That meant keeping to the schedule she’d set for herself and doing all her usual activities even when her heart wasn’t into it, which was why she was currently riding the elevator down to the lobby, decked out in her running gear. She ran two miles every other morning, rain or shine, happy or sad.
This morning happened to be both rainy and sad, but damned if she would let Dean Colter send her spiraling into a depression. After she’d all but kicked him out, she’d spent the rest of the weekend moping and crying, same way she’d moped and cried eleven years ago when he’d skipped town.
But enough was enough. She wasn’t a heartsick teenager anymore. She was a grown woman, and it was time to forget about Dean. She’d managed it once, and this second time around would be even easier, because at least now she knew why he’d left her. The knowledge that she hadn’t done anything to drive him away had come as a genuine relief, but that didn’t mean she wanted to rekindle their relationship. That ship had long sailed.
“Morning, Ms. Lee.” The doorman at the hotel’s back doors greeted her with a smile.
She smiled back. “Morning, Sam.”
He held open the door, frowning at the overcast sky. “Be careful out there today. It might be slippery.”
“I’ll be okay. I’m heading to the running path by the beach.” She waved goodbye and stepped into the misty morning air, her sneakers smacking the wet pavement as she jogged along the path that led to the waterfront.
It was cold, but nowhere near as cold as it was in New York right now. She almost wished she’d planned this San Francisco trip for after the New Year, so she could avoid the typically frigid January and February in Manhattan. But no, it was better this way. Work was always slower during the holidays, which meant she didn’t have to keep too close of an eye on Lorenzo right now. Once things got hectic again, she’d need to stick to that man like glue, before he destroyed everything she’d worked so hard for.
Emma’s ponytail slapped between her shoulder blades as she ran. She’d forgotten her iPod, so she had to settle for a soundtrack of crashing waves and squawking seagulls, which she found oddly relaxing. She’d just reached the running path when the thud of footsteps interrupted the peaceful sounds of nature.
A dark shadow crossed her peripheral vision, and when she turned her head, her jaw fell open. “What the—?”
“Hey, Em,” Dean said cheerfully. “Nice day for a run, huh?”
She stopped in her tracks like a cartoon character, whirling to stare at him. “Oh my God. Are you following me?”
“Of course not. I was out on my morning run and saw you, so I figured I’d come over and say hi.”
She appraised his outfit—faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt—then met his eyes. “You run in jeans?”
Those gray eyes twinkled. “Yup.”
“Bullshit.” She crossed her arms over the front of her T-shirt. “This is…it’s nuts! You broke into my suite on Saturday night, and now you’re lurking outside the hotel waiting for me to come out? You realize this is textbook stalking behavior, right?”
“What, are you going to have me arrested, Em?”
Dean flashed a familiar grin that made her heart ache. It was that crooked, little-boy smile he’d mastered back in the day, the one that always summoned an answering smile from her.
But not today. Today she frowned. “I should,” she shot back. “Just on principle alone.”
“By the way,” he added, as if she hadn’t spoken, “you really should return Suz’s calls. She thinks you hate her.”
Emma’s frown wavered as a pang of guilt tugged at her belly. Crap. As much as she hated thinking it, Dean was right. Suz had been calling nonstop this weekend, but Emma had ignored each call. She hadn’t felt like dealing with all the questions her friend would undoubtedly have about Emma’s past with Dean, but now she realized her silence had sent the wrong message.
She didn’t hate Suz. Having Dean show up at her door had been a serious shock, but it had also been a misunderstanding on Suz’s part. The poor woman had thought she was setting Emma up with the hot stranger she’d spoken to at the party. Suz had no way of knowing she was purchasing two tickets for an unwelcome trip down memory lane.
Emma stepped aside as a group of ladies jogged past, their ponytailed heads swiveling one by one toward where Dean stood on the opposite end of the path.
“I don’t hate her,” Emma said, softening her tone. “But thanks for the heads-up—I’ll call her the moment I’m back from my run.”
“Our run,” he corrected.
And…he pushed the wrong buttons again, and she bristled. “I’m not running with you.”
“Why? You scared you won’t be able to keep up?”