“Drop it, Cupcake.”
Banks racks his bar and sits up, wiping his face with a towel. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him watching me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
He shrugs and picks up his water bottle. “You seem tense.”
“I’m not tense.”
“You’re doing bicep curls like the dumbbells insulted your mother.”
I look down. My grip is white-knuckled, and I’m moving way too fast. I force myself to slow down, but my jaw is still tight.
“I’m fine,” I say.
Banks nods like he doesn’t believe me for a second. “Cool.”
We lift in silence for a while. Logan eventually gets bored and wanders off to bother Archer, leaving me alone with Banks—who’s never been one for unnecessary conversation. It’s one of the things I like most about him. He doesn’t push.
Except today.
“The PT,” he says, not looking at me. “Tori.”
My hands tighten on the dumbbells again. “What about her?”
“Nothing.” He starts loading plates for his next set. “Just noticed you two have been spending a lot of time together.”
“She’s my PT. That’s literally her job.”
“Right.”
“It is.”
“I said right.” He’s built like a tank and about as expressive as one. But I’ve known him long enough to read the micro-expressions other people miss. And right now, he’s fishing.
I set the dumbbells down harder than necessary, muttering something in French that would make my grandmother cross herself. “Is there something you want to say?”
Banks finally looks at me. His expression is unreadable—it always is—but there’s something almost sympathetic in his eyes.
“Just be careful,” he says. “That’s all.”
“There’s nothing to be careful about.”
He doesn’t argue. Just turns back to the bench press and starts his next set.
I grab heavier dumbbells and try to burn off the restless energy crawling under my skin. It doesn’t work.
• • •
The nanny candidate shows up at two o’clock.
Her name is Hannah Torres. She’s in her late forties with a warm smile, and a practical bun. She’s got fifteen years of experience, glowing references, and a calm energy that reminds me of Mrs. Hendricks.
“I understand your schedule is unpredictable,” she says, sitting across from me at the kitchen table. Maisie’s at school, so we’ve got the place to ourselves. “That’s not a problem. I raised two kids while working full-time. Flexibility is my middle name.”
