The next morning, as Joanne’s alarm blared for a minute and stopped, her drift into consciousness was slow. Rolling over, she snuggled into the warmth of the covers, smiling softly at how comfortable she was. Though there was still an underlying sense of worry and haste from the previous days’ events, it was somewhat enjoyable to wake up free from her work’s stress; no morning calls from an underpaid (and thus, over-dependent) agent ringing in her ears to force her out of bed; no scheduled meeting she had to attend — and she intended to make most of it.
She sat up on her bed, stretching out her arms and arching her back until it felt like she was about to pop. Satisfied, they fell to her sides and, on bare feet, she padded over to the windows that spanned the wall opposite her bed. She drew open the blinds, allowing the cool, moist air to fully wake her and the fading darkness to hold her attention for a moment — and her smile widened as the light from the lamp posts mixed with those of the celestial bodies to give her skin an almost eerie touch.
Squinting, she turned her gaze to the city beyond the window. A splash of colours bloomed in the distance, and the cacophonous sounds of honks and squeals of tires against asphalt could be heard. Businesses were opening, and those who wished to avoid the usual morning traffic had already left the comforts of their home, mingling with similar others on the concrete jungle that was her city. Above, the clouds lazily swirled their way across the sky, unable to hide the hints of sunlight creeping over the horizon.
It was going to be a lovely day, she just knew.
Shrugging out of the thin nightgown she had worn to bed, she paused in front of her wardrobe, hand hovering over its contents in indecision. It was a nice day out and she was in the mood for a jog. She made a selection, pulling it over her toned frame, then stood in front of the mirror. The athletic wear were in her favourite colours as they were wont to be, with the brand contrasting sharply and proudly displayed. She could not help but pose a little, giggling as she indulged in her idle model fantasies. She looked good.
On her way out, she scooped up her phone, card, and some cash, placing them all in their appropriate pockets in her bum bag, which went around her waist. Wolffe was awake, the Keeshond scampering around in aimless circles before, upon sighting her, sliding across the tiles to bump right into her leg. Laughing softly, she bent and picked him up, cradling him in her arms as she made for the door.
"One day you'll be too big for cuddles, but, hopefully, not yet,” she whispered, rubbing his belly, and was rewarded with a wet tongue on her neck. “I want you to remain my baby for a while.”
At the entrance, she settled him down to slip on a pair of black running shoes and lock the door, and after pocketing both her key and keycard, walked out of the building with her dog on her heels. It was not long before she was jogging down a well-worn footpath in the nearby park, yellow-leaved trees acting as guardians on either side and the lamp posts providing illumination to light her way.
Her hair, put up in its usual ponytail, bobbed up and down in mimicry of her movements, errant strands swaying in the wind, and her calves burnt something fierce as her footsteps pounded the ground. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck, staining the pink sports bra and black yoga pants she wore. Despite all that, she wore a smile as she continued on the path, the exertion, pleasing, and the music booming in her head from her earbuds, her very own war song urging her onwards.
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She had passed other joggers, strollers, and dog walkers alike — but was thankful there were not too many as she had left Wolffe to his own devices to concentrate on her exercises — and as time elapsed, found herself indulging in a favoured hobby: idling observing each individual. One particularly determined young man strode purposefully from the other direction, coloured weight in hands, while a similarly-aged woman jogged a few feet adjacent from her. Joanne glanced to her side, her gaze settling on the woman’s elated expression, and her cheeks flushed hot with desire.
Even as she pumped her legs rhythmically, she could not help but drink in the woman’s delicate yet fierce features — from her face, pale and beading with sweat, to her lips, settled beneath a dainty nose and open to let loose ragged breaths — and never had ‘attractive’ seemed an insufficient descriptor than it did then — and, as if the universe sought to punish her thoughts, a squirrel chose that moment to run across the path. Its sudden appearance startled her, and such was her shock that she stepped back and released a high-pitch shriek. Unfortunately, her hurried actions resulted in a stumble, and consequently, she fell.
“Ow!” she intoned loudly, a palm flexed on the ground to support her body while the other reached behind to massage her sore bum.
“Shit!” The voice was young, distinctively feminine, and seemed to come from just beyond her line of sight. “Are”—a hand came into view, half-bitten nails with chipped varnish on full display—“you alright?”
Concern was apparent in the words, and curiosity piqued, she looked up.
In front of her, and outlined in dark relief against the early morning sun, stood the woman she was ogling, blonde hair lying like a second skin over rosy cheeks and gaze on her. At once, Joanne flushed hot once more, and from her position on the ground, took in the salty droplets flowing down the woman’s face as she bent slightly to regain her breath, the dark and growing map of perspiration on the tank top, and the supple curves of her body emphasised by the tight yoga pants and bra top she wore.
“Hello?”
The voice brought Joanne back to the present, and she lowered her gaze in shame. Her blatant ogling was noticed, it seemed, yet instead of cursing her out, a hand was still outstretched to help her up, and the woman’s lips were curled teasingly.
However, it would do her good to remember that just because the woman liked being ogled — or so she assumed — it did not mean her actions were in the right. Professionalism does not begin and end in official settings.
“Oh-oh-yeah, thanks,” she stuttered, taking the offered hand and pulling herself up. Once on her feet, she released her hold and used them to wipe out the dust from her impromptu landing. “Sorry for that.”
“For… falling?” the woman said, her words drawled out and brows furrowed.
Joanne shook her head. “My actions were inappropriate.” The apology slipped past her lips before she could retract them, and as an awkward silence filled the air between them, she began fidgeting in place, internally chastising her sense of respect — but as the deed was already done, she forcefully squared her shoulders and waited for a response, whatever that may be.
She was not expecting the laughter that erupted from the woman’s lips, and so she sputtered as a result, losing her composure and twisting her face in an interesting visual mix of disbelief, shame, and annoyance.
Eventually, the laughter petered out. “Gosh, you seem a bit uptight”—a smile was directed her way to take the sting out of the words—“but I’ll overlook it because you’re cute.”
Unable to respond as she was gaping, still fighting the red in her cheeks, the woman continued, eyes considering. “I'm Emile, by the way.” A hand removed the phone from its armband holder and held it out. “Your phone number?”
Joanne should have said no, but she did not. Maybe it was the loneliness that hid behind her workaholic nature, or the need to finally move on from Nathan — maybe even the need for stress relief. Either way, after they exchanged contact details, she found her dog and left the park feeling dazed.