He looks genuinely grateful, and for a second, there’s a soft silence between us. No awkwardness, no tension—just two people moving through the morning together.
We start with mobility work—gentle stretching, some weight shifts on the stairs, then move to core stabilization using a resistance band I loop around the stair railing. His form is tight, his concentration sharper than yesterday, but it’s the in-between moments that catch me.
Like the way his eyes soften when I reset the timer and he murmurs, “Thanks for showing up.” Or the quiet sound of Sophie’s playlist drifting down from upstairs—a mix of musical theater and mellow indie pop that makes the space feel lived-in.
We don’t talk about the kiss. Not once. But I feel it in every glance that lingers too long, in the moments our fingers brush as I hand him the band.
By the time we wrap, Sophie’s padding downstairs in fuzzy socks, wrapped in a blanket. She curls into the corner of the couch, her eyes still puffy but more relaxed.
I turn to her with a smile. “Good timing. I just found out I can be at your and Maya’s musical next month.”
Her face lights up. “Wait, really? You can meet my mom!”
I glance up just in time to catch the change in Declan’s expression. Subtle, but undeniable. A flicker in his eyes. A muscle in his jaw tightening. Like he already knows that meeting might not happen.
“I hope I get the chance,” I say gently, smoothing the edge of Sophie’s blanket.
Declan doesn’t say anything.
The silence between us suddenly says a whole lot more.
Sophie’s curled up again with her heating pad and earbuds in by the time I gather my things. The living room’s quiet now, sunlight slanting in through the back windows. Declan stands near the door, crutch propped against the wall, knee brace adjusted from our earlier session.
“I should head to the facility,” I say, grabbing my tablet. “Catch up on notes and finish the afternoon shift.”
“Thanks again… for all of this.” His voice is rough with exhaustion and something else, something quieter.
“You don’t have to thank me, Declan.”
He leans against the wall, arms crossed, looking at me like he’s trying to find the right words and coming up empty.
I should leave. I know I should.
But I linger in the doorway anyway, clutching the strap of my bag like it might anchor me.
“She’s lucky to have you, you know.”
His jaw tenses. “I don’t always feel like enough.”
Something about the way he says it—flat, without drama, like it’s just the truth—knocks the wind out of me.
“You are,” I say quietly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
His eyes flick toward mine, and for a second, we stand there. He draws in a breath, like he’s right on the edge of saying something.
My pulse jumps, waiting, but then he exhales instead, lips flattening into a firm line. The moment slips away.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, breaking the moment gently.
“Yeah.”
I step outside into the sharp afternoon air and let the door click shut behind me. My fingers fumble for my keys as I replay the quiet look on his face a moment ago.
On the drive to the arena, Kristy calls. She’s halfway through asking about my morning when my silence gives me away.
“Okay, what happened?” she demands, suspicion sharp under the tease.
I almost tell her. Almost spill everything about Sophie, about Declan, about that kiss I still can’t stop replaying in my head.
