Nothing intense. Just the kind of easy back-and-forth Maya rarely had time for. She told herself it didn’t mean anything. Just a familiar face. A coincidence. But coincidences didn’t usually show up three times in one week.
He was easy to talk to. Never too much. He asked about her races, but didn’t make a big deal out of them. “So which is worse,” he asked once, “running while sore or biking against wind?” Maya didn’t hesitate. “Wind. At least with soreness you know it’s earned.”