocke or a member of the Greenvale Ladies’ League, and partly to mess with me.

Angus, a tall, sandy-haired guy with a lean runner’s body, nods at me with a cool expression, then strolls off to start stretching. Pamela’s already poisoned him against me. No surprise there.

Sienna and Pamela hug each other and do that girl thing of admiring each other’s hair, each other’s outfits, each other’s everything. Guys don’t do that. I mean, we might say, “Looking good, man,” if we haven’t seen someone in a while, but never do I ever greet Graham by telling him how great his new shirt fits him or how his new haircut suits his face just right. Maybe we should. Maybe guys would be less cranky if we cheered each other on more. Never gonna happen, though.

“We need to talk after this run,” Pamela says. “Can I meet you back here in about an hour?” She shoots me a sidelong glance, then smirks at Sienna.

“But of course.” Sienna nods enthusiastically. “We do have some things to discuss.”

I shudder to think about how that conversation’s going to go.

“Hey, Pamela,” I say, raising a hand in greeting. “I’m right here. Sienna’s husband. How’ve you been? Lots of fun lawsuits to keep you busy?”

She smiles, her eyes murderous. “Hey, Donovan. Hurt my friend and I’ll gut you. If you think I’m kidding, I’ve got a teething baby, I haven’t slept this year, and prison sounds very, very restful right about now. Also I’m pretty sure that no woman jury in the land would convict me.”

“This has been a pleasant chat. I can’t think why you and I don’t get together more often.” I loop my arm through Sienna’s and steer her away.

“I need to say hi to some more people,” she protests. More and more people are showing up. It’s the golden hour for running, cool and mildly breezy, and the parking lot and trail are full of familiar faces.

“The sooner we do this, the sooner you get it over with.”

She heaves a martyred sigh, but follows me over to a flat grassy spot.

I show her how to stretch properly and explain the training regimen. It involves running one minute, walking two minutes, and repeating this ten times. Then a rest day, then a session of running two minutes, walking four minutes, and so on. She’ll gradually build her way up to a 5k – cursing me with every step, I’m sure.

“Oh God. Incoming,” she mutters just as we’re about to hit the trail. Carrie and Tonya are making their way towards us, and they’re wearing twin jogging suits in shades of pink and purple.

“It never ends, does it?” I sigh.

“Well, you had to take us to the most popular jogging spot in town.”

“It’s the course we’re running for the Fall-fest, it makes sense to train here.”

Carrie and Tonya slither over to us, flashing matching feral smiles. “Glad to see you two lovebirds made it. This is certainly an unusual way to spend a honeymoon.” Carrie arches an eyebrow.

“Hey!” Marcus, Carrie’s ex, makes his way towards us. He’s got dyed, thinning brown hair with a combover, a paunch lapping over his jogging shorts, and cologne that arrives about a minute before he does.

Heather, Marcus’ former secretary now wife, remains behind with a crowd of