Blueprints Ch. 04

"Oh, as if I'd thank you. It's going to be hell!" she scoffed, picking the rocket blend at random and dropping it into the basket. "And why," she called back, moving down the aisle, "is it perfect timing? If anything, it's a bit soon."

"Well, it's not really soon. You've been hankering after her for months. I mean, June, July," he counted the remaining months on a gloved hand, "Five, almost six, months since you first met her. So, it's hardly surprising that in that time you've fallen in love with her."

"Don't be ridiculous," the young woman snapped without a second thought, "I barely know her."

"No, but your face lights up like a Christmas tree when we talk about her," Steve reasoned, "I mean you look like a total idiot, but it's, well, it's sort of nice to see you like that."

Zara reddened and handed Steve the shopping basket. She suddenly felt unbearably hot, clearly a base layer, zip-up hoodie and down jacket were not meant to be worn indoors, even in the refrigerated section. After unzipping both the jacket and the jumper, the young woman picked up a packet of chicken breasts. "I mean," she began grudgingly, not meeting her friend's gaze, "I like her, a lot. But I don't love her." Even thinking about the tall, elegant blonde made her heart pound with a force which betrayed the sentiment.

She turned to walk further down the aisle but Steve stood in her path, "Are you thinking about her now?"

"Well, yes, but I'm also thinking about how you are getting in the way of me and my dinner, so could you move, please?"

He ignored the jibe and placed his strong hand firmly to the centre left of her chest; Zara could feel the pressure of his hand against the top of her ribcage, "What are you doi-"

"Think about her."

"Steve this is ridiculous," she blushed furiously, "I'm not doing this. Not here least of all."

"Why? What are you afraid of?"

"Oh, get off!" she sighed impatiently, brushing his hand from between her breasts, "I don't love her." However, as they continued their shopping her mind flitted to Joanna; the way her lips moved when she began to smile, subtle creases at the side of her mouth forming just before she flashed perfectly aligned enamel before expanding into that ravishing smile. The expression was usually fleeting before it settled into a fond, kind look which made her eyes glow and Zara's heart-.

"Zara!" Steve called, snapping her from the trance he'd unknowingly encouraged. "Just pick one!" Holding one bottle of red wine in each hand, Zara blinked at him several times before regained her wherewithal and selecting the Cabernet before moving to the till. "Chop chop!" We've got a trip to Vietnam to plan."

*************************************

"Come on," Joanna coaxed in an unsuccessful attempt to rouse the young woman who had snuggled further into the bed. "Zara, come on," she repeated before a final, firmer attempt which was accompanied by a not so gentle shake of the girl's bare shoulder.

The brunette groaned defeatedly into the pillow as all sorts of excuses ran through her mind. However, none seemed plausible; she had agreed to this, trained for it and, most of all, she was being rewarded with a night away with Joanna. "Why did I agree to this?" she grumbled before cursing her stupidity.

"I have no idea," Joanna sighed, getting out of the bed, "And, to add to your motivation, according to the forecast it snowed up there last night."

"So if I don't fall and break my neck, hypothermia will get me. Fabulous," Zara muttered darkly as she sat up, watching Joanna slink towards her in the dim light.

"Quite the ray of sunshine this morning, aren't you?" she bent and kissed the top of the girl's head. "Now move it, moaning about it isn't going to improve things."

"Well, it depends," Zara reasoned, her disgruntled expression shifting to a sly smile. "If you could make me moan, then that would certainly improve my demeanour." Slender hands gripped Joanna's forearms, encouraging the older woman back to bed.

Joanna moved with her, kissing the young woman's cheek before moving round to her ear. "Nice try," she whispered before disentangling herself from the gentle grip. Moving towards the ensuite she warned, "I'm leaving in forty minutes. And as much as I hope you can join me, I will happily have an evening in Dulnain House myself - a nice meal, bottle of red wine, get some writing done - what bliss."

"Are you sure you have everything you need?" Joanna asked half-an-hour later as Zara loaded her holdall into the car's boot.

"I think so; I really just need my trail shoes and a couple of layers... Oh my watch!" Zara tutted and proceeded to riffle through the sports bag.

"Zara," Joanna sighed, pulling up the sleeve of the young woman's jumper, causing the architect to reddened at the sight of her smart watch. "Just go and get in the car and try and calm down. Getting all het up isn't going to do you any favours."

The drive, were it not for the periodic nerves which jolted Zara's stomach, was pleasant. They watched the dawn light set the Firth of Forth ablaze, as Joanna's car sped across the iconic suspension bridge. It was a nice vehicle; luxury leather interior, a dashboard with every setting one could need and it tore along at a quiet purr.

As if noticing Zara's envious gaze Joanna asked, "You don't drive, Zara?"

"Yeah, I do," the young woman informed, tipping her features towards the professor. "My car failed its MOT and I've haven't gotten round to replacing it."

"You need to get on with it; you can't be without a car for long."

"Well, it was four years ago," Zara said, stretching her long limbs lazily, "I do have a look at them every now and then, but... I don't know, there're just better things to spend my money on."

"Like flights to Vietnam?" Joanna offered.

"Eh, yeah," Zara replied sheepishly.

They fell into conversation regarding Zara's upcoming trip; she was meeting up with Steve following his cycle through South East Asia. "So you'll do one week alone and one week with your friend?" Joanna asked uneasily. Zara confirmed, explaining that she'd spend a week in the mountainous region of the country before meeting the fellow architect by the coast.

"It's a very safe country," the young woman assured, "And I'm well versed in doing a bit of solo exploring."

"Mmm..." Joanna hummed skeptically, however she didn't push the subject, "And when are you flying?"

"Next week."

The easy discussion continued as they devoured the miles. The route taking them through the quaint city of Perth, then into the burgh of Blairgowrie where they grabbed a coffee. Once crossing the threshold into the national park, identified by an eagle carved in granite, the scenery changed dramatically; snowcapped mountains sprang up as if from nowhere and Scotch pines lined the road like sentries.

"Do we need to put the sat nav on?" Joanna asked, passing her coffee cup back to Zara.

"Probably for the best," Zara loved this part of the country and she knew it well, however, there were so many unmarked roads it made getting lost a very real possibility. She set the coordinates into the car's system and a cool voice told them they were about thirty minutes away, which prompted Zara to dig out her second breakfast.

"Didn't you have enough to eat this morning?" Joanna smiled as she turned onto a minor road.

"It's ten miles, Joanna! Five of which are on a pretty steep incline," she said defensively as she tore open the Trek bar.

As much as Zara willed the minutes to creep by, they soon pulled into the Forestry Commission car park.

"Is your friend here?" the professor asked, as she parallel-parked between a VW camper and a tree.

"Steve? No, to add insult to injury he's scored corporate hospitality for the rugby today."

"No, the boy that was going to give you a lift," Joanna replied, killing the engine and pulling on a pair of gloves.

"Oh, erm, I'm not sure. He's more a friend of Steve's really. I've just met him a couple of times. Besides..." the young woman said, looking nervously at the hordes of mostly men, their legs so knotted in muscle that they could have been extensions of the tree roots surrounding them, "I think I'll just keep my head down."

"You'll be fine," Joanna encouraged, squeezing the girl's tracksuit clad knee. "I'll come with you to register. Let's go."

Walking amongst the soft carpet of snow-dusted pine needles, Zara and Joanna found the registration point. "I'm running under the name Steve McCally," Zara informed the elderly woman who preceded to rifle through the race numbers.

"You used to the roads, girl?" she asked in a thick Highlands accent.

"Until recently, yes," Zara admitted begrudgingly as she accepted the paper number and pins.

A wrinkled finger gestured to Zara's watch. "May as well leave that thing in the car, can't afford to take your eyes off the track on this hill. Keep your head down and watch your feet; two broken ankles last year." And before Zara could respond the woman's attention turned to another competitor.

"Well, that filled me with confidence," Zara muttered.

"Just go get ready so you can warm up and put it out of your mind," Joanna encouraged as the pair made their way back to the car.

The young woman pulled off her tracksuit bottoms, changed her trainers and exchanged her jacket for a battered grey hoodie before jogging away from the car.

Joanna frowned when Zara returned ten minutes later, "You can't wear shorts, Zara, really."

"Having warmed up, I can barely feel the cold," Zara assured the professor who was frowning at her goose-bumped legs. "Besides, everyone else is."

"Everyone else here is mad," Joanna said pointedly without lowering her voice. "Actually, strike that - everyone here is mad, you included." She shivered.

Zara couldn't help but smile; Joanna looked like some Nordic model with her short blonde hair contrasting with the dark fur trim of the expensive looking parka that encased her svelte figure.

"What are you smiling at?" Joanna asked suspiciously as she pinned Zara's race number to her sweater.

"You look nice," Zara shrugged, enjoying the closeness.

"Highland chic," she informed the younger woman dryly. She straightened up but remained standing close. "You on the other hand look like you're about to freeze."

"You'll just have to warm me up later," Zara grinned as she took one of Joanna's now gloved hands in hers and leaned in.

"Eyes on the prize, Millar." Joanna smirked, quelling Zara's advanced with a gentle prod to the shoulder. "Here..." she guided Zara's hand before pulling up the jumper's sleeve. "You should wear it; doesn't matter what some old crone says, just make sure you concentrate," Joanna urged as she refastened the watch Zara had discarded.

A klaxon reverberated through the woodland signifying the start of the pre-race brief. "I better go," she muttered, pointlessly toying with the watch strap as butterflies, and not the good kind, fluttered in her stomach.

"You'll be great," Joanna assured her, slender hands gripping Zara's shoulders, "But please be careful," she urged before betrayed her own stance on public displays of affection to kiss the young woman. "Well, go on," she urged a moment later, giving Zara a gentle shove, lifting her from her McKenzie-infused daze to trot towards the assembling group.

The briefing was more of the same inspiring encouragement. "...ambulances are on hand..."; "...if you don't follow the markers it'll be easy to get lost..."; "...the snow has stopped... for now..."

"Don't look so worried," an older man dressed in obscenely short shorts and a fluorescent vest advised, "The club that organises this race are always trying to make their events out to be the toughest in the country. It's not half as bad as they are saying," his greying whiskers twitched in a heartening smile. "Nae bother for a young lass like you."

But before Zara could respond to the much-needed kindness, the starting whistle blew and, in blur of goose-bumps and Lycra, the runners set off along the trail. It was an easy, almost pleasant, start; the thick blanket of pine needles and snow had Zara almost bouncing along at a sensible pace. The real competitors were already rounding a corner before her, but she maintained a respectable speed for the first mile, which warmed up her legs sufficiently to tackle the upcoming incline.

Don't be scared to drop to a slow jog for the hill, otherwise you'll burn out, Steve had cautioned. She heeded his advice and her feet crunched on the now stoney path at a slower gait as a heat began to grow in her thighs and bum. For the first while, the burn was almost satisfying and Zara lost herself in the ascent.

Leaving the woods behind, the young woman scaled the exposed hill as the scenery became yet more idyllic. Growing amongst the snow-dusted heather, pine trees peppered the hillside and a pair of Kestrels soared gracefully above. Furthermore, the runners had spread out, meaning there was less chance of tripping over each other. Shaking her head, Zara thought herself foolish for just how wound-up she'd gotten herself at what was turning out to be a pleasant workout.

Unfortunately, the feeling of tranquility was short lived; no runner relishes steep inclines and although she'd been coping, this beast was now becoming the archest of her enemies. However, this was a race after all and where Zara would normally have slowed to a power walk she forced her legs to speed up.

"You're doing really well!" the marshals called cheerily from the confines of their Jeep. Zara tried to smile, but it probably came across as an envious glare - the two women were wrapped in wool blankets, sipping some steaming hot drink. "You're just another two miles to the top."

Just two miles? Very good! Zara thought sarcastically as she rounded the bend which brought her to a bouldery section. Hopping up the slippery rock Zara was glad she'd recently replaced her trainers as she scaled the precarious incline.

Approaching the top of the exposed hill the wind really picked up and Zara only heard the laboured breath and scuffing of rubber on rock when the individual was almost on her. Her head darted to see a pink clad figure lurching into her peripheral and the break in concentration had her misjudge a step, resulting in a scrape to her knee.

"Shit!" she winced but maintained the pace, not bothering to look at the now burning flesh.

"It's hell isn't it?" the woman who had distracted her panted, misconstruing the brunette's curse.

"Indeed!" Zara gasped, annoyed at her break in concentration.

"You run this before?" the woman, obviously much fitter than Zara given her ability to strike up a conversation at this stage in proceedings, asked. Zara merely shook her head as they continued scrambling up the poor excuse of a path. "We're almost at the top," the woman assured, "However, it's the descent you've got to worry about; people get silly and go careering down the slope; watch yourself."

"Thanks for that," Zara responded, watching the gazelle-like figure overtake her to leap away effortlessly.

Reaching the plateau, Zara allowed herself a few slow steps as she gulped for breath. The scenery was unique; a vast flat expanse of snow-covered brown foliage patched with granite. Ignoring the burn creeping into her back and shoulders the brunette headed towards two fluorescent clad marshals; at least they had the decency to look bitterly cold.

It took a while for the incline-induced ache to ease and when it finally did so Zara noticed what the passing woman had advised. Upon hitting the plateau and then the rocky decline, runners quickly picked up the pace and a dozen lean figures zipped past Zara at an impossible rate. Despite the temptation to hammer down the hill, Zara followed Steve's advice: don't be tempted to sprint all the way home, the decline is harder on your legs than going up. She struggled to believe this, then again she'd comply with any information that meant she could enjoy the view of the Cairngorm mountain range.

When the burning in her legs dissipated Zara tentatively increased the pace as, after an eternity, the forest grew closer. The freezing air stung her throat as she took great ragged breaths, nonetheless she was motivated by the runners she was starting to reel in. Eventually, validating Steve's advice, she passed a familiar pink t-shirt.

Her feet battered against the gravelly surface and she passed yet another runner; there was no doubt the hardcore competitors were already over the line, but Zara was heartened by the time on her watch. Rounding a corner the young woman took on one last rocky stretch before she'd be enveloped into the comforting forest once more.

"Move! Move! Move!" came a shrill voice, practically in her ear.

The collision followed almost immediately; Zara went down, hard, sandwiched between the hard gravel and whomever had caused the blow. They tumbled, skidding in a haze of pink and grey along the path for several feet before coming to a halt. The young woman lay, in that beautiful, horrible, stretched out moment akin that of when one stubs their toe and the pain is delayed. How long until the pain comes and at what intensity?

Yet despite the skin tearing fall, Zara, flying on adrenaline, got to her feet almost instantaneously. She could almost ignore the pain in her skinned legs and elbows but, having had the wind knocked out of her, Zara now realised she was struggling to breathe.

"You... should really have... listened to... your own... advice..." Zara gasped eventually as she turned to glare down at the heap before her.

The woman, heaving apologies as she did so, accepted Zara's hand. Standing unsteadily, she gawped, "Your legs!"

Zara glanced down but ignored the mess before looking to her counterpart as a runner tore by them, reminding her of the job in hand. "You're not looking so hot yourself," she panted. "Look, I'm going to keep going. Are you all right?" the woman nodded, saying she'd catch her up. "Just don't bowl me over if you do," Zara warned.

After a few tentative steps the young woman, sure the damage was purely superficial, picked up the pace. Her stinging legs fell back into the ferocious gait and she was soon on the bouncy forest surface. Why couldn't I have taken the tumble here? she thought darkly, however the sentiment was pushed from her mind as someone shouted, "Half a mile to go!"

Zara twisted and turned downhill, round trees and over roots as fast as she could. The cars in the distance materialised at an agonising pace as her ragged breath scraped against her lungs and she felt stitches form in places she didn't think possible.

With this finish line in sight, she reeled in yet another runner who glanced at her and picked up his pace, Zara did the same and the pair pushed each other over the finish line; the relief only comparable to that Joanna could have her achieve.

The stranger she'd crossed the line with slowed to a jog beside her, "Zara?" He panted. Her brain wasn't really working and she gave him an unknowing look as they slowed to a jog. "Steve's friend. Mark."

"Oh, of course," she barely wheezed.

"Steve said you were really nervous; had never run anything like this. Pretty decent effort though," he smiled, clapping her on the back. "How did you get here? Need a lift back?"

"No," she panted. "Thanks though."

"Zara!" Called that familiar voice which made her heart flip.

"That's my ride," she panted to Mark. "Sorry, I'm not very loquacious just now. Catch you later?"

"Sure, I'll be inhaling everything over at the cake stall when you're free," he smiled, clapping her on the back again before jogging off.