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“That’s it,” I say, figuring that speaking might distract my brain. “Feel it in your back, not your arms. There you go, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—done!”

“Phew!” She catches her breath. “All right, what next? Another set of this or should I move on to another machine?”

I half thought she might have dismissed me now I’ve shown her what to do, but it seems she’s okay with me hanging around a little longer. Obviously, that’s great, but . . . a part of me wonders whether I’d be better off hurrying to the men’s changing room for a cold shower.

Nah, screw that. If she’s happy for me to stick around, I’m sticking around.

I get her to do another set of lat pulldowns, this time with a bit more weight, to see if she can maintain her form when it’s more of a challenge. She smashes it, so I suggest we move on to the chest press machine. Normally, once I start a workout, nothing can distract me from it, but today I couldn’t care less that there’s one last set of reps waiting for me over at the bench press.

After adjusting the seat and weights for Iona, I go first, doing a couple of presses to demonstrate the movement, even though this one is harder to get wrong than the lat pulldown. We switch over, and I stand in front of her to observe and guide.

“Keep your elbows in line. Good.”

If anything, this machine is more distracting than the last one. As she pushes through each rep, the white cotton of her T-shirt stretches across her chest, revealing the dark shape of her sports bra beneath. I can’t stop my gaze from flicking down, but I mentally slap myself and refocus on her technique.

Once more, I try to keep my mind busy by chatting. “You mentioned something about pent-up frustration. A bad day at work?”

Exhaling forcefully, she presses the weights away from her. “What is this, a therapy session?”

“Aye, I suppose it is.” I grin. “I’m kind of a unique personal trainer—I offer the full holistic experience, training your body and mind at the same time. So, talk to me about what’s bothering you. Is being a farm vet in Bannock harder than in Glasgow?”

“It’s nothing to do with my job,” she says, completing the set. “And you’re not my personal trainer, Lewis.” Unprompted, she increases the weight then goes at it again.

“All right, well . . . I know!” I click my fingers together. “You’ve been missing me. You regret not having spent enough time with me since you moved back, and that’s been getting you down.”

She scoffs. “It’s definitely not that, and I never asked for a therapy session, so—”

“Problems with Richard?”

Her jaw clenches, and I realise I’ve hit the nail on the head. Pausing for a moment between reps, she says, “No.”

“Hmm, really? I’m not sure you’re being honest with me. Bottling up your feelings isn’t healthy. I’m a modern man—I get that. It’s good to get things off your chest.”

Oi, Lewis, what are you doing? Just because you said “chest” doesn’t mean you should check hers out again. Eyes back up. I said EYES BACK UP!

I rub my forehead, attempting to disguise the fact I’ve just sneaked another glance at her breasts. Not the smoothest move—I doubt she’s fooled.

Clearing my throat, I say, “If something isn’t right between you and Richard, you can tell me. When we were younger, we didn’t keep secrets from each other. No topic was off the table. Remember?”

“Aye, but that was back when I could trust you.”

I wince. “Ouch! Low blow, Iona. Careful, you should be nice to your PT. Otherwise, I might make you do extra reps.”

She starts completing each chest press with new force, her annoyance fuelling her movements. “As I’ve already said, Lewis, you’re not my personal trainer, and I’m not talking to you about my problems with Richard.”

“Ah, so your problems are to do with Richard. Interesting.” I rub my chin thoughtfully, mimicking the therapists I’ve seen in films, although I doubt actual therapists do this.

“If you don’t . . . shut up . . . maybe I’ll give you . . . a literal low blow.” She’s struggling now, and her words come out in strained bursts.

I glance down, taking in our relative positions and the ease with which she could, if she wished, hit me in a rather sensitive spot. Laughing nervously, I take a step back and playfully wag my finger at her. “No threatening your PT. It’s against the rules.”

Finishing the set, she rests, her breath coming in quick gasps. “You’re really beginning to get on my nerves.”

“Hmm, well, as you’re going through the next set, let’s talk through why that is.” It turns out I can do a pretty good calm-and-collected therapist voice. “Of what sort of nature is your problem with Richard? One relating to the bedroom, perhaps?”

“Lewis!” she warns.

But I’m having fun. I like seeing the spark back in her eyes, even if she is glaring at me. The last few years, whenever she’s come to Bannock for a visit, things have been so awkward between us. I’ve been terrified of doing or saying anything to hurt her even more, and because of that, I’ve been way too polite and careful around her. That’s only widened the rift. If ever I’m going to win her back as a friend, we need to reignite some of our old banter.