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He reached up and squeezed her wrist.
“Good,” she said. “I’ll step out. Get up slowly. Take your time.”
Rhett took her at her word. Once she was gone, he took his time getting off the warm table, stretching, and searching for his clothes. He felt wrung out, but also lit up. It was an odd competition between his physical body and his mental state. He stepped out into the lower level of her house, which they’d entered through the back gate and the walkout door of her basement. She had a waiting area with a couch and chairs, a coffee table with magazines fanned out and a desk with a computer.
Stanzi was nowhere to be seen, so Rhett took the stairs to the next level. The door at the top of the steps led to the kitchen. The room was medium-size, brightly lit by lots of windows, with a small island in the center of the tiled floor. Stanzi’s back was to him, in front of her stove.
“Oh!” She gave a little start as she turned around. “I put the kettle on.” She gestured to the stove. “In case you wanted tea. If you stay hydrated, your muscles will stay in the gel state. Soft and open to healing.”
Rhett could smell the spring air on the wind that came through the open window over Stanzi’s sink. The clock on her microwave read 3:12 p.m. Yep. He’d been out awhile.
“Sit.” Stanzi gestured to a stool tucked beneath her island.
Rhett obeyed. His head was fuzzy and his body weak. He was still puzzling through what had happened during his massage, and he didn’t know what to think or say. He looked around the room, saw Fezzi, asleep in a dog bed by the kitchen table. He remembered that the only reason Stanzi had come to his room at the resort on Christmas Eve was because she couldn’t find her dog. Rhett made a mental note to buy Fezzi a giant box of biscuits.
The kettle whistled. Stanzi poured bubbling water into two mugs and set one in front of him. It smelled flowery.
“Thanks.”
“You’ll like it. The bergamot will open up your senses.”
The tea was too hot to drink, so Rhett stirred it with the spoon Stanzi had left in the cup. He sniffed it, enjoying the steam on his face.
“You feeling better?”
Sweat sprung up on the back of Rhett’s neck, even though the kitchen was cool. “My leg feels great,” he said. “No pain. And I feel like I slept for a week. Wrung out and hung to dry. I haven’t felt this way in ages.”
Stanzi settled in the stool next to him and peered into his face. “But what else?” Her eyes narrowed. “There’s something bothering you.”
Silence passed.
“You know, it’s okay. Today, when we ran, I kind of fell apart. Then my ex showed up. You saw all that. You’ve seen me fall apart more than once, at this point. So, it’s fine if you let go during your massage.” Stanzi’s hand went to his forearm and rested there. “That’s all it was. A release. Your body is so used to being in the sympathetic nervous system—the fight or flight—it just needs a little help coming down. Letting go.”
Rhett used his spoon to sample the tea. It was strong and wasn’t as sweet as it smelled. “Remember today when you asked me if I ever have to plan my outfit before I run? Or worry about what route I take?”
Stanzi nodded. She slowly stirred her spoon around in her cup.
“You were making a point about things men can take for granted.” Rhett took another sip of the tea from his spoon. He liked it even better the second time. “And you’re right. As a civilian, I’ve never even thought about what I wear when I leave the house, other than in relation to the weather. I don’t worry about getting honked or whistled at or treated like shit if I reject a woman’s advance. If I’m objectified, I’m free to enjoy it or ignore it. I have that choice. That privilege. But...” Rhett watched her go to the fridge and withdraw a couple of containers of fruit. Looked like strawberries and raspberries. “There are things women can take for granted, too. Like...letting go.”
Stanzi looked up from her task, her fingers poised over the raspberries as she took them from container to decorative bowl.
“It’s okay for you to be weak,” Rhett said. “Maybe you, personally, don’t want to be, but you can be, if you need to. You can open up and let go. In fact, it’s not only allowed, it’s expected. What was it you said today about your ex? He hated it that you didn’t cry? You’re not only allowed to cry, you’re supposed to cry.”
She didn’t answer, merely took out a handful of strawberries and sliced off the tops with a small knife, then added them to the bowl with the raspberries.
“Guess what happens if I cry? Or—” he gestured toward the basement, where they’d had their massage “—sweat or shake or hear spiders talking? Fall asleep while a beautiful woman is giving me a massage? I’m a special fucking snowflake, that’s what.”
Stanzi watched him carefully. “You really mean that?”
“It’s the truth.” Rhett took a big gulp of the tea, which had cooled to the perfect temperature. “My job is to be tough. Strong. Protect others. Never let go. Not just because I’m a veteran, or a coach, but because I’m a man. Not even a man, just male. It’s expected of us as soon as we take our first steps. And I’m not whining about it. It’s just the way it is.”
“No, I meant—” Stanzi ate a raspberry and slid the bowl in his direction “—you think I’m beautiful?”
After a second, Rhett laughed. Then he threw a raspberry at her.
She ducked the fruit and smiled. The raspberry made a miraculous landing in the kitchen sink. “Everything you say is true. But you can let go here. You can be whatever you need to be with me. People think a massage therapist’s only job is to relax and stretch your muscles, but truth is, we’re in contact long before I rest my hands on your skin. My job is to connect with you, wherever you’re at, and help make a change for the better. That may be a deep tissue massage or just a light touch in a safe environment.”
“It still feels weird. It’s like wearing clothes that don’t fit or talking to that weird relative in your family who does everything against the rules—everyone’s kind of afraid of him but he also makes perfect fucking sense.”
