“She thought her last chance at love had passed her by, but this Christmas, the race to romance has just begun...”

If Trent Robertson was the one that got away, then Riley Lancaster was the one that stayed behind, waiting patiently for him to return. And now that he has, life—and especially Christmas—will never be the same!

Every year, Riley Lancaster laces up her favorite pair of running shoes and heads down to the official starting line for the annual 5K Christmas race, the Rudolph Run. And every year, she waits in vain for her former racing partner, Trent Robertson, to return. And every year, he never does.

Pathetic as it is, it’s a tradition Riley just can’t give up. Even after seventeen years, as the holidays approach, Riley knows she’ll lace up—and show up—one more time. But this year promises to be different. This year, Trent is back in town to settle his father’s affairs after a tragic heart attack over Thanksgiving weekend. And he’s brought along his teenage son, Archie. The son Trent had with his high school sweetheart, Mia. And after a chance run-in with Trent, Riley realizes the past she put behind has caught up with her in a way she never could have imagined – and won’t soon forget.

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Release Date: November 19, 2024

Genre: Contemporary Holiday Romance

~ A Pink Satin Romance ~

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Excerpt

Chapter One

Riley Lancaster ran free and unencumbered through the neon lit streets of her tiny seaside town. It didn’t matter if it was just past 3:00 a.m. on a weeknight. Her work schedule was such that night was day and day was night. This Friday might be her Monday and next Tuesday her Saturday, depending on the time of year and how busy the restaurant was or which of the other managers were on vacation.

This time was her time, and hers alone, to do with as she pleased, and she carved it out whenever, wherever, she could. Here, gliding down Oceanside Drive through the middle of town in her very favorite running shoes, there were no walkie-talkies or ear buds, no “hangry” guests complaining about cold waffle fries or servers wanting to be cut early. Instead of barbecue sauce and smoked pork shoulders and vinegar slaw, she smelled only the sting of her own sweat and the sweet salt spray that floated in from the Atlantic Ocean just a mere block away from her nightly route through the heart of Fiesta Beach, Florida.

She wore no ear buds to drown out the bittersweet silence that filled the deserted streets. She wore no backpack, brought no water bottle and left behind all the fancy gadgets that might have distracted her from the sheer joy of putting one foot in front of the other, over and over and over again, until physical exhaustion brought her back to the doorstep of her pine green, double-wide back at the Salty Seagull Trailer Park.

Her pace was smooth, her legs strong, her arms pumping steadily to guide her through the gaudy neon strip that ran the length of her cozy beachside town. Step by step, mile by mile, her anxious mind gradually drained of all the day’s minor dilemmas and was replaced by the serene, comforting calm of swift, steady movement. It might have been temporary, an hour or so at best, but it was the carrot that kept her grinding through her daily routine, day after day, month after month, year after year. Work might give her a reason to get out of bed six days a week, but running literally kept her alive.

It had been this way for as long as Riley could remember. Sure, she might have joined the track team her freshman year in high school to chase some upperclassman hunk around in his snug running shorts every day after school, but the serene satisfaction she’d gained from leaving it all on the track during her first practice had quickly become a lifelong addiction.

The sights and smells of Fiesta Beach were different in the middle of the night, and she smiled with secret satisfaction claiming them as her own. The crowds of tourists had left the beach hours and hours ago, the restaurants were long since closed, the cheesy blue and pink painted strip malls were dead empty and only the neon glow of the Shake Shack, the 24-hour diner where she turned around and headed back home each night, loomed like a beacon only a block or two ahead.

She slowed her pace slightly, savoring each gliding footstep to make the first leg of the run last as long as she could milk it. She always approached the Shake Shack at half-speed anyway, all the better to glance inside the big picture windows facing the street as she passed, if only to see what the other insomniacs in town might be up to in the middle of the night.

She often wondered about the people who sat in those four or five window booths facing Oceanside Drive, hunched down over their plates of world-famous caramel apple fritters and 50-cent cups of coffee. Were they quieting their minds as well? Soothing jangled nerves and leaving behind the stress of their day with comfort food and caffeine instead of blood, sweat and running shoes? Were they just getting off work or, worse yet, just starting their day? Were they meeting someone new? Or just getting over an old relationship?

Like this guy in the window coming up. What was his story? All alone in a booth for one, sipping his mug of coffee in rolled up shirtsleeves, his tie loosened one notch, fashionable salt and pepper stubble covering the light brown skin of his smooth, shapely head and a cryptic frown covering his soft, supple lips and...

Oh.

My.

GOD!

She knew those lips. Knew that soft, supple skin. Knew the long, athletic fingers cupping the handle of the mug and the strong, wiry forearms disappearing into the rolled-up sleeves of his fitted dress shirt. Knew the man’s name, though when she’d first met him, he was little more than a boy.

Trent.

Trent frickin’ Robertson.

Riley paused, nearly tumbling head over heels with the power of recognition that slammed into her like an emotional freight train. Memories long since buried crawled from their individual graves like a horde of heartbreaking zombies and her ears filled with the thrum of panicked blood as if they were screaming at her, one by one.

An avalanche of emotions pounded her, all at once, shattering whatever sense of calm she’d attained with her late-night run, until she literally gasped and fought for breath as she struggled to remain upright, let alone put one foot in front of the other.

What? The hell? Was he doing back in town?

How...how was it even possible?

What were the odds she’d glance over at the Shake Shack windows like she did every night and see the boy who shattered her heart into a million tiny pieces a veritable lifetime ago?

Why hadn’t she just kept running? Ignored the lone figure in the window, no matter how dashing, and just kept her eyes on the pavement in front of her? Why was she so damn nosy?

She somehow righted herself, heart pounding, skin glossy and eyes stinging with sweat. Maybe that was it, she reassured herself, blinking the sweat away as she slowly cruised past the window. Maybe her mind was just playing tricks on her. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, the neon glow from inside turning some poor schlub reading the paper after work into the one who got away. Maybe it was just—

But no, it was him. She’d know that profile, those lips, the wary cast of his eyes and the broadness of those smooth, athletic shoulders anywhere. Not only was he here, in the flesh, but the flesh still looked mighty good.

He couldn’t have even had the common courtesy to gain thirty pounds and lose half his hair before he waltzed back into her life in the middle of the night, unannounced? No, of course not. Not Trent Robertson. Oh no, he had to still look like the high school stud who promised her a Christmas miracle and then stole it back, and then some, like the Grinch in the night.

Riley picked up her pace even as her eyes remained transfixed on the figure just beyond the glass. Please, please, PLEASE, she silently begged the universe as she passed, please, whatever you do, don’t let him look this way—

But of course, he did. Of course. He did. Just as she passed, Trent glanced her way. Their eyes met, only for the briefest instant, but it was enough. She saw in those gentle brown eyes the jolt and shock she herself had just felt, only fresh, electric and new.

Time froze then, like something out of a Matrix movie. Her legs kept moving, her arms kept pumping, and yet she remained in place, miming the movements rather than propelling herself forward. Likewise, his arm was still lifting his coffee mug to his lips, those warm, tender lips, the lips she’d always yearned to kiss and never, ever had.

And yet, molecule by molecule, neither seemed to reach their destination. The glance they stole through the plate glass window meandered and roamed and lived a life of its own until, at last, time resumed, and his face became a blur as her leaden foot finally hit the ground and broke the magic spell.

Where time had only a moment earlier ground to a halt, suddenly it sped back up with a vengeance. She heard muffled shouting and then, out of the corner of her eye, saw the commotion of him standing abruptly, long and lean in his fancy duds, spilling something and darting away from the table as a frazzled waitress entered the frame to wave her hands in distress and shout after him as he fled.

Riley panicked. She had no choice. Her body literally chose for her. It bolted ahead, straight into the night, clearly choosing ‘flight’ over ‘fight’. Or, at least, her body tried to. Suddenly her feet were rubber, her legs like lead, the combination making her wobbly and awkward and, above all, slow.

Like sludge she tried to cut through the soft, sultry night until, inevitably, she heard the chime of the door behind her and, immediately afterward, Trent Robertson’s familiar voice calling after her.

 

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