This was the perfect time to bring up the fact that we were sort of family, but I simply didn’t want to. I feared it would shatter the professional relationship we had, and he’d go from strictly my PT and coach to…something else.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind shaking you down for recipes,” I settled for saying. “I’m afraid most of what I normally cook is more likely to give me diabetes. I can’t even open my mom’s old cookbook. The Southern answer is seemingly alwaysmore butter.”
He chuckled again as he turned off the water. “It’s damn delicious, though. My mother grew up similarly, and when she cooks, I don’t ask for healthier options.”
Good to know.
I sent him a brief glance, deeming it safe to look again. He was on his way into the water.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t forgotten what he’d said before, and I would rather ask than obsess over it.
“Can I ask you about something you said earlier?” I wondered.
“You can ask me anything.”
Okay, then. Fuck—he’d probably meant nothing at all with his “of course.” I didn’t know why I’d gotten stuck on it.
“When I mentioned I’d changed into my bathing suit already, you saidof course, like it was obvious,” I said uncertainly. “Was there a specific reason, or am I overthinking nothing?”
He cracked half a smile and cocked his head. “There was a reason—and I’m not surprised you picked up on how I worded myself.” He paused as he sank lower into the water and eased toward me. “People struggling with losing weight—usually a significant amount, and almost exclusively women—are some of the quickest thinkers I’ve ever met. If I suggest coffee, you’re already thinking about places you’ll know have comfortable seating. If you know you’re heading to the pool, you’ll change into swimwear beforehand so you don’t have to suffer in a locker room.”
Jesus Christ, he was right on the money.
“It’s second nature to you to eliminate moments of discomfort and signs of poor health,” he continued. “You don’t want others to see your back is hurting. You don’t like it when strangers can see you sweat or get flushed.” He stopped a few feet away from me. “I had a client once who called me four months before her anniversary trip, in a complete panic, because she was afraid she wouldn’t fit into her seat on the plane. And another client of mine admitted she waited for her friends to taste the food in a restaurant before her, because she didn’t want onlookers to think, there goes the fat person stuffing her face while the others are enjoying their water. She was always mean to herself.”
That stung to hear. And boy, could I relate. I wasn’t quite afraid I wasn’t going tofit, but I was definitely worried abouttaking up an inch of space that didn’t belong to me. It was the main reason I always flew business these days. As for being mean to oneself…yeah, been there, done that.
“I know that shame.” I nodded with a dip of my chin. “About six months after my fiancé died, I’d gained more weight than I’d realized, and I legit held my arms closer to my body for a five-hour flight. Just because I’d be mortified if I took up my seat neighbor’s space.”
Curiosity flickered past for a fraction of a second—maybe because it was the first time he’d heard me mention a fiancé—but he stayed on course and nodded.
“And when you’re out on a date, you order a big salad.”
I laughed. “Definitely. I don’t want anyone to think,there she is, scarfing down a big-ass burger.”
Ethan’s amusement held more traces of sympathy, and he swam over to the wall to lean against it. He draped his arms along the edge too.
“That embarrassment must be exhausting.”
I released a breath. “Yeah—but like you said, it becomes second nature.”
He weighed his response and hummed. “It still wears on you.”
I couldn’t deny that.
I cleared my throat and needed something to do, so I moved over to the short end where my water bottle waited for me.
“And you know all this,” I stated. “You seem to have a good understanding of how we think and resonate.”
“Yes.”
Such a short answer. No modesty to be found. And I guessed he didn’t have to be modest; it was just how I was raised. Maybe it was silly.
Ethan smirked. “You think I’m arrogant.”
“No!” I half lied. “I mean—maybe. But no. Not for this reason, anyway.”
He chuckled. “Tell me something you’re really good at.”
