A very fetching lightweight, sweat wicking cape takes me to 8,036 words

I am feeling "Hot Runner Summer" in my bones today. Heat warning be-damned, I cranked out my 19km long run (drinking tons of water, taking two cooling breaks and running slower than I even ran in the snow). Unlike the poor characters in my novel, I got to run at 7am - not midday.

For today's excerpt (a long one, much like my run), I hope you enjoy the introduction of Jake Kneiss and more than a few details of Operation Hot Commie Summer.

 

“Welcome to the Inaugural Lunch Run, the first of many mandatory training sessions for the Inaugural Bank of Nova Scotia Return to Office 5km ‘Marathon,’” Chuck’s voice booms over a megaphone.

A lacklustre group of Bank of Nova Scotia employees is gathered just outside our downtown offices in Stratford. Each employee bears a matching grimace of distaste. Except Chuck. Who is glowing. Beaming. Delighted at the turnout.

“I take the excellent turnout today as a point of pride,” he shouts just before a shriek of feedback from the megaphone pierces the air. “Biggest crowd I’ve ever seen! Bigger than Obama’s Inauguration, that’s for sure!”

“It’s mandatory, dude,” shouts a disgruntled employee in the back.

“Jake, take down his name,” Chuck says ominously to a man standing to his right. 

I am immediately stunned by the man’s handsome face. His blue grey eyes are piercing, like the view of Lake Huron from the dock on a quiet morning. His hair is a light brown, and brushed back mid-way down his neck. He is, incongruously to the group of runners, wearing dark blue jeans, fashionable sneakers, and a white cotton henley.

His sculpted jaw is a work of art. To say that it is chiseled felt wrong, because it would imply that any man-made tools could create something so beautiful. Maybe you could say that it was chiseled by gods who broke the mold after they perfected jawlines. It is so sharp, it looks like you could use it to slice some cheese to make a nice polenta lasagne. 

He is beautiful.

And he is my target.

Jake Kneiss. 

He works just below Chuck in HR. Literally, in that his office is directly below that of Chuck’s. And also figuratively, in that he is Chuck’s second in command. He is the second most powerful person in the HR Department of The Bank of Nova Scotia Stratford Downtown Branch.

And he is Chadwick Penneyworth’s son.

My goal this summer? To woo Jake Kneiss, convince him that mandating a return to office is a horrible idea, and get him to change the minds of those who wield all the power: The Senior Leadership Group.

A tall order, to be sure.

“Your Senior Leadership Group has graciously provided us with running T shirts, custom made for the occasion. As well, they have provided FitBits. You will now be required to wear the FitBits at all times, including but not limited to Mandatory Lunch Runs. The only exception to the requirement to wear at all times will be to briefly remove the FitBit when it is charging.”

Chuck takes a moment to rummage through a large cardboard box just to his left and pull out a black T shirt. He holds it up to the crowd, with the same love and pride as Mufasa holding up a baby Simba to the adoration of the onlooking animal kingdom. The shirt is emblazoned with the words “Hot Runner Summer” in a bold red font. Below this, licked with flames, is a caricature of a vampire wearing a cape.

Chilling.

The idea of running not only in the hottest part of the day, but being forced to wear black while doing it is alarming.

“Thanks to Dr Gordon Toodie for helping with the design,” Chuck screams into the megaphone, again eliciting a shriek of feedback.

Gordon then appears at Chuck’s left shoulder. I could swear he was not anywhere in sight moments ago. He has left behind his heavy velvet ‘dress’ cape that I saw yesterday in favour of what appears to be a light-weight, sweat-wicking cape that is very fetching.

~~~

Jake has somehow changed clothing since I saw him on stage a few minutes ago. He is now wearing some heather grey shorts and a white running top. It looks like he has gone for about a hundred thousand runs in his life while wearing full goalie equipment. I try not to leer at him, and mostly fail. Who knew that a calf had that many muscles?

“Hi,” I blurt out when he approaches me.

He hands me a T shirt and the FitBit. While I struggle to get the T shirt on over my hat, I try to keep his attention.

“Nice day for a run,” I gush, T shirt still stuck on the brim of my cap.

Jake grimaces. “It is not a good day to start out running,” he says, noting the rapidly rising temperatures and the sun that is now beating down on my perspiring neck.

“I guess it really will be a ‘Hot Runner Summer’,” I titter.

He rolls his eyes.

This is going to be harder than I thought. I apparently am not very good at flirting. This should have been an obvious to those who recruited me, that the person who is at the top of HRs list of favourites, a consummate rule follower, might not be the best at courting. That I call it ‘courting’ is yet another red flag for mission failure.

“Listen,” I say sweetly. “I’m new to this whole running thing. And I’m looking for a running buddy. Want to run with me today?”

He rolls his eyes again.

“Please,” I say, tone evocative of that of a whining child, clasping my hands in front of my chest and giving what I hope is my best puppy dog eyes. I bat my eyelashes at him with a fervour not seen since Gordon spoke to me just yesterday about running socks. Surely bringing Gordon-like fervour to a flirting situation cannot be a successful strategy. What the hell am I doing? I think to myself. I am even worse at this than I thought.

“If it means you will never use that tone again, then my answer is yes,” he says, sounding harassed. “But just this once.”

“You won’t regret it!” I say. “Thanks!” I continue to bad my eyelashes feverishly.

“Hey, are you OK?” Jake asks, looking concerned. “Do you have something in your eyes? I know where the nearest eyewash station is, if you need me to take you there.”

“Uh, no,” I say stiltingly. “I’m fine.” I will the Goodr sunglasses down from where they were perched fetchingly on my head to cover my eyes.