Rhythm
Riley
Riley slowed as she approached the property, her gaze moving across the surrounding houses before settling on his. Everything nearby felt compressed, built upward and inward to accommodate the density of the city.
This did not.
Declan’s house sat back from the street just enough to create a quiet separation between the outside world and everything inside it.
It was a modern Queenslander, but restrained in its interpretation.
White brick instead of timber, clean and deliberate, the brightness softened by deep brown accents that framed the structure rather than competing with it.
The wraparound porch traced the perimeter of the house, wide enough to be functional but also aesthetic.
Vines had begun to climb along sections of the exterior, threading through the architecture, adding a feminine softness she hadn’t expected to see from a single bachelor.
She paused briefly at the gate, her attention tracking the exterior in a single, efficient sweep. There were no immediate visual disruptions or competing noises reaching her before she could enter the space.
That alone reduced some of the initial strain. Still, the faint fluttering sensation beneath her skin remained.
Riley recognised it immediately, not as emotion exactly, but as a physiological response pattern similar to how she had felt during the television segment.
Heightened environmental awareness, restlessness beneath the surface of her movements.
The uncomfortable sense that her nervous system was bracing slightly ahead of her conscious thoughts.
Too many unknown variables.
She adjusted the strap of her bag against her shoulder instead, grounding herself in the familiar weight of her laptop and files resting against her side.
Her clothing sat comfortably. She had chosen her shirt to be intentionally oversized, loose enough that the fabric stayed slightly off her skin when she moved instead of catching against it.
She took the steps carefully, and once she was up on the wrap around porch, it opened before she even got a chance to knock.
Declan stood there, one hand resting lightly against the frame, his posture relaxed in a way that suggested familiarity with the space rather than the performance she had seen from him at the gym.
There was no tension in the way he held himself, no subtle adjustment to make himself or the moment appear a certain way.
“Hey,” he said, stepping back without hesitation, giving her room to enter. “Thanks for coming.”
Riley paused just inside the threshold, her attention shifting briefly from him to the space beyond, then back again.
“It is a well-structured property,” she said. The words came out jilted. Riley had the distinct sense that her observation wasn’t exactly what most people would say, but at least it was truthful.
Declan blinked once, then a small smile pulled at his mouth. “That’s… one of the better compliments it’s gotten.”
Riley held his gaze for a fraction of a second longer, as though checking whether that response required anything further from her. It didn’t appear to.
She stepped fully inside.
The shift was immediate. The air felt different, still and full in a way that wasn’t empty at all.
Sound existed without overlap, a low, consistent hum from somewhere deeper in the house, steady enough to fade into the background rather than pull focus.
Air moved through the vents in a predictable pattern, a soft, continuous current that didn’t fluctuate or spike.
Even the light felt... contained, filtered rather than harsh, settling across surfaces instead of bouncing unpredictably between them.
Nothing demanded her attention. Which meant, for the first time since she had arrived, she did not have to divide it.
Her shoulders lowered slightly before she consciously adjusted them, correcting for a change she hadn’t actively initiated.
Behind her, the door closed. Riley turned back toward him, her attention sharpening as the next variable presented itself. A brief pause followed, small but noticeable, where the conversation should have continued and simply didn’t.
So she supplied the next relevant question.
“You’re sure that you’re comfortable with all of your clients having access to your home address?” she asked.
The question was framed without accusation, in a way that implied curiosity or concern.
It had carried over from the night before, sitting unresolved in the background of her thoughts after she had raised it with Dee, how quickly he had offered something most people guarded, how little hesitation there had been in the decision.
Declan didn’t hesitate now, either.
“Yeah,” he said. “I assure you, with the amount of social media stalking my family and I experience, the place is secure. Cameras cover the perimeter and the entry points. If anyone tries anything, it’s flagged and police get called.”
Riley held his gaze for a moment. “I can imagine that is a sufficient deterrent,” she said.
He nodded once.
The conversation appeared to have reached a conclusion, but neither of them moved. Riley was aware that something else was required socially, but the correct response remained unclear.
Declan seemed equally aware of the problem. He shifted his weight slightly before letting out a breath. “Before we go downstairs,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, more deliberate now, “we should probably start over.”
Riley’s attention softened. “I think that would be nice,” she said.
Declan leaned back lightly against the wall, leaving her space while still holding the conversation there between them. “Talk me through what happened,” he said. “From your side.” Riley didn’t answer immediately.
“The observation sessions were manageable,” she said eventually. “Not comfortable, especially not in that gym setting. At least I knew what was expected of me and I had prepared for it.” Declan stayed quiet. “Then you changed the parameters.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “That’s a very professional way of saying I was being a pain in the arse.”
“Yes.”
The answer came quickly enough that he actually laughed. Riley continued before he could respond.
“I had prepared to observe. Instead, I was required to participate.” Her fingers shifted slightly against her side. “And I was required to do so twenty-four hours earlier than I had anticipated.”
His amusement faded. “The change itself wasn’t the issue,” she said. “The lack of warning was.”
Declan’s attention sharpened.
“I had a plan. Then I didn’t.” The simplicity of the statement seemed to land harder than the detailed explanation would have.
“The environment was already difficult for me to process. The noise, the movement, the unpredictability. I was managing those variables.” She paused. “Then you introduced another one.”
“Me.”
“You,” she confirmed.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
“I thought you were annoyed because I made you exercise.”
Riley considered it. “I do not enjoy exercise, so I understand why you assumed I was simply avoiding it,” she said. “But that was not actually the problem.”
Declan stayed quiet. “You told me the session would occur on Friday.”
“Right.”
“So I prepared for today.”
Her gaze dropped briefly. “I had already allocated the energy for it, I knew what I would wear. I knew when it would happen. I had mentally organised it.”
For a moment, Declan was quiet. Then he rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Right.”
Riley waited.
“So from your perspective,” he said slowly, “I told you one thing, watched you prepare for it, then changed it at the last minute because I thought it would be funny.”
Riley considered that. “That is a concise summary.”
He groaned, dragging a hand down over his face. “Fucking hell.” For the first time, Riley saw genuine regret settle across his expression. “Yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head once. “That sounds a lot worse when you say it out loud.”
Declan looked away briefly, staring somewhere over her shoulder as he worked through it. When he looked back, something in him seemed more settled. “Alright,” he said. “Then we start again.”
Riley’s attention fixed on him.
“Properly this time, from the beginning.” He leaned back slightly. “No carryover from that first session. We’ll set a baseline, we build from there, and we do it the way we should’ve done it the first time.” He looked over at her. “And I’ll extend your contract a week.”
Riley blinked. “That isn’t necessary.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “Still doing it.”
She studied him for a moment, trying to understand the reasoning. Declan held her gaze. Then, more quietly, he said, “I’m sorry.”
The words weren’t wrapped in humour or softened by a smile. “I thought I knew what you needed better than you did.” His jaw tightened slightly. “And instead of listening when you told me something wasn’t working, I pushed harder.” A small shake of his head. “That one’s on me.”
Riley went still. Apologies, in her experience, usually arrived attached to something else. An explanation. A reason the behaviour had been unavoidable.
This one didn’t. He just took accountability for his actions. She wondered whether he was less like an asshole than she initially observed.
“I accept the reset,” she said eventually.
It wasn’t exactly an answer to the apology, but it was the closest thing she had. Declan seemed to understand that. He nodded once. “Alright,” he said, pushing himself upright. “Come on.”
He headed toward the stairs, leaving enough room for her to follow without needing to navigate around him. The gym revealed itself gradually as they descended.
Riley’s attention moved through the space automatically, building a map of it before she consciously realised she was doing it. Equipment had been grouped by purpose rather than appearance. Walkways remained clear. Nothing felt crowded or competing for attention.
It felt considered.
Her gaze lingered on the wider gaps between stations. The separation between observation areas and active training spaces, the absence of visual clutter.