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“Sure. I could make a few phone calls in your office. The contractor is ghosting me on the Mendez house. New Horizons is due to start in two weeks, so I’ve got to figure something out.”

Dakota volunteered with the nonprofit, which helped retrofit houses to be more accessible for people with disabilities who were returning home with new needs. It got grants and loans to hire contractors for the big jobs and also employed the help of volunteers to add ramps and safety rails and adapt bathrooms and kitchens to better accommodate wheelchairs, walkers, or other assistive tools.

“Have at it,” I said. “Don’t look at my Internet history.”

She snickered as she wheeled away. “Been there, won’t do that again!”

I gulped down the rest of my chai latte while walking down to the physical therapy room then tossed the cup into a trash can by the door.

Our aide, Les, had already helped Carrie onto the table where we’d be doing our exercises. This soon after surgery, we were sticking to light, gentle impact therapy.

“Hi, Carrie, how are we doing?”

She gave a tight smile. “Great. Ready to get better so I can go home.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Her smile turned into a full grimace.

“What? Too much enthusiasm. Sorry, I just drank a bunch of caffeine. I’ll try to tone it down.”

She chuckled. “No, I’m a grump. Sorry.”

“You wouldn’t be my first grump,” I said. “Let’s see if we can relax with some diaphragmatic breathing.”

I moved her knees upright, supporting them with a firm cushion, then picked up her wrist and laid her hand over her stomach. She knew what was coming and laid her other hand over her chest.

“Good. Now, breathe in through your nose. Focus on making your belly rise while your chest does not.”

She inhaled slowly, eyes closing.

“Hold it for a four count.” I paused for the count. “Good. Exhale through your mouth.”

Carrie knew the drill. We started with this exercise every time we worked together. We continued the breathing exercise for a few more minutes. I liked to get a solid five in before moving on.

“Nice. You’ve been practicing. I can tell.”

Carrie gave a gusty little laugh. “I’d practice sword swallowing if that got me out of here sooner.”

I bit down on my lip. She raised a hand to her reddening face. “That came out wrong. So wrong.”

I grinned. “That’s okay.”

“I’m not hitting on you, I swear! I saw how you were with my ex’s friend. I’d be barking up the wrong tree.”

I huffed a little breath, unsure how to respond.

I didn’t like discussing my sexuality with my patients. Not because I was worried about homophobia. If they didn’t want my gay hands on them, they could find a different therapist. I just preferred to maintain professional boundaries. But in this case, it was my fault. I’d been the one to be painfully transparent about Joyride.

“Am I making it worse?” she said. “Oh god, I’m making it worse. I just called you gay! Or bi. Pan? Oh, shit. I’m going to stop talking now.”

I chuckled. “No, you’re fine. Relax. You’re tensing up.”

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“It’s okay. I was pretty obvious earlier, huh?”

She smiled. “A little. But so was he.”