Summit is closed on New Year’s, but opens the following day. I pull into the parking lot with one minute until practice, although I don’t get out of the car right away. Ryan’s Subaru is parked, and I’m worried about entering the gym without Hallie as a buffer. I spent most of yesterday ping-ponging between desire and self-doubt; I want to let myself enjoy the memory of that tantalizing kiss, but I know I shouldn’t. Without the heady buzz of the party clouding my judgment, it seems awfully stupid to jeopardize my professional relationship for the chance at anything romantic. We can’t risk Hallie catching on; she’s sheltered enough that a midnight kiss between her two coaches would sound scandalous, not festive. It would be a distraction she can’t afford to indulge in right now. And beyond that, Ryan is the closest thing I have to a friend these days. I don’t want to ruin that. The thought of explaining this tangle of emotions, responsibilities, and fears to Ryan makes me queasy—I’d rather simply pretend the kiss never happened. We were tipsy; I was lonely; that’s that. So I wait until I see Hallie’s mom drop her off before I dare get out of my car and enter the building.

Hallie is usually happy to chatter away the first morning after a break, like a weekend or a holiday. But when I find her and Ryan on the floor, she’s not dilly-dallying—she’s already running laps. It looks like she doesn’t want to squander a moment of practice.

“It’s 2020,” she pants as she cruises past me. “No time to waste.”

Ryan turns ever so slightly toward me with his arms crossed over his chest. “Hi,” he says simply, like he’s testing out the vibe between us.

“Morning,” I say, maybe a bit too businesslike.

“How was your day off?” he says evenly, turning his gaze back to Hallie.

I follow suit. It’s easier to watch her than to look at him.

“Fine. Yours?” I say, aiming to sound slightly softer this time.

“Fine,” he replies.

Hallie jogs past us again, and we fall into uneasy silence.

“Are you cold in here? It’s cold in here,” he says, sometime after her third lap. “I’m going to go fiddle with the thermostat.”

He stays across the gym for longer than it takes to adjust the temperature.

It strikes me that even if I want to pretend the kiss never happened, he may not. Maybe he feels rejected, or embarrassed, or like he misread the situation entirely. Or maybe he came to the same conclusion that I did, that getting involved with each other can irreparably damage the work we’re doing. If Hallie overhears our awkwardness, there’s no way she wouldn’t pick up on the fact that something is off.