Maybe it’s because I’m seeing him struggle with this like I’ve been struggling with my attraction to him since he showed up in Denver, or maybe it’s because seeing him humbled a little has taken some of the heat off, but either way, I’m feeling more comfortable.

I walk Declan through the rest of the routine, including a move into downward-facing dog and child’s pose, then have him repeat the entire thing a few times over the course of the next hour. He gets better with every attempt, and to my surprise, he’s actually taking it seriously and trying to do well. Any other professional athlete my dad referred to me probably would’ve just half-assed it enough to check a box and report back to their coach that they showed up, but not Declan.

I can’t tell how much of that is because he really wants to learn versus how much he wants to spend time alone with me, but regardless, I appreciate the effort and the sweat he’s putting into it.

By the end of the session, his t-shirt clings to his broad shoulders, dark patches of moisture revealing just how hard he’s worked. He drags a towel across his face and through his hair, mussing it up in a way that shouldn’t be attractive but absolutely is.

Pulling my gaze away from him with effort, I reach for the sweatshirt I left on the floor nearby and tug it over my head. Then I start gathering the yoga blocks and straps we used and putting them back in the storage cubbies. When I turn around, Declan is already holding a spray bottle and a little towel as he crouches down beside the mats. He gives me a quick smile as he starts to wipe them down.

“How often do you teach here?” he asks.

It takes a second for his words to sink in because I’m a little stunned by the way he jumped in to help me clean up so quickly, as if it’s second-nature.

“Um, a few days a week,” I answer, shaking my head to snap myself out of it. “I wish I could do more, but it’s hard with a law school course load and all the studying I have to do.”

He finishes wiping one mat and rolls it up, then hands it to me to put away. “It’s a shame you can’t do more. You’re a really good teacher.”

I freeze with the mat he just gave me clutched in my hands. He said it like it was nothing, like he has no idea how much a compliment like that could mean. I get a lot of reactions when I tell people I teach yoga, but they’re rarely this genuine.