Page 4 of Big and Brawny
Orson moves through his warm-up with ease, and I find myself stealing glances at the way his muscles move under his skin. When he catches me looking, I feel heat creep up my neck.
"Form check?" I ask quickly, setting up for my first working set of squats. "I know my depth can be inconsistent when I'm nervous."
"Of course." He positions himself where he can see my movement pattern clearly. "Take your time. Good setup is everything."
I descend into my first squat, aware of his attention, and immediately feel more stable than I have in months. There's something about training in a space this well-designed, with someone who clearly knows what he's doing, that makes everything feel more solid.
"Perfect depth," Orson says as I complete the rep. "Your knee tracking is excellent, and you're staying tight through the core. Really nice work."
The genuine approval in his voice makes me feel warm inside. I've gotten plenty of encouragement from Wayne, but hearing it from someone with Orson's obvious expertise feels different.
"Thanks. Your setup makes everything feel more stable. I think the rack at the gym was slightly bent or something."
"Commercial equipment takes a beating. This rack is bolted to the floor and perfectly level." He moves to his own station, loading plates with the kind of weight that makes my eyes widen. "Mind if I work in parallel? I'll try to keep the noise down."
"It's your gym. Besides, I like training around people who are stronger than me. Keeps me motivated."
For the next hour, we move through our respective routines with an easy rhythm I didn't expect. Orson is focused and methodical, but he's also encouraging, offering form cues when I ask and spotting me on my heavier sets with hands that are steady and sure.
More than that, he doesn't try to change my program or suggest I should be doing something different. He respects my training plan and my goals, which is more refreshing than I realized I needed.
"How'd that feel?" he asks as I finish my last set of Romanian deadlifts.
"Incredible." I'm breathing hard but exhilarated, endorphins flooding my system. "I think I lifted more today than I have in weeks. Something about this space just feels... right."
"Good equipment makes a difference. But so does training with someone who takes it seriously."
The comment feels like a compliment, and I find myself glowing under his approval.
"Same time Wednesday?" I ask as we're wiping down equipment.
"You know," he says, reaching for a towel to wipe his face, "I promised you May's Diner. How about Wednesday after our session? Their breakfast is almost as famous as their pie."
My heart does a little flip in my chest. "That sounds great."
"Great," he echoes, and for a moment we just stand there smiling at each other before my brain starts working again and I rush off to get ready for work.
After my shower, I'm toweling my hair dry when I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. I'm glowing, and not just from the workout. There's a lightness to my expression that I haven't seen in a long time. I shake my head at myself. One workout session and I'm already halfway to a crush.
The bakery is already bustling when I arrive, and I slide behind the counter to help with the morning rush before settling in at my desk in the back to work on their new promotional materials for the Winter Festival.
"Someone's in a good mood," my boss, Alice, comments as she sets a fresh latte beside my computer. "Had a good workout?"
I glance up, wondering if my face is that transparent. "How did you know I was working out?"
"Honey, this is Whitepine. Mrs. Patterson told me she saw you driving to that Hartwell boy's house at six this morning." She grins, leaning against my desk. "So, how is he? Those Hartwell men have quite the reputation around here."
"We're just training partners," I say, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "His home gym is amazing, and my gym just closed for renovations."
"Mmhmm." Alice doesn't look convinced. "Well, he's a good one. Quiet, keeps to himself, but always polite. And if he's anything like his cousins, he's loyal to a fault. That Boone fellow brought his fiancée in here last week—couldn't take his eyes off her the whole time. And Holt? Word is he was the grumpiest man in town until Marigold moved into his cabin. Now he actually smiles occasionally."
"We're going to May's Diner after our session on Wednesday," I admit, not sure why I'm sharing this.
Alice's eyebrows shoot up. "May's? Oh honey, that's practically a marriage proposal in this town. The Hartwell men don't take just anyone to May's."
"It's just breakfast," I protest, but there's a flutter in my stomach that has nothing to do with hunger.
"Whatever you say," Alice says with a wink. "But don't be surprised if Mrs. Patterson starts planning your wedding by the weekend."
