Samantha
Summer works at a health club. Nearly 40, she's lonely and alone,
especially since her sister just married a man who was dating
Samantha. Slightly hungover, she isn't expecting to meet the man of
her dreams.
The
club was fairly empty. The early morning crowd was gone and it would
be a couple hours before the next rush. It was 7:58 and my client was
already there.
His
back was too me, so I could take in details without him noticing. Six
feet tall, broad shouldered, good physique, dark brown hair, a couple
tattoos that were slightly obscured by the hair on his forearms.
"Hello,"
I said as energetically as I could muster.
He
jumped, turning to face me. I was struck by the clear, incredibly
vivid blue eyes. No, not blue—aquamarine. He smiled, flashing a
face full of brilliant whites at me.
"Hank
Winter," he said, holding out his hand. He had a slight accent,
adding flavor to his name.
I
giggled. Not something I'm prone to, but his name made me laugh.
Hank
frowned slightly."Did I say something funny?"
"No...
no." I cleared my throat, suppressing the laughter bubbling up
inside. "Samantha Summer."
He
chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "You're kidding."
"God's
truth." I raised my hand like I was taking an oath.
"All
we need are two more seasons and we'll have a full set."
"We've
got an Autumn on the staff and a man named Springer who works out."
"There
ya go! We need to get together for dinner."
I
paused, wondering if he was serious. I chose to think it was a joke,
but I got an odd vibe from him. Not a bad one, just—odd.
"Well,
let's get started before it gets too busy," I suggested.
"Sure.
No problem." He took a step back, shy and embarrassed. "Been
awhile since I worked out. I need to get back in the swing."
"Have
you used Nautilus equipment before?"
"Yeah.
All the time."
"Great!
Then this will be a quick refresh."
I
got his paperwork together and showed him around. Most of the
machines were familiar. A couple he'd never used. Regardless of his
experience, I'm required by club policy to demonstrate everything. He
watched me, nodding as I spoke. When it came time for his turn, he
shocked me with the amount of weight he could lift without effort.
"I
used to do more," he admitted, slapping his belly. "But
after eighteen months off, I'm soft."
"Have
you been ill?" I was concerned. I need to know if my clients
have health issues.
His
face clouded. "No. My wife."
"Oh,
I'm sorry."
"She
died six months ago."
"I'm
very sorry." I patted his hand. "It must be very hard."
"You
married?" Hank blinked quickly, eyes full of tears.
"No."
For once, I was ashamed of the lack.
Here
was a man obviously suffering and I had no idea the amount of pain he
endured. Never having had anyone at the center of my life, I couldn't
even imagine his loss.
"I'm
so sorry," I whispered, wanting to cry too.
"But,
you move on," he said, forcing himself to smile. "So. How
about this beastie?" He patted the ab machine fondly. "Been
awhile since I saw you, my old friend."
"We'll
whip you back into shape," I promised.
Unlike
many of my clients, I knew it wouldn't take him long. He was
obviously a man who knew how to stay fit. Even without a regular
exercise routine, he was in excellent shape.
I
set the machine for myself and showed him how to operate it. He
grinned the entire time and looked anxious to get to work. I let him
take over, watching as he upped the weight.
"You
sure you can handle that much?" I teased.
"It'll
probably kill me, but I miss my abs." He slapped his belly.
He
started working the machine and his shirt crept up as he moved. If
he'd gotten soft, what had he looked like before? I've seen a lot of
hard bodies in my time, but his.... Wow!
I
purposely distracted myself by greeting some of the of the regulars
as they dribbled in. Most of them are elderly, but some are people
about my age—all of them married. Since school was out for the
summer, a handful of teenagers came in, greeting me.
Hank
finished, standing up with a grin. "That felt great!" His
accent was more pronounced. It took a moment, but I finally placed
it.
"You're
Scottish!"
"You
noticed!" He flashed another toothy grin. "As hard as I've
worked to rid myself of it, it never quite goes away." His
accent broadened more and I knew he did it on purpose.
"My
aunt is from Drumsallie."
"No,
she's not! I'm from Kinlocheil!"
"I've
been there! She took me for a visit when I graduated from high
school. In fact, my first...." I stopped talking immediately.
Way
to embarrass yourself, Samantha.
The
teenage boys stared at me, waiting.
"First—taste
of whisky—was in Scotland," I finished lamely, trying to hide
my blush behind my hand.
Hank
leaned over, grinning, as he whispered. "Nice save, Samantha."
His breath was warm on my burning cheek. He smelled fresh like a
Scottish Highland morning.
©
2019 Dellani Oakes
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