Breaking the Rules: The Honeybees, book 1 (3 page)

Ignoring the texts, I found a no-kill shelter on my phone. Amazingly, it was only half a mile away—a ten-minute walk if the dog cooperated.

“Okay, you ready?” I asked the dog, who seemed to understand from the tone of my voice that we were moving on. He hopped off the bench and stared up at me expectantly. For the first time, I took the lead. “This way,” I said, and he followed me obligingly.
 

At the shelter, the woman at the front desk took me in with a stony, unreadable face. One of the fluorescent lights overhead flickered.

“You found him wandering in the street?” she confirmed after taking my name and contact info.
 

“Well, on the sidewalk.”

“But wandering alone.”
 

“Yes.”
 

I gave the woman all the information I could about where I had found the dog and how I’d followed him to try to confirm his owner was not nearby.

Another woman came to take the dog to the kennel, and I felt a tug of sadness at saying goodbye to my new friend. I gave him a last pat on the back while the woman attached a collar and leash to him, and he licked my hand before following the woman across the cavernous room and disappearing.
 

Turning my attention back to the front desk, I asked, “So how do you try to track down the owner?”

“We’ll check to see if he has a microchip, and if so contact the vet that put it in. Otherwise, we just keep him here and hope that the owner checks for him. If not, after two weeks, he goes up for adoption.”

“Okay,” I said, not wanting to leave. “Well…thank you.”

“This is a well cared-for dog,” the woman added, a little more kindly. “He’ll find his way home.”
 

I tried to smile. “Thanks.”

This had been an anticlimactic end to the story, and I hated leaving the dog alone in a shelter. A teary reunion with the owner would’ve been much more satisfying. I turned and walked back out of the shelter, the chilly wind whipping through my dress the moment I opened the door.
 

Outside, it was so dark, and a chilly mist of rain had begun to fall. A feeling of dread descended on me. This had been a great diversion, an unexpected break from real life. But now I would have to face my life again, and I was at the precipice of a choice: go home and see Matt, or find somewhere else to spend the night.
 

Instead of deciding just yet, I turned on a whim and rushed back inside.
 

“Excuse me,” I said to the woman behind the desk. “If the owner doesn’t claim him…would you be able to let me know?”

“We don’t typically follow up with people who bring in strays,” the woman said. “Or do you mean you’d like to adopt him if he’s not claimed?”

I took a deep breath. This was crazy. I knew nothing about caring for a dog—I wasn’t even sure my landlord allowed pets in the house. But this dog had been there for me when no one else had. “I’d like to adopt him.”

“Sure, I’ll make a note. I have to warn you, though—that dog looks like someone loves him. I think the chances of you getting a call are low.”

“I know,” I said. “Thank you.”
 

I gave a small smile to the woman before leaving again, and this time my heart felt better, stronger. Maybe even ready to face my current situation.
 

When I got home that night, Matt was already asleep on the couch. I snuck into the bedroom, glad not to have to talk to him, and slept fitfully until nine the next morning, late for me. When I woke up, though, I lay staring at the ceiling for another hour, not quite ready to face the day yet. Instead, I snuggled deeper into the comforter, thinking about the night before.
 

It was all so painful, what had happened.
 

But then there was the dog. I smiled, remembering him, and wondered what he was doing right now. Had his owner found him yet?

Finally, I pulled myself out of bed, sure I’d find Matt in the living room at his computer, playing a game with his headphones on, totally absorbed. I wondered whether he was upset, or if he really was dealing with this “rationally,” a term that infuriated me more the more I thought about it.
 

But he wasn’t there. The house was still and silent, so I made myself breakfast and sat at the kitchen table, thinking about how to start in on my list. I’d need to find a marathon training group, and the sooner the better. I searched idly on my phone while I ate, and quickly found that there was a marathon here in the city at the end of May, nine months away, and a training group that started, unbelievably, in two weeks. It was too perfect.

Finally, at almost noon, Matt walked in.

“Hey, Soph,” he said, his eyes darting around as though unsure what I’d do to him.
 

“Hi, Matt,” I said. My stomach did a little flip-flop at the sight of him.
 

“I found an apartment,” he said. “I can move in next week.”

“You—what?” I asked, shocked. He’d found a place to live already? This was all happening so fast, I felt like my head was spinning.
 

“Yeah, I’m going to start packing up now.”

I stared at him. “Already?”

“I think it’s best, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer, and after a moment he disappeared into the bedroom. I shook my head in frustration. Matt had been kind throughout our relationship, but I wasn’t particularly surprised that he was so matter-of-fact now. He hated conflict, hated dealing with emotions. I hated conflict too, but there were times—such as at the end of a six-year relationship—when a little bit of communication could’ve gone a long way.
 

But there was no time to wallow. I pulled myself up and headed out the door to sign up in person for the marathon training group. The marathon was now top priority.
 

CHAPTER 2

Finding a marathon training group was one thing. Getting up the courage to actually go to the first training was another.
 

I’d gone on a few practice runs ahead of time to make sure I wasn’t totally out of shape, but as the date neared for the training group to start, I worried about who I’d find when I went. Would everyone there be seasoned athletes? Would they already run every single day, and would I feel woefully behind and out of shape? Would I embarrass myself? Had they all run marathons before, and would they laugh at me for wanting to start big without ever having run so much as a 5K in the past?

In the end, I’d managed to swallow my pride—and my fears—and arrived at the first session early one Saturday morning jittery but excited. The group met twice a week at a store that sold running shoes and apparel, and from there, I’d read, they’d head to a nearby park to do drills and interval trainings followed by a run, longer on Saturday, shorter on Tuesday mornings.

“Welcome!” the group leader, Ada, said. She was a trim woman in her forties with a light brown ponytail that bounced as she talked. “I see a lot of new faces today, and that’s fantastic. Many people find that training for a marathon can be cleansing in many other areas of their lives, so you’re making a big step today by committing to go through this training. First off, let me tell you a little about my own journey….”

My eyes wandered around the room as Ada talked. I was surprised at the variety of people she saw around her, though the group was only about fifteen people. Some looked to be around my age or even younger, while one couple was probably in their sixties.
 

One guy caught my eye. He was tall and looked healthy and fit. His thick brown hair was long enough to tuck behind his ears, and it curled slightly in an unruly way—the kind of hair that every woman dreamed of, unless they had it. I ran my fingers through my own fine blonde hair.
 

He sure was cute. He was watching Ada intently as she spoke, and I wondered whether he was really into running or just really into her. He smiled when she made a joke, and I couldn’t seem to pull my eyes away. That smile was electric. Even across the room, even though it wasn’t aimed at me, I couldn’t help but smile too just seeing his smile.
 

After the introduction, Ada explained how the class would work, and then everyone headed outside to the park to do start the training.
 

The training was hard, and the sprints were harder. I had a moment of doubt—everyone else, while not the star athletes I’d feared they’d be, did seem to be in better shape than I was.
 

But then I remembered The Rules, as I’d come to think of them, and began running harder. I could do this. I could get up to speed, no matter how hard it was. I could make new friends, turn running into something I loved, lose weight, complete a marathon. I could get my life back on track.

After doing drills for half an hour, the group started a longer run. This was the part I was most nervous about. Everyone ran together, and if I wasn’t able to keep up, it would be obvious. We started out on a trail through the park, Ada leading the way, and soon the cute boy with the unruly hair fell into step beside me. I smiled to myself when I noticed the way his hair bounced around frantically as he ran.
 

He flashed me the gorgeous smile I’d noticed earlier, then glanced back to make sure no one was following him too closely before saying, “Watch this.” Without breaking stride he went from running into a perfect cartwheel, then landed back on his feet and kept running.
 

I laughed in surprise. Something about the continuity of the motion reminded me of the way the dog had licked my hand and then gone straight back to chewing on leaves when I had first encountered him.
 

“That was very impressive,” I said as he fell back into stride beside me.
Show-off
, I thought, but with affection. I wondered how the dog was doing, not for the first time since their encounter. It had been two weeks now since that day. Surely he was back home by now. At any rate, I hadn’t heard from the animal shelter, and it was past the date they’d said they’d call.
 

He grinned. “I’m Devin,” he said. “I’d shake your hand, but we’d probably both fall over.”

“Sophie,” I said, wondering how long he was going to talk to me. He was cute, sure, but I had zero interest in being hit on, if that’s what this was—certainly not right at this moment, when I was breathing harder than I’d prefer to admit, but also not at this point in my life. Not when I was working hard to restabilize my life. Not when I couldn’t afford to let anything distract me from my goals. Besides, guys were nothing but heartache. Maybe, long in the future, once I’d had closure with Matt and had figured out my living situation once and for all, maybe then I would think about starting to date again. For now, though, the idea was unimaginable. It had only been a week since Matt had moved out, and though I was enjoying having the house to myself, I still felt raw and hurt.

Devin got in front of me and began running backward, so we were having our conversation face-to-face. I wished he would run ahead so that I could stare at his ass, which was probably very nice, and continue my workout uninterrupted.
 

“Sophie,” he repeated. “Is this your first time training for a marathon?”

“Is it that obvious?” I asked, feeling myself blush through the redness I knew was already on my cheeks from exertion.
 

“Not at all,” he said, grinning again, and I noticed the way his smile lines crinkled around his eyes when he smiled. I liked it.
 

But I would not be swayed by his charm or his good looks. “And what about you?” I asked, more to be polite than anything. “Have you run a marathon before?”

“Nah, just a half,” he said, waving a hand dismissively as though he were talking about buying a certain brand of dish soap rather than completing a life goal. He returned to my side, and I was glad to have my field of vision clear again…even if he was fun to look at.
 

“That’s still pretty impressive,” I said.
 

Maybe he sensed my lack of enthusiasm or maybe he was just a social person, but he gave me a quick salute and a wink, and ran ahead to talk to a couple of guys who had been running fifty feet in front of us. Watching them, it looked like they knew each other already. I wondered whether the three of them had all done the training program together in the past.
 

He did, I noticed, have exactly as nice an ass as I’d expected.
 

I pulled my eyes away from Devin and returned my attention to my form. This was what I was here for, after all, not to flirt. I was breathing heavily, and I would need to improve dramatically
 
if I wanted to be able to run a whole 26.2 miles in a few months.
 

My mind drifted. It was lonely without Matt, but even when he’d been here I’d gotten used to spending a lot of time alone, and I didn’t mind the extra space in my already cramped house.

Work was going well. I had a few loud students, like Brandon and Jeff, and a few I was trying to draw out of their shells. One, Angelina, was the most careful girl I’d ever met, way more than most five-year-olds. In fact, in certain ways she reminded me of me at her age, never wanting to make any mistakes or color outside the lines. She did love coloring, though, and art in general, and she’d told me on the first day of class that she wanted to be an artist. Coming back to my classroom from art twice a week, she always proudly showed me her creations. I smiled thinking about her. I knew teachers weren’t supposed to pick favorites, but Angelina was a very special girl.
 

Somehow, I got through the run without my lungs bursting, but I was glad when it was over. Back in the warmth of the running store, I got my bag from the locker I’d rented and checked my phone. I had a missed call and a new voicemail from a number I didn’t recognize, and called the voice mailbox as I got my stuff together to head out.
 

“You have one new message,” the mechanical voice told me as I scanned the room—not for Devin, I told myself. Just to see how everyone else was doing after the run, see if they were as worn out as I was. Yet there Devin was, looking as spry and energetic as before, though with a charming stream of sweat down the center of his gray shirt. He was talking to some of the others in the group.