No one would ever describe Jason Channing as a morning person—especially not before he’d had at least his first cup of coffee. And yet, he used to set his alarm for 7:00 a.m. every morning, at which time he’d slap the clock to silence the annoying buzz, drag himself out of bed, pull on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt—or jogging pants and a sweatshirt, depending on the season—lace up his running shoes and head out for his 5K run.
It was a pattern he’d established in high school, when he was a quarterback for the Westmount Mustangs and his coach had insisted that routines and discipline were even more important than talent in building a winning team. Jay hadn’t played ball in more than a decade, but he continued to run every morning. And for the past two months, he’d had an extra incentive to hit the pavement: Alyssa Cabrera.
The Southern California transplant had moved into unit 1B of the A-frame triplex sometime near the end of the previous summer. He hadn’t paid too much attention to his new neighbor at the time—although he’d done a double take that first day, and that second look had reinforced his first impression of the new resident as a definite knockout. But preoccupation with his fledgling business and his own relationship rules had discouraged him from doing anything more than look.
Until one morning in early March when he’d awakened before his alarm and decided he might as well start his day. He’d headed out for his run at 6:45 a.m., just as Alyssa was returning from hers. She was wearing a hoodie, body-hugging leggings and high-end running shoes that suggested her morning routine was more of a passion than a hobby.
He’d awakened an hour earlier the next morning in an effort to sync his schedule with hers. And though she’d initially seemed wary of his request to join her, she’d consented. So he’d set his alarm for the same time the next day again. And the day after that, because it was a pleasure to spend time with a woman who didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with idle chatter. As the days turned into weeks, he found that his daily exercise—even now starting at 6:00 a.m.—had become more of a pleasure than simply a habit.
Aside from those early encounters, their paths didn’t cross very often, despite the fact that they lived in the same building. As a math and science teacher at the local high school—that much she’d revealed in between sprints—she worked the usual school hours Monday to Friday, while Adventure Village, the family-friendly activity center he owned, required him to be on-site from early to late Wednesday through Sunday.
Then, completely out of the blue and in the midst of a March blizzard, she’d shown up at his door with a covered dish in her hands. Apparently the unexpected storm that had shut down the town had also canceled a staff potluck at the high school, leaving Alyssa with enough chili to feed twelve. She’d already put a container aside for Helen Powell—the widowed resident of 1A, who was out of town visiting her daughter’s family—but she still had more than she could possibly store in her freezer.
As Jason had listened to the explanation of why she was at his door, he found himself mesmerized by the curve of her lips rather than the words she was saying. And when his gaze had dipped lower, he couldn’t help but appreciate that her soft sweater and leggings outlined her sweet curves. She wore fuzzy socks on her feet, and the top of her head barely reached his chin, but there was a lot of punch in the petite package.
Since the storm prevented him from going anywhere, he’d invited her to come in to eat with him. He’d opened a bottle of merlot and, as they’d shared dinner and conversation, he’d found himself increasingly intrigued by the beautiful woman he’d never really let himself notice before.
After that night, when they’d sipped wine and listened to the wind rattling the windows, he’d been much more aware of his neighbor—and more cognizant of her comings and goings. But their morning runs had done little to satisfy his growing curiosity about his new neighbor.
“Looks like spring is finally here,” he noted, when he met her at the top of the driveway on a Friday morning in early May.
“The last time you said that, we got dumped with six inches of snow only a few hours later,” she remarked, walking toward the street.
“No chance of that today,” he promised. “The sky is clear and blue.”
“So far,” she acknowledged.
They turned west, away from the rising sun, and picked up their pace.
“Any big plans for this weekend?” he asked as they transitioned from a brisk walk to a slow jog.
Her only response was a negative shake of the head that sent her ponytail swinging from side to side.
“You’re not going to ask if I have plans?”
“I don’t need to ask if a man whose nickname is ‘Charming’ has weekend plans,” she noted.
He winced inwardly at her use of the moniker he’d thought—hoped—he’d outgrown. “Where’d you hear that name?”
“In the staff room at school.”
Of course. Because he’d dated Lisa Dailey, the music teacher, Shannon Hart, the girls’ gym teacher and soccer coach, and—very briefly—Taylor Lawson, the office administrator.
“Rumor has it you’ve broken the hearts of all the single women in Haven and are dating someone in Battle Mountain now.”
“Was,” he clarified.
“She dumped you already?”
He was so surprised by the question, he stopped running.
It took a few strides before she realized he was no longer beside her and turned back, jogging on the spot until he caught up again.
“She did not dump me,” he told her.
“You dumped her?”
“We decided that we wanted different things,” he said as they continued along their usual route.
“She wanted a relationship and you didn’t?” Alyssa guessed.
Her assumption hit a little too close to the truth for comfort. “Renee said that I was too focused on my business and not enough on her.”
“And instead of trying to appease her with flowers or chocolates or candlelit dinners, you gave her the equivalent of a relationship pink slip.”
“Pink was her favorite color.”
She surprised him by laughing. “Then maybe you made the right decision.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“How is that relevant to anything?”
“It’s a simple question—although also a personal question,” he acknowledged. “And I’ve noticed that you always sidestep personal questions.”
“Orange,” she told him.
“Why orange?”
“That’s an even more personal question.”
“Tell me anyway,” he urged.
She picked up her pace and turned onto Peregrine Lane, and for a minute, he didn’t think she was going to answer.
“Because it’s the last color you see as the sun dips below the horizon at the edge of the ocean,” she finally responded.
“That’s right—you’re a California girl, aren’t you?”
“Former California girl,” she amended.
“Why’d you trade sand and surf for northern Nevada desert?”
She shrugged. “It was time for a change.”
“Sounds