CARTER
I sit on the front steps of the house and get to work on lacing my shoes.
Every morning before escorting Rory to work, I go for a run. It's not something I have to do considering that there's a basement gym in her house—which I've come to realise she barely uses but keeps it clean—and I can easily use the treadmill. It's habit. I'm so used to running, it's become a part of me.
I'm tightening the knot when two much smaller feet appear in my periphery.
The feet are clad in blue running shoes so remarkably feminine, it almost brings a smile to my lips. Almost, because in the next second, it dawns on me that they are running shoes which means that whoever this person is, is going for a run.
Of course I know who it is. There's only one other person who lives in this house, and wh
