“Us two,” Winnie confirms.
Archer looks at me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Didn’t see that coming.”
“Nobody did,” I say.
“How long has this been going on?”
“A while,” Winnie says smoothly, at the same time I say, “Recently.”
We glance at each other.Shit.
“It’s new,” Winnie recovers. “But we’ve been… circling each other for a while. You know how it is.”
Archer nods slowly. “Sure. The slow burn thing.”
“Exactly.”
“Well.” He picks up his fork. “Good for you, man. Seriously.” He looks at me with something that might be respect. “I was starting to think you were going to die alone with your protein bars and your murder face.”
“Thanks for the support,” I grumble.
“Anytime.”
Winnie kicks me gently under the table—a silentbe nice—and I resist the urge to kick her back.
Archer stays for another ten minutes, making easy conversation with Winnie about stretching routines and recovery protocols. I mostly eat and grunt at appropriate intervals. But I notice things.
I notice the way she includes me in the conversation without making it obvious. The way she glances at me after she says something, checking in, making sure I’m okay. The way she laughs at Archer’s terrible jokes even though they’re not funny.
She’s good at this. Good at making people feel comfortable. Good at filling silences and smoothing edges.
I’m not good at any of those things. But sitting here next to her, I almost feel like I could learn.
Eventually, Archer leaves, and it’s just us again.
“He seems nice,” Winnie says.
“He’s alright.”
“High praise from you.”
“I don’t hate him.”
“Also high praise.” She checks her phone and winces. “I should get back. I have a session in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll walk you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’ll walk you.”
She doesn’t argue.
We stand up together, and I place my hand on her lower back as we walk toward the door. It’s a small gesture, barely anything, but I notice heads turning. I feel her tense slightly under my palm,then relax.
Her shirt is thin. I can feel the warmth of her skin through the fabric, the gentle curve of her spine. It takes more effort than it should to keep my hand steady, to resist letting my fingers spread wider and pull her closer.
“This okay?” I ask quietly.
