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I got out of the truck before I could talk myself out of it.

She was in the treatment room, standing at the desk with her back to me. She wore a soft blue sweater today, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, showing the pale skin of her forearms. Her hair had been pulled up in a high ponytail that swung when she moved.

She held a different pen than yesterday. Purple, with the team logo.

I was noticing the pen.

This was a problem.

She turned, and I saw her face. No makeup, or maybe just enough that it didn’t look like she wore any. A little color in her cheeks. Her eyes were sharper this morning, like she’d had more coffee than usual.

“How’s the pain today?” she asked, setting down the pen. “And don’t lie to me, Kedish. I can tell by the way you’re standing.”

“Three.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Uh-huh. Get on the table before you fall down.”

I sat on the treatment table, the paper crinkling under me, and lay back.

She moved closer, pulling on gloves. “We’re going deeper today. The muscle fibers are starting to release, but there’s still adhesion work to do.”

“I’m ready.”

She positioned herself beside the table, her hands settling on my hip. Her fingers found the edge of the adductor and pressed down.

I bit the inside of my cheek.

“The muscle fibers are responding well,” she said. “You’re healing faster than I expected.”

“You’re good at this.”

Her hands paused.

I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“I mean…” I tried to backtrack. “You’re really good. Like, better than any physical therapist I’ve worked with before.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. “That’s…nice to hear.”

She continued. I watched her fingers press into the muscle and could feel her pulse through her fingertips. Or maybe that was mine. Either way, the treatment table felt smaller than it had when I first laid down.

Her hands eased along the length of the adductor. She explained what she was doing as she went, talking about muscle fibers and blood flow and healing timelines.

I wasn’t really listening. I was watching the way her ponytail swung when she leaned forward. The little creases between her eyebrows. The way her bottom lip caught between her teeth when she hit a particularly stubborn knot.

“Did you eat breakfast?” I asked.

Her frown deepened. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“That’s not really your business.”

“You tell me to take care of my body. It seems fair I get to return the favor.”

Her gaze flicked up to meet mine. “I’m fine.” But a blush crept up her neck, turning her skin pink.

“What do you like to eat most for breakfast?”