Workout

Previous chapter.

The whole story from the beginning can be found here.

*****

Harper’s grandmother plopped the spatula back onto the counter, still watching her granddaughter with that hawk eyed scrutiny only old women could perfect, the kind that could spot hesitation in a heartbeat. Harper tore a corner from the toast, chewed in deliberate slowness, and tried not to think about Steve’s smile lingering in her chest like a stubborn ember that refused to burn out.

By the time Harper wheeled herself back to her room, the house smelled of coffee and butter, her grandmother humming a hymn under her breath while scrubbing at the skillet. Harper closed the door gently, leaned back in her chair, and finally allowed herself to grin. The night replayed in jagged flashes. His voice, steady but warm, when he admitted the warehouse was just a paycheck. The way his eyes held hers without flinching when she gestured at the chair. The soft brush of his hand, solid and unhurried, when he shook hers at the car.

Her phone sat on the nightstand, Steve’s number staring at her in the glow of the screen. She tapped it once, thumb hovering over the call button, then pulled back like the thing was hot. No. Too soon. But she tucked the phone into her lap anyway, carrying it with her as she transferred onto the bed, tugging her sweatshirt over her head. The sheets were cool against her thighs as she stretched out, staring at the ceiling.

Meanwhile, Steve was in his garage, tinkering with his truck though it didn’t need it, socket wrench clattering against the concrete when he dropped it. He caught himself glancing toward the phone on the workbench every few minutes, the same restless energy gnawing at him. He told himself not to wait for a text that might not come today, but every buzz from the neighborhood group chat, every weather alert made his pulse jump before the letdown.

The date had felt like the beginning of something, though neither of them had said it outright. That fragile thread stretched invisible between them, tugging tighter with every replay of her laugh in his head, every remembered glint of green eyes catching the light.

Harper rolled onto her side, hair spilling across the pillow, thumb brushing the smooth glass of her phone. Her grandmother’s words still rang in her ears, eager, pants, great grandkids, and she buried her face in the pillow with a groan. But beneath her embarrassment, the spark was still there, flickering stronger with each memory of the way he’d looked at her.

Harper set the phone aside on the nightstand with a soft clink, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned lazy circles above her head. That restless energy buzzing in her chest wasn’t going to burn out if she just stayed sprawled here. The heaviness of last night’s dinner still lingered, her grandmother’s egg and toast piled on top, and the more she thought about it the more her muscles itched for movement.

With a practiced press of her palms she pushed herself upright. She stripped down, folding her sweatshirt and tugging her shorts aside. The mirror she kept propped against the dresser caught her reflection as she angled it carefully, rolling onto her side across the mattress to check. Her eyes were sharp, clinical, tracing the pale skin of her backside for any warning signs. No redness, no chafing, no pressure points beginning to bloom. A small nod of satisfaction, relief warming her chest, clean, healthy.

Her pullups, still fresh and dry, rustled faintly as she slid them back on, the elastic hugging familiar against her waist. With another fluid transfer, she moved from bed into her chair, wheels whispering as she spun toward the dresser. The second drawer offered a flash of bright color, purple leggings, her favorite pair, the stretch fabric hugging snug when she tugged them on. A sports bra followed, simple white straps across her shoulders, the snug band firm against her ribs.

Shoes next, the white pair she reserved for exercise, even though she knew practically it hardly made a difference which shoes she wore. But it felt normal, and that mattered to her. She pulled the laces tight as she bent to knot them. Finally, the black fingerless gloves slipped onto her hands, snug leather across her palms, protection against the constant push and spin of her wheels. She flexed her fingers inside them, then wheeled closer to the mirror for one last look. Her reflection stared back, sharp green eyes under the mess of ponytailed red hair, body neatly dressed for a workout. She tucked her phone between her legs.

The porch creaked beneath her wheels when she rolled outside, the late morning sun bright against her face. She breathed in the fresh air, crisp and clean in a way the city had never been, and let it sit in her lungs until the tension in her shoulders loosened. Her eyes tracked across the quiet neighborhood street, the sidewalk stretching toward the park just a few blocks away.

A gym membership might make sense, give her a steady space, maybe even a trainer to push her limits. She thought about the rows of machines, the clatter of weights, the rows of treadmills she couldn’t use but the arm ergometer she could.

Today the park would be enough, the winding paths, the sun dappled benches, the wide open stretch of green that promised she could push herself until her arms hummed with the good kind of fatigue. She adjusted her gloves, set her palms against the rims, and leaned forward into the first smooth roll down the porch ramp.

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Next chapter.