I complete my 5k row, periodically glancing at Scott’s butt and legs, which are in excellent shape – merely a factual observation, nothing more. Then I wipe my face with my towel and get a drink from the water fountain. Scott continues to run with vigour.

Usually I’d do some upper body exercises next, but I’m keen to hightail it out of here. The problem is, then I’ll be in deficit. I won’t have completed my usual morning exercise routine and my whole day will be out of whack. While I have another drink and try to decide what to do, a young couple enter the gym. The man leans in to give the woman a kiss on the cheek and she giggles. I dislike them immediately, but they also serve to bolster my courage. Now that Scott and I aren’t the only two in the gym, I can carry on with my workout without feeling like a complete lemon or, more accurately, like a pregnant cow with engorged udders. I shudder at my own mental image and head to the assisted chin-up machine.

As I heave myself up and down and the machine grunts and groans, I pretend to look at myself in the mirror, but instead I study Scott’s face. I don’t think he’s watching the TV. He’s staring at it with intensity, but his mind is elsewhere. His shoulders are tight and his jaw is clenched. Maybe he always looks like that when he’s running, but I sense he’s upset, angry even. Oh, shit, I’m one slippery step away from talking about his aura, for fuck’s sake. What the hell has got into me?

After four machines, three reps of ten on each, and zero glances in Scott’s direction, I’m content to call it quits. Not a great day in terms of my usual workouts, but it’ll do. I can always come back to the gym later tonight.

I’m stretching my hamstrings on the mat in the corner, when I hear Scott’s machine start to decelerate. I wondered how long he was going to keep up that pace. Panting heavily, he slows to a walk until the machine stops altogether. Would he be offended if I made a run for the door now? He’s clearly no longer the chatty guy from the plane, but he might still feel obliged to come over and speak to me.

I scramble to my feet and head to the exit.

“Trish.”

Damn it. Turning, I fix a smile on my face.

“Good run?”

He grimaces and wipes the sweat from his forehead.

“Not really,” he mutters into his towel.