Q is for quarrels

Ana posts a scene from her time travel WIP. The French-born hero has pressured the heroine in to agreeing to spend Saturday with him. A runner, she chose to meet him at the track at the school where he is a teacher, and she is the interim accountant. She hoping to chase him off for good. 

     Angel bent her forehead to her knee in a slow, intense leg stretch as Jeremy approached. She ignored him until his impatience was palpable. Her plan was foolproof.

    “Bonjour, Angel.” Jeremy kissed her hand and spread his arms wide. “Such a beautiful morning. I hope you slept well. I am ready.”

     “I thought we’d start with a few laps.” She wiped her knuckles on her pants and walked onto the track.

    “Wonderful. You are seeing things in a new way.” He easily matched her stride.

    Without warning, she sprinted a quarter of the way around the track, stopped and jogged in place until he caught up.

    “Are you sure you’re up to this?” she inquired sweetly. “You may not be in shape.”

    “When did you become a woman without a heart? I am man enough for you.”

    "That’s reassuring. Now, I am not going to stop this time. Catch me if you can.” She finished a lap and came up behind him when he was barely halfway around. Ignoring his signal to stop, she kept on running, concentrating on her stride and her breathing. After three more laps she slowed for a cooldown.

    He was nowhere in sight.

    She finally found him at the top of the bleachers, stretched out like an Alpine sunbather. He opened his eyes and sat up.  
   “So I guess we’re finished,” she said, masking her triumph.

    “Pfht. I knew you would go like a crazy woman. If you are ready to be even about it, yes. Together, we will go.”

     Back on the track, she started slowly and made a calculated amount of small talk. Little by little she pushed the pace faster. And faster. They had almost completed a lap when he went down and curl into a fetal position.

    She stopped and stood over him. “Quit fooling around, Jeremy.”
     “I do not fool.” He rolled onto his back clutching his left knee to his chest. His face was pale, contorted with pain. Blood seeped from two nasty abrasions, one on the bridge of his nose and one on his cheek just under his right eye. “My knee fails me at times.”

    Guilt flooded over her. She dropped to the track and cradled his head in her lap. "Should I call an ambulance?”

    “No,” he gasped. “I will rest. It will subside.”
    He massaged his knee. After an eternity, he wiggled his foot. “It feels a bit better. If I lock my arm with the elbow bent, and you hold there, we can make me to stand. Un, deux, trois.”

    She heaved on his count of three and slipped her arm around his waist to steady him. “Can you walk?” 

    He straightened his leg cautiously and attempted to rest his weight on it.

    “Non. There are arrows of fire. Could you help me to walk? My cottage is at the bottom of that hill.”