“Of course it was.” I nod toward the far goal. “Come on then. Let’s test the theory. One shot. You try to score. I try to stop you.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “You’re actually making me do this?”
“You said it looked easy.”
She hesitates just long enough for me to think she might back out. Instead she falls into step beside me as we walk across the pitch.
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” she says.
“I really am.”
That part is true.
What I don’t say is that I’m simply not ready for her to leave yet.
The training finished ten minutes ago. She could have thanked me, gone back to the office, written up her notes. That would have been the normal version of today.
Instead I’m walking slowly across a football pitch with her, stretching a thirty-second challenge into something longer because I’m not quite done being around her.
I’m not entirely sure when that happened.
Or why.
Or why I’m not stopping it.
She’s got her hands tucked into her coat pockets now, confidence from five minutes ago replaced with something more cautious.
“You’re not going to make me run loads, are you?” she asks.
“It’s ten metres.”
“That feels manageable.”
“You say that now.”
She exhales a small laugh. “I feel like this is a trap.”
“It’s absolutely a trap.”
“Honesty is appreciated.”
We walk in comfortable silence for a few steps.
She looks smaller out here somehow. Not physically. Just… out of her natural habitat. And yet she hasn’t tried to get out of it. She’s still here. Still game.
I like that more than I probably should.
“You nervous?” I ask.
“No.”
That comes too quickly.
I glance sideways at her.
She notices.
“Alright,” she admits. “Slightly.”
