Page 177 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

"You've gained almost fifteen degrees since last month. You've also regained enough stability to begin strength progression."

I read the chart as though the numbers might change. "They're my shoulder."

"They are."

"They don't look like my shoulder." She smiles. "They're the shoulder of someone who has done the work." For reasons I can't quite explain, that sentence means more than the measurements themselves. Not lucky. Not gifted. Worked.

She reaches out without thinking. Her hand stops halfway between us before continuing. "Congratulations."

I raise mine at the same moment and our palms meet in an easy high-five.

The sound echoes lightly through the gym.

Neither of us pulls away immediately. It lasts only a heartbeat longer than it should, just long enough for both of us to notice. Then we step back almost simultaneously. Neither of us mentions it. We don't have to. Annette clears her throat and looks back at the chart. "I suppose I should continue acting like a professional."

"I was wondering when that might happen."

She gives me a wry look over the top of the clipboard. "Don't push your luck, Captain."

"I've learned that's generally unwise."

"It is."

Her smile returns. "So..." She closes the chart. "I believe someone earned coffee." I blink. "Weren't you going to ask if I wanted one?"

She tilts her head. "I assumed you were coming." I laugh. "I suppose I was."

"Good." She slips the chart on the desk as we start toward the hallway to the parking lot. I fall into step beside her without another word. Some traditions don't need invitations anymore. They simply become part of the day.

***

The bell above the café door jingles as Annette and I step inside. Before we reach the counter, the barista looks up from the espresso machine and smiles.

"Right on schedule."

Annette laughs. "I didn't realize we had a schedule." "Oh, you do." She reaches automatically for two cups. "Medium coffee for Captain Walker. Vanilla latte with cinnamon for Annette."

I glance sideways at Annette. "You've been ordering the same thing every time?"

She shrugs, looking completely unapologetic. "I like cinnamon."

"I wasn't judging."

"You sounded like you were."

"I was admiring your consistency."

The barista sets both drinks on the counter. "I almost started making them when I saw your truck pulling up.”

Annette smiles. "I think we've become predictable."

"I'd say you've become regulars."

I reach for my wallet at the same moment Annette reaches for hers.

"I've got it," I say.

"You always say that."