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“Constantly.”

Onscreen, a man jumped between train cars while holding a sword.

Byron sighed. “The lateral force alone⁠—”

I passed him more popcorn. “Watch the movie.”

Sloane laughed. Caldwell looked up at her, then silently handed her a piece of candy he’d saved in his pocket. She accepted it with solemn gratitude.

After the movie, we stood in the parking lot, debating the ending.

“It made no sense,” Byron insisted.

“It was fun,” Jason said.

Caldwell tugged Sloane’s sleeve and showed her a quick sketch of the villain falling from the train.

She crouched beside him. “You fixed the perspective.”

He nodded.

“You should send that to the movie studio.”

Jason leaned over. “Make the kick higher.”

Byron groaned.

Sloane looked at me over their heads. She looked happy, not politely engaged or carefully performing interest.

Truly happy.

Over the next month, other changes appeared, too. Her cheeks carried more color. At the reunion, she had looked pale beneath her freckles, her body thin enough that Grandma’s concern had been immediate. Now, her cheeks were a soft pink even when she wasn’t embarrassed.

She ate more regularly, though still required reminders. She’d also been exercising, but she admitted she didn’t have a formalized schedule and wasn’t sure if she was doing the exercises correctly. Patty had apparently helped Sloane by sharing cardio intervals she found to be helpful.

The first week, Sloane called me after completing twelve minutes. “I hate fitness,” she said without greeting.

“What happened?”

“I walked uphill. My lungs are on fire.”

“Did you warm up first?”

She paused. “I put on shoes.”

“That doesn’t count.”

I chuckled. “Drink water.”

“I knew you would say that.”

By the third week, she could walk at a steady pace and talk without becoming breathless on the trail behind the hall.

I noticed during one of our Thursday evenings when we followed the same path where we’d almost kissed after movie night. Sloane climbed the gradual rise beside me while explaining a client disagreement about whether lavender qualified as a masculine color or not.

At the top, I stopped, and she looked at me. “What?”

“You’re not breathing hard,” I said.