“You okay?” Logan asks me.
I sigh. “Why did I think I could do this?”
“Getting into running is always hard. And although we stretched a little, and you are in decent shape, it takes some time for your legs to adjust.”
“Like how long?”
“A few weeks, maybe?”
I groan. “Weeks?”
“If running was easy and unceasingly enjoyable, everyone would do it.”
I throw an arm out at the joggers, runners, and speed walkers going by. “It looks like everyone in Denver does do it.”
“C’mon,” Logan says, patting me. “We’ll walk for a while and then go again. The run-walk strategy works for a lot of new runners.”
I stand. My legs feel like a pair of melting popsicles, but they hold my weight. Bean jumps up, ready to go.
“You suck, too,” I mutter at her.
“Let’s head this way,” Logan says, starting to jog. “I want to show you something.”
I follow, already intensely regretting adding item number nine to my bucket list. He leads me down a path along the edge of the park that borders the zoo.
“We should . . . go to the zoo soon,” I pant. “We haven’t been . . . in a long time.”
“Like years,” Logan says easily.
“Maybe . . . invite Emmy and Jude,” I say. “I like them. Don’t you?”
He hesitates, but then quickly answers yes. Huh. I stop running. It’s been a minute; time to walk. Logan slows, too.
“Wait, do you like them?” I ask when I can. “I think they’ve been so great about helping us at the club meetings. Bean wouldn’t have gotten nearly as far as she has without them.”
He nods. “Yep, they’re great.” He doesn’t sound enthusiastic until he adds, “Especially Emmy.”
My heart does a funny flip flop, which I take as excitement. He’s playing directly into my plan. “I don’t have to invite Jude.”
He runs a hand through his not-even-the-least-bit-sweaty hair. “No, no. Invite him. He’s a good guy.”
I brighten. “I think so, too. Sweet—I’ll see when they’re free. Where are we going, by the way?”
“Here.” Logan gestures to the little lake that sits between the park and the wall around the zoo. Tons of birds are always in and around it, and people feeding and watching the birds along the edges. Which brings the squirrels, pigeons, and ants. It’s a zoo out here, too, come to think of it.
Today’s no different. We stand beside the water and watch feathered friends go about their business. Bean looks like she wishes she could round them all up, so I hold her leash tightly. The last thing wild animals need is for Bean to chase them. Chickens are bad enough.
“Are we looking at something in particular?” I ask.
Logan points to a tall gray bird with a bright orange beak and pink legs. “See that goose? She’s really unusual. This species usually lives in Eurasia, but occasionally they can be found other places, like . . . here.”
I moan. “Not another bird lesson.”
My friend’s expression slips from eager to carefully neutral. “Okay. No more. Sorry.”
As he walks away, I grab his arm. It slips through my grasp until I’m holding his hand. “I’m sorry, Logan. I was teasing. I like learning about the birds. Truly.”
I catch his eyes, too, apologizing with my gaze. He’s seen my sorry face often enough over a lifetime of friendship, that’s for sure. “What species is this?”
He half-smiles, a lopsided look that is his apology accepted expression. “A graylag goose. And his mate should be around here somewhere, too. Like a lot of geese, they mate for life.” We search the lake, but no other geese match. Logan’s eyebrows pinch. “Maybe she’s out feeding.”
“What’s so cool about the graylags, other than that they’re lost?” I joke.
“Well, an ocean and half a continent away from home is pretty darn lost, for one thing. These must have gone rogue. Usually they live in flocks for protection. And sometimes they help raise other goslings. Occasionally the pairs are even two males instead of males and females.”
“Really?”
He nods. “It’s a lot more common in animals than people think.”
“So, where’s this one’s mate?”
Logan shrugs. “She was here last week before we met for the club. I spotted them on my run.”
We watch the graylag as he struts around in the grass. With the length of his neck and the stern set of his beak, he’s rather regal.
I mess with the loop at the top of Bean’s leash. “What happens when a goose dies?”
“It goes to goose heaven. Or if it was particularly naughty, goose hell.” He hadn’t even missed a beat.
I elbow him. “I mean to its mate.”
“Sometimes the survivor will mate with another goose. But I doubt that would be possible for this one. He lives too far from other graylags.”
“He’d be alone.”
He glances at me again. “Yeah. Geese really grieve their mates when they die, too. Even when they lose eggs, they grieve.”
A lump grows in my throat as I watch the lone goose. Which is ridiculous. We don’t even know if his mate is gone. She’s probably out feeding, like Logan said. Or exercising. Heck, maybe she’s making gumbo or flossing her . . . beak. But tears still well in my eyes.
Logan puts an arm around me. “She’ll be back.” He squeezes me before letting me go. “Maybe we can jog again this week and come back and check on them.”
“That sounds good. Wait,” I smack my forehead, “nothing about jogging sounds good.”
He chortles. “Want to go a little farther or are you done?”
Bean stares at me, wagging her tail encouragingly.
My chin sinks to my chest. “A little farther. But if I fall out, take Bean and keep going. Leave me where I lie. Promise me, Logan.” I say this dramatically while clutching the hem of his shirt.
He brushes hair down on the top of my head. “I told you. I never leave a woman behind.”
“And that’s why you’re my oldest and best friend.”
Friends . . . I suddenly think, and friends only. No matter how wonderful he is. No matter how comfortable we are together, how well we get along, how much fun we can have doing not much of anything at all.
Because if I want all those things to stay true, I know that friends are all we ever can be.
Chapter Ten
Logan
The next week at club, Jude teaches Stevie and Bean their first freestyle trick. I hang out with Emmy, helping throw the disc for Meadow, while Jude shows Stevie the basics of how to train Bean to do things like leap in the air and gently grab a frisbee out of her hand.
Competitions, we’ve learned, have both throw and catch events, like most of the dogs in the club practice, and freestyle events, where the human and dog perform a complicated set of moves, kind of like ice dancing. But on land with a dog, a disc, and no ice. If that makes any sense. The human strikes different poses and holds or gently spins the disc while the dog leaps, climbs, and runs to grab them.