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Then I cleared my throat and stepped away, releasing him. “Okay. Advanced mobility work now.”

This was the part I’d been dreading, because it required positioning his leg while standing close enough that there was no professional distance left.

“I need you to extend your right leg,” I said. “I’m going to support it and guide you through hip flexor and adductor stretches.”

I moved into position, my hands on his thigh and hip, my body angled against his for support, and he did as I asked.

The water lapped around us. The echo of the pool room made every breath sound louder than it should.

I guided his leg through the stretch, feeling the resistance in the muscle, the point where it wanted to protect itself.

“Breathe out,” I said.

He did, and the muscle released slightly.

I pressed deeper into the stretch.

His hand came up to brace on my shoulder, his grip tightening as I worked.

We were standing so close I could see the water droplets on his skin, could feel the rise and fall of his breathing.

“You’re staring,” I said, not looking up, keeping my focus on the stretch angle.

“You have a freckle.” His voice came out rough. “Right here.” His finger touched my temple, water-slick and gentle.

My hands stilled on his thigh, the stretch forgotten.

“Brashe,” I basically gulped.

I should step back. Should do any of the hundred things a good physical therapist would do in this situation.

Instead, I met his eyes.

What a mistake, because he was looking at me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.

“We shouldn’t,” I said, but my voice came out too soft to be a real protest.

“Shouldn’t what?” His voice dropped lower. “Notice things about each other?”

His hand was still on my shoulder. Mine were still on his thigh. We stood in chest-deep water with no one else in the room, and every reason I’d built for why this was a bad idea dissolved like sugar in hot water.

“How have I never seen this before?” he asked, his thumb tracing the freckle so gently it made my heart ache.

“Because you weren’t looking.”

“I’ve been looking at you since before the picnic,” he said. “I never stopped.”

Air refused to move through my lungs.

His hand moved from the freckle to my jaw, cupping my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone.

I leaned into the touch.

“Tell me no,” he said.

I couldn’t.

He kissed me. Gentle at first, questioning, like he was giving me every opportunity to pull away.