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He shrugged as he adjusted the barbell into position. “It’s not that impressive… as I’m told repeatedly in public gyms. If I wanted to be bigger, I’d need to press more, but that isn’t my goal. For me, it’s what you said earlier. Stress relief.”
He started to lift, and she let her gaze settle on his chest muscles, visible under the white tank.
He continued, “I hated gym as a kid. I suck at sports. Even in swimming, I barely made the team. The only person I want to compete with is myself. Mostly what I want from sports is fun. I can get that now that I’m older, and there are leagues where people are genuinely just there to enjoy themselves. But this”—he nodded at the barbell—“pure stress relief.” He grinned over at her. “Can’t argue with the results, though.”
Her gaze swept over him. Nope, can’t argue with the results.
“You?” he said, grunting a little as he kept going.
“Mostly training,” she said. “Not for any competitive sports. That isn’t my thing, either. But where I live, there are endless opportunities for outdoor activities, most of them hard, all of them challenging. A ‘moderate’ trail in the Yukon usually involves a mountain.”
“So you work out for that.”
She nodded. “I want to be able to climb mountains and paddle rapids. Mostly I can, but there are days when Tika and I are struggling up a trail and some seventy-year-old practically sprints past us, and I think ‘That’s what I want.’ Being able to climb those trails now is good, but I want to be sprinting past youngsters when I’m seventy.”
“Nice.”
After that, they lost themselves in the workout and the conversation—switching off, changing exercises, and talking. So much talking, some serious, some light, all of it wonderful.
The scenery wasn’t bad, either.
Yes, Daphne was being shallow. Too bad. If she acknowledged that a guy was a great conversationalist, it was perfectly fine to also acknowledge he looked incredible pumping iron, getting hot and sweaty, tank drenched, muscles glistening.
When Chris’s phone buzzed, he barely glanced at it, still intent on their conversation. Then he cursed.
“Hmm?” she said.
“Our rooms are ready.”
“Finally.”
“And it’s past four thirty, which means our chances of getting dinner in time are nonexistent.”
“Room service?”
“I guess so. I did promise you a nice dinner out, though. Rain check?”
“Of course.”
She wanted to say more, needed to say more, but as soon as she thought it, her heart started pounding like a jackhammer.
She didn’t care where they ate, as long as she was with him.
So tell him that.
I’m scared.
Then tell him that.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And there was so much to gain.
Also, so much to lose.
“Ready to go?” he said. “We’ll order dinner at the desk when we get our keys.”
She nodded and followed him from the gym.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
