Carla B.:Well he is battling something back there.
Donna R.:Pretty sure that’s the new guy who moved in next to the center. The tall one.
Carla B.:No one with arms like THAT is allowed to have sad eyes.
Moderator:Reminder: Please refrain from speculating about neighbors’ emotions.
I snorted when I saw the thread. It took me about five seconds to figure out exactly who Carla was talking about. And another five to walk to the window and peer through to see for myself.
Colson. In his backyard. Sweating. Working on ropes that are tied to a tree. The backyard slopes down so he’s awkwardly on an incline.
The grunting makes sense. Catching the attention of some locals like Carla, who has never missed a chance to be publicly thirsty in her life. I swear, she used to walk up and down the beach whenever she heard there were attractive older men here with their families. She’d deny it, but I’m all over it.
He has a jump rope lying on the grass, a couple of free weights, and a resistance band. His T-shirt clings to his back, and his arms flex as he moves the ropes.
Colson, whodidcome back to practice. Who keeps telling me we won’t see him the next time but every day at the last minute, he strolls in. I don’t know who is even giving him the details on the practice schedule. Probably one of the kids. He’s slowly becoming one of their favorites.
I stopped before I meant to, caught between assessing his form and staring like an idiot. Before I could talk myself out of it, I’m out of the rec center and walking toward Colson.
He’s been showing up for us. Now, I can try and show up for him. Hopefully he’ll see it that way.
Gently, I try to greet him. I definitely don’t want to scare him. The headline you don’t want to see isNBA Player Has Head Injury After Local Trespasses, Startling Him.
He’s wearing earbuds, which makes sense as to why he can’t hear me. Or, maybe he’s doing his best to pretend like I don’t exist.
Stepping in closer to him, I wave my hands, doing my best not to look like a creep. It’s not until I’m almost within arm’s length of the rope that he picks his head up, sees me and stops.
Not before donning that perfect scowl.
As he takes his earbuds out, sweat dripping down his face, his brows knit together.
“Uh, hey. Hi.” I try to sound unaffected. Like, who has the right to be this gorgeous? “Tough terrain out here.”
His hands rest on his hips as he tries to catch his breath. “Ummm…” Colson looks around. “Sure?”
The pause is as awkward as the unlevel ground beneath our feet.
“What’s up?”
Colson is talking while I look around, wondering if Carla or any of the local lurkers are anywhere close. Maybe peeking out of their windows or taking a long walk, including a specific street.
“Sadie…” He waves his hand. “Do you need something?”
Before my brain catches up to my mouth, I reply, “You.” To make it worse, I clap and point.
Colson says nothing, but his brows push into his forehead and his mouth twists into the start of a grimace.
“No, not you. That’s—” My fingers touch my temples, like I have the ability to turn back time. “Let’s start again.” I take in a deep breath and sigh it out. “You,” I emphasize, “should come work out in the rec center.”
“You…want me to come work out?” he asks slowly, like he’s translating my words from a different language.
“Yes,” I reply. “One, your backyard is a death trap. Two, we don’t have any kids today. Three, we have those big industrial fans that make you feel like you’re in a Nike commercial.”
He seems to soften with each reason. I mean, the fans are legitimate, considering it’s unseasonably hot for early June. It’s only going to get hotter.
Colson wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt—flash of abs, hello—and nods once. “Give me two minutes.”
He grabs his water bottle, coils the ropes, and jogs inside behind me. His shoulder gives the slightest hitch as he slings the jump rope around his neck, and I pretend not to notice.
