sun lighting the edges of the clouds. We got into our kit, rescued Xena from her desperately lonely night without Gray—I might know how she felt—clambered into the ute, and took the dog for a long trail run on the Otago Peninsula. Up and down the undulating green hills, in amongst the sheep and over the stiles, through air full of spring green and the ozone scent of approaching rain, watching the clouds gather, the wind rise, the light change, and the storm blow in, all the way up from Antarctica.
He was the best training partner I’d ever run with. So fast, I had to push to keep up, and so tireless, you never had to take a break. A little past halfway along the loop trail, when going back would be more work than going on, it started to rain, and I said, “You’re going to hate me.”
He said, “Nah. Rain just makes it more of a challenge. It’s downhill anyway. A push for the finish line, that’s all.” Which it was. Slipping in the mud, our shoes caked, our jackets and hair streaming with water, running faster just to keep warm. Stretching out, muscles all the way warm, pushing for the carpark. Xena galloping along beside us, her tongue lolling from her grinning mouth, her tail wagging, her entire Labrador self just happy to be here.
A final sprint, giving it everything I had, laughing aloud at the effort and the joy of it, and Gray laughing back at me, saying, “Come on, Daisy. Come on. Let’s do this,” exactly the same way he had in bed. Like this was our adventure, and we were in it together. All the way to the end.
Gray
Never in my life had I been with a woman like this. One who could run 15K in the rain without complaint, who was energized by the storm, excited by the challenge. When we got our dripping selves to the ute at last, she was still laughing, and so was I. I turned the engine on, turned the heat up, opened the back door for Xena, and climbed in myself. The dog repaid me by shaking muddy water all over both of us, and Daisy shrieked and laughed, her arms over her head, making me, laugh, too. And kiss her.
Filthy. Soaking wet. Bone-tired. Exalted.
I put the ute in gear and pulled out of the carpark, the two of us, and the dog, all alone out here, all the way free, and Daisy said, “This is joy. Isn’t it? This is joy.” Wonderingly, as if it were new. As if it were a shining gift that somebody had pressed into her cupped hands, a gift she’d never expected and couldn’t believe was hers.
Which it was.
49
Full Disclosure
Daisy
It wasn’t so bad when we got home. For one thing, I was too muddy to stand about and chat.
Honor, Oriana, and Frankie were sitting around the table drinking tea and eating eggs when I came in. It seemed odd, and then I realized that it was barely half-past seven.
“Hi,” I said, once I’d stripped off my muddy shoes outside the door and divested myself of my soaking-wet socks and jacket. “Shower.”
I took my third shower in barely twelve hours, and enjoyed it almost as much as the one before. I took some extra time warming up, scrubbing down. Washing my hair, because it was muddy, too. Probably from the time I’d slipped on a downhill and gone down straight onto my bum and my back. Gray had hauled me to my feet, only managing not to slip himself by some preternatural strength and balance, and we’d staggered around laughing like lunatics.
My extra-long shower, though, was probably why, by the time I came out again in my raspberry dressing gown, Gray was sitting at the table as well. With Xena. The dog, still damp and smelling of—well, wet dog—sprawled out beside him with her muzzle on her paws, not even looking up at me. Blissful exhaustion. I got it.
Gray stopped in the act of taking a drink and said, “This is coffee. Do you want some, or are you going to be sleeping?”
“No,” I said, and smiled at him with everything in my overflowing heart. “I may never need to sleep again. But if I’m going to be awake forever, coffee would be good.”
He handed me his mug and said, “Have this one, then, and I’ll get another.”
I didn’t, not quite yet. I bent down, kissed him, and said, “That’s so sweet.