Relief moved through me, dangerous and immediate.
“Why?”
“I do not know.”
“That is honest.”
“I dislike it.”
“You do not have to know yet.”
“That sounds like something you say while avoiding answers.”
Fair. I kept my hands on the console.
“Should I have accepted?”
“No,” she said quietly. “I am glad you did not.”
No cameras. No audience. No emergency kiss. I wanted to touch her and did not.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Amy restarted Geraldine at one percent. I took the treadmill beside her.
“You are running too?”
“Easy twenty.”
She glanced at my watch. “According to your plan?”
Her question reminded me she had begun tracking my mileage. I had increased it quietly—not toward a marathon, I told myself. Only enough to prove I had not stopped being a runner.
“Yes,” I said.
We ran side by side without discussing whatunavailablemeant. Our reflections moved together in the windows. At the end, Amy reduced her speed before the timer forced her. I did the same.
I told myself the Simone incident had clarified things. Amy did not want me dating someone else. I did not want to date someone else. This did not make the relationship real. It made the temporary boundaries more efficient. That reasoning survived until Saturday. Saturday was the challenge’s community open house, where each couple led a short activity for new gym members. Amy and I had been assigned a beginner treadmill demonstration.
Blake called it “full-circle storytelling.”
I called it proof that management enjoyed psychological warfare. Amy wore the coral shoes, blue shorts, and bright bluetop. The complete outfit. My heart had no professional response. She stood beside Geraldine explaining treadmill safety to six new members.
“The emergency clip attaches to your clothing and the machine,” she said.
I leaned toward the group.
“She learned that through field research.”
Amy did not look at me.
“Failure to connect both ends renders the system useless.”
“A historic day.”
“One error does not define a person.”
“Character growth.”
