I rubbed the warm oil between my hands and started at the base of his neck. The cords of his muscles were thick around his neckline and down his shoulders. In a way, he looked like someone built to fight, to protect, but sometimes he seemed so boyish, silly, even, someone who should be kept out of harm’s way.

A giggle broke out in the hallway, and I heard Mali shushing the laugh over my music.

“Elodie,” I told him. He stayed quiet as I moved my hands across his soft skin. His shoulders held a little less tension than they had yesterday. Holy shit, it had been only a day since he came in for Elodie! One day. One night at my dad’s house, one middle-of-the-night talk, one grocery-shopping trip, and suddenly I’m acting like I have some sort of crush on him.

I continued to talk to Kael about Elodie, reminding myself of our tiny little connection that all stemmed from bad timing and a petite French woman.

“I met her in training for my therapist’s license. She had just gotten here from France after researching programs for military spouses.” I remember how thick her beautiful accent used to sound to me. “She was very determined and taking the first day of work so seriously. I was drawn to her almost immediately. She’s smart and charming. I couldn’t believe she married a soldier,” I explained.

His shoulders danced with slight amusement.

“No offense.” I paused, relieved that he found it funny. “Phillip’s as nice as I think he is, yeah?” I asked Kael, while we were on the subject. He stayed quiet for a few seconds.

“He’s a good guy.”

“Promise? Because he brought her here from another country with no family and no friends here. I worry about her.”

“He’s a good guy,” he said again.

I needed to stop grilling him and just do my job. He didn’t come here to talk to me. He came here to get a treatment for his aching body.

I moved down his back and up his arms, settling into my normal groove. I did the same thing in most treatments, medium pressure, using a little more oil than most other therapists did. The song playing was an older Beyoncé song that I loved as a teen, and I let the music fill the quiet air until about twenty minutes later, when I asked him to roll onto his back.

He closed his eyes when he turned over and I took the liberty of studying his face as I placed a warm towel over his eyes. His sharp jawline, the light stubble under his chin. He took a deep breath when I tucked my hands under his back and raked them up his skin, pressing and stretching the muscles in his back.

The moment I moved away from his shoulders, his hand reached up and yanked the towel off.