CHAPTER FOUR
The gym mishap happened on day twelve.
Olivia had been practicing wall walks—walking her feet up the wall into a handstand position, then lowering with control.
It was part of the gymnastics foundation Lucas was building, teaching her to invert her body, to be comfortable upside down, to use walls and obstacles as tools rather than boundaries.
She'd gotten good at them. Good enough to try a new variation: walking into a handstand, then transitioning into a forward roll.
The wall was slippery. Her hands were sweaty. She inverted, shifted her weight, and felt her palms slide.
What followed was less a martial arts demonstration and more a public service announcement about gym safety.
Olivia crashed down in a spectacular tangle of limbs, rolled sideways, collided with a stack of foam blocks, and skidded across the mat on her backside with all the grace of a falling refrigerator.
The foam blocks exploded everywhere. One bounced off a nearby treadmill.
Another hit a water bottle, sending it spinning across the floor like a drunken figure skater.
The entire gym went silent.
Olivia lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling, contemplating faking her own death and moving to a country without extradition.
A shadow fell over her.
"That," Lucas said, his voice suspiciously steady, "was the most beautiful disaster I've ever witnessed."
"Don't."
"I think you achieved negative altitude."
"Lucas."
"The foam blocks are in the boxing ring. One is on top of the pull-up bar. I didn't know physics allowed that."
Olivia covered her face with her hands. "I hate you."
"No you don't. You're embarrassed, which is different." He crouched beside her. "You okay?"
"My pride is in another dimension."
"Your pride will recover. Your body, however—" He gently checked her wrist, her shoulder, her ankle. "—seems fine. Remarkably fine, given that you defied several laws of motion."
She peeked through her fingers. "Are you laughing at me?"
"Internally. Externally, I'm maintaining professional composure." His eyes were definitely laughing. "Want to know what you did wrong?"
"I existed?"
"You rushed the transition. You had the handstand. Your alignment was good. But you tried to roll before your weight was settled, and you didn't chalk your hands." He held up a block of climbing chalk she'd never seen him grab. "Always chalk your hands for inverted work. Basic rule."
"You could have mentioned that before."
"I could have. But then I wouldn't have witnessed art."
Olivia sat up, glaring at him. "I'm going to make you pay for this."
"How?"
"I'm going to master that transition. And when I do it perfectly, you're going to admit I'm the greatest student you've ever had."
"Ambitious."
"I'm also going to make you buy me dinner."
Lucas's eyebrows shot up. "Is that a date, Thornwood?"
"It's compensation for emotional damages. I nearly died."
"You fell three feet onto foam blocks."
"I saw my life flash before my eyes. It was mostly pizza. Very traumatizing."
He laughed then—a real laugh, warm and startled, like he wasn't used to using it. The sound did something dangerous to Olivia's chest. She filed that information under "ignore completely" and stood up, brushing foam dust from her leggings.
"Again," she said. "Chalk me up."
Lucas tossed her the chalk block. "That's my girl."
The words hung in the air between them. Both of them froze.
"Student," Lucas corrected quickly. "That's my student."
"Obviously." Olivia's face was burning, and not from the fall. "Obviously that's what you meant."
"Obviously."
They stared at each other for one heartbeat too long.
"Chalk," Olivia said, holding out her hands. "And maybe stop talking."
"Right. Yes. Good plan."
She chalked her palms, walked to the wall, and kicked up into a handstand. This time, her hands stayed planted. She held the position, feeling her alignment, finding her balance. Then she tucked her chin, shifted her weight, and rolled forward in a smooth, controlled arc.
She landed on her feet.
Lucas was quiet behind her. When she turned, he was watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read—something between pride and wonder and a third thing she wasn't ready to name.
"Again," he said softly.
She did it again. And again. And again.
By the tenth repetition, it was clean. By the twentieth, it was effortless.
"Valeria Vance would've been proud," Olivia breathed, not meaning to say it out loud.
"Who?"
Olivia felt her face heat again. "No one. Fictional character."
"Your fictional character has good taste in students."
Olivia smiled despite herself. "Yeah. She really does."