He presses his lips together and dips his gaze away from mine. “Nothing,” he says. “I was going to say something, but it’s nothing.”

I look at him curiously, but he just crosses his arms over his chest and nods toward the door of the gym.

“Go catch up with Hallie,” he says.

Chapter 8

• CHAPTER 8 •

I want to believe that I’ve grown up a lot since I was Hallie’s age. It would be nice to think that I’ve blossomed into a mature, confident, graceful adult. But then Ryan will make a particularly charming joke or simply breathe in my direction, and I’m forced to remember that I’ve been harboring the same teenage crush for a full decade. So maybe not much has changed.

“Heading out?” Ryan asks.

It’s a Wednesday in the middle of December; we’ve just wrapped up our morning practice, and we’re scattering in different directions for our midday break. Kim picked up Hallie for lunch and homeschooling, Ryan is retreating into the office for a meal, and per usual, I’m on my way out. Even though I’ve worked at Summit for a month now, I’ve never quite been comfortable spending the lunch break hanging out with Ryan. I know he stays here. I don’t want to intrude on his personal space—and if I’m really honest with myself, the prospect of regular alone time with him sounds like a nervous thrill. What would I say? So I typically eat at home.

“Yeah,” I say, a little embarrassed.

He gives me a bemused smile. “You know, you’re more than welcome to hang out here,” he says. “Even when you’re off the clock.”

I look at the door, then back at Ryan. “Do you want company?” I ask.

“That’d be nice,” he says. “Unless you have other plans.”

That’d be nice, I replay in my head. Between clubbing in college and a high-profile relationship with a famous athlete in my twenties, I eventually got comfortable around men—even intimidating ones I was attracted to. I could flirt, banter, relax. But maybe because Ryan is from a completely different era of my life, back when the prospect of interacting with guys point-blank terrified me, I lose my cool around him.

It’s time for that to change.

“Do you have food here?” I ask.

“I brought a ton of leftovers, if you want to share,” he says. “It’s just some chicken and rice and veggies.”

The offer is very sweet. “Sure, why not? Thank you so much.”

He heats up the leftovers in the office’s microwave and clears space off the desk for us to sit and eat.

“Did you make this?” I ask.

The chicken is a little bland, but it’s not bad.

“It’s basically the one meal I know how to make, yeah,” he says.