All She Ever Wanted - Barbara Freethy [25]
"And me," she said decisively. "I have a few questions of my own to ask him."
"I'll bet you do." Cole hesitated, then said, "I'm glad we cleared the air."
"Me, too." Natalie wasn't sure how she felt about Cole now or how he felt about her, but at least they'd broken the icy distance of the past ten years.
Cole cleared his throat, then said, "So where are we running?"
She didn't like the word we. "I'm running down to the marina and out to the Golden Gate Bridge."
"Sounds good. I was going to work out at the gym, but I could use some fresh air."
He was wearing running shoes and sweat pants, she realized belatedly. "I'm not going to run with you."
"Afraid you can't keep up?"
"I remember that I always beat you," she reminded him. Running in the early hours of the morning was a joy they had shared during their time together.
"I remember that I always let you."
The challenging gleam in his eyes built a fire under her already overcharged emotions. "Fine. Let's go." She took off before he could say okay. It was a small and cheap trick, but she knew how strong Cole was, and how easily his long strides would keep pace with her shorter ones. Within a minute he was right next to her.
"Going kind of slow, aren't you?" he needled.
"I'm warming up."
"You never used to take so long to warm up."
She quickened her pace to get away from his sarcasm and from the memories his words had stirred up. They'd made this run before from Cole's parents' house in Presidio Heights, an elegant neighborhood of fancy homes that lined the Presidio. The last time she'd visited there had been the Christmas before Emily's death, which had occurred in the middle of February, just six weeks later. How much everything had changed in those weeks—especially her relationship with Cole, which had taken a serious turn that Christmas. In fact, that turn had started with a run just like this one.
Natalie crept quietly down the stairs. The Parishes were still asleep. It was just after seven a.m. on Christmas Eve. Tonight they would go to the Fairmont Hotel for an elegant dinner. Tomorrow morning they would gather around the stately ten-foot Christmas tree in the living room, open presents, and have brunch. Christmas dinner would follow a few hours later. There would be plenty of food, friends, and holiday cheer, and Natalie was lucky to be a part of it. It was the first Christmas she'd spent with a real family in a very long time, and she wanted to cherish every second. At the same time, she was feeling overwhelmed and stressed out.
The Parishes were so different from her family. They were classy, sophisticated. Their table settings would come with at least three forks and two spoons and several plates, and she'd have to remember which went with which. There would be business moguls and politicians at tonight's party, which meant witty, intelligent conversation would be flowing like wine, and she would have to make sure she didn't make a fool of herself. Maybe she should just run out the door and keep running.
Shaking her head, she told herself to stop worrying so much and just enjoy, as Emily always told her to do. Emily, who was fast asleep in a beautiful bed filled with the most expensive allergy-free pillows and comforters and surrounded by luxuries suitable for a princess. Sometimes Natalie wondered why they were friends. They were different personalities and they came from different worlds, but college had been the great equalizer.
Natalie opened the front door and shut it quietly behind her. She took a moment to stretch on the front steps, then headed toward the sidewalk. She was just about to take off down the block when she heard Cole's voice.
"Wait up," he said, as he jogged toward her. "You weren't going to leave without me, were you?"
"I didn't know you were coming," she said, already flustered by the gorgeous smile on his equally gorgeous face. Every time she saw him he took her breath away.
"I told you I was doing whatever you were doing this weekend."
"I thought you meant the parties."
"I meant everything," he said.
The intensity