Chapter 2
Natalie Nolan
The basement wasn’t as bright. If anything, it looked like they’d had to make do with what they had. The pool area was small and intimate, definitely geared toward classes that had fewer participants. The pool itself couldn’t be more than thirty feet long.
Laurie guided me down a dimly lit hallway and pointed out more locker rooms and their rehab area. She rambled along the way. Ethan helped rehabilitate athletes and veterans too. Good to know if I ever enlisted or aspired to join the Olympics.
Please let this Ethan guy be nice. I couldn’t believe I was actually handing over my health to a damn kid.
Once I’d turned thirty, everyone younger than me was a child.
At the end of the hallway, we arrived at three doors. Staff only, staff-only bathroom, and “Ethan Quinn.”
Laurie knocked on the door to Ethan’s office. “Sir? I have a Natalie Nolan here to see you. She’s a new client.”
“Come on in.”
I hated him already. He was supposed to say he was busy.
Laurie gave me one final bright smile as she let me inside. “Good luck, and welcome to the QFC family, Natalie.”
Don’t leave me.
She was actually really nice. Couldn’t she train me instead?
Ethan’s office was pretty empty. Nothing on the walls.
The space was divided into an office area with his desk and filing cabinets, and then a seating area with two sofas and—what the fuck?
I did a double take at the man behind the desk.
That was Ethan Quinn? I mean, I clearly saw it was him, but someone should tell him to update his profile photo on the website, ’cause that man was not in his twenties. Or thirties.
Still ripped, though.
“Natalie’s information is in the system already, so you’re good to go, sir,” Laurie said before she abandoned me.
“Thanks, Laurie.” Ethan got up from his chair and gave me a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Natalie. I’m Ethan.”
We met halfway, and I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too.”
He gestured at the sofas. “Have a seat, and we’ll get started. Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Water?”
“I’m good, thanks.” I cleared my throat and sat down on one of the sofas.
I couldn’t imagine having a windowless office. Spotlights weren’t everything. I needed the sun.
Ethan grabbed a laptop from his desk.
In the short timespan from seeing his profile to meeting him in person, I’d built up an impression that had just shattered.
At least if he was my age—or older, actually—I felt I didn’t have to be just as nervous.
He was definitely handsome, like ridiculously so, but he was a bit too polished.
Clean-shaven, not a hair out of place. Brown, a little wavy, short, with a bit of silver.
I dug the silver.
He was very tall too.
He sat down across from me and opened his laptop. “All right, Natalie. How can I help you? What’re you looking for?”
Okay, I liked the sound of his voice a lot. Warm and lulling, with a hint of whiskey. But by the looks of him, he probably drank algae shots instead of whiskey.
Stop being so judgmental!
Fuck. Yeah. Okay.
“Um, I need to lose weight,” I said. “I want to get pregnant, and my doctor recommended losing maybe twenty or thirty pounds.”
More like thirty. Thirty should get me back into my leather jacket too.
Ethan hummed, his gaze fixed on the screen.
I assumed he was reading my information.
“Getting pregnant is a good, specific goal,” he replied.
“We’re going to skip all talk about pounds, though.
There’s a scale in every locker room for those who want to use that, but you won’t be stepping on one for me. ”
Maybe I didn’t hate him.
“You have my interest,” I joked.
He sent me a quick grin before he refocused on the laptop.
Come to think of it, he looked an awful lot like Gray’s man, Darius. They could certainly be brothers. Or cousins, maybe. I didn’t have any personal social media accounts, but I could totally use my work account to look him up.
“Before we dig into what approach we’ll use, I just need to confirm a few things,” he said. “You’re thirty-four years old. Laurie logged your work atmosphere as sedentary. You don’t exercise regularly, and you’ve tried at least five different diets in the last three years. How tall are you?”
“Five foot three,” I answered.
He wrote that down. “Are you on any medication?”
“No.”
“Any heart disease in the family? Diabetes? Any joint issues?”
I shook my head. “My back hurts when I walk for longer than a few minutes, but that’s all.”
He inclined his head and kept typing. “That’ll be one of the first things we’ll take care of. From what I can see, give it a couple weeks, and then that pain will be gone.”
That was my experience too. It was just one hell of a climb to get over that first threshold.
“Can you tell me a little about your eating habits?” he requested. “Actually—first, I gotta ask. Can I speak plainly with you?”
I sat straighter, surprised and slightly on edge. “Uh, yeah? I didn’t come here for sugarcoating.”
“You’d be surprised to hear how many do,” he answered.
No smirk or grin; if anything, he took this seriously.
“When it comes to health, you’ll find me somewhere in the middle of body-positivity and everything we once considered to be facts.
That skinny automatically means healthy and so on.
We know better today. Men and women come in many natural shapes and forms—and I’ve chosen to draw the line at health risks.
So while I have met hundreds of curvy women who are much healthier than some I would call underweight, I want to let medical results and your mental state determine when you’ve reached your goal.
” He paused briefly. “Being able to get pregnant and go through a pregnancy is a great start—unless there are any underlying conditions, of course. Not everyone can get pregnant, and it’s not always linked to physical health.
Which—” He showed his palms, as if cautioning himself.
“I probably don’t need to tell you this.
I just want to be as clear as I can be. The day you get pregnant, wonderful—that’s awesome.
But if your blood sugars are too high, or you’re not quite happy yet, I’d like for us to continue until you reach that point. ”
Hell, he could speak plainly to me any day of the week. It was so refreshing to meet someone who wasn’t either-or. He was somewhere in the middle. I liked the middle. I was in the middle myself.
“This is partly why I don’t care about your weight, Natalie,” he went on. “My personal goal as a client’s PT is to find a balance between managing health risks, happiness, and sustainability. Yo-yo dieting is never good. We want to find the right lifestyle for you.”
Take me. I’m all yours.
“That’s the balance I want,” I admitted.
“I’ll be honest too. I was incredibly happy with myself a few years ago—I was still larger, but I had way more energy.
I liked going out and doing things, and I didn’t starve myself.
If I hear another recommendation to cut all carbs, I will flip my freakin’ lid. ”
He let out a warm chuckle and shook his head. “Don’t listen to those people. Complex cards are good for you.”
Tell that to the experts who claimed the opposite.
“A lot of people think you’re wrong,” I had to say.
“A lot of people are making billions selling bullshit,” he replied, not missing a beat. “The problem is, there’s no money in good health. There is, however, a ton of money in medicine and diet food.”
Yeah, Facebook needed a status for “committed to my PT.”
I smiled impishly. “So when do we start?”
He chuckled again and scratched his bicep absently, his stare returning to the laptop screen.
“I’m glad you’re motivated. Unfortunately, there’s no one-size-fits-all for getting healthier, so now comes a long and tedious interview.
I have approximately sixty questions for you, not counting follow-ups, that will help me map out your diet history, likes, dislikes, and preferences on exercise.
Because I don’t think you want to go on my diet or something created for a former athlete or someone who’s allergic to gluten. This has to fit you.”
Oh, he made my heart happy.
“Is there a diet for chocolate lovers?”
“Do you want to get pregnant?” he shot back with a smirk.
Damn.
I waved a hand. “Proceed with your questionnaire, Coach.”
Maybe this would actually work.
I came back to my apartment an hour later, overwhelmed but hopeful. Laurie had been right so far. Ethan Quinn seemed like the perfect PT for me. He’d given me tons of pamphlets but not without going through them. He wasn’t the type who just said, no, this wouldn’t work; he explained why.
I liked that.
It was only the first day, and I already felt like I was getting my money’s worth. After all, the monthly cost wasn’t pocket change—but I would get a lot of one-on-one time in exchange. Starting tomorrow. Ethan was coming with me to buy groceries and put together a meal plan.
On average, I’d get about ten minutes with him every day, via text, and then two workout sessions each week. I’d settled for Mondays and Fridays to surround my weekend with someone who could tell me no.
That’d been one of his questions, if I had a husband or partner or other family member around to help me, and I had confirmed I was on my own.
My homework till tomorrow was to throw out all sugar, which I’d already done.
It was a sad day.
After dumping all the pamphlets on my kitchen counter, I went to grab my laptop and—
Crap. My phone rang. I checked the number, only to see Gray’s name on the display, and that made everything great again.
“Hey, you!” I answered.
“Hey! If it isn’t my favorite aunt in the whole world.”
I laughed and continued into my office. “Okay, what do you want?”
He chuckled, and it sounded forced. “I’m really sorry to call about this, but is there any chance you could pick up Justin from day care? They just called, and he’s got a fever—”