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As I’m about to leave, I get an idea.

“Hey, do you happen to have a sticky note and a pen I can use?” I ask the guy at the desk.

“Sure.” He looks confused, but he hands over both items and doesn’t ask why. I scribble down my name and phone number, walk to where James is examining a broken machine, and hand him the note.

“Just in case you want it,” I say. I’m sure he doesn’t want his patrons noticing anything between us, so I turn and leave before he has the chance to say anything.

IT TAKES Acouple of hours, but finally my phone vibrates with a notification from a number I don’t recognize. “Hey Ivy, it’s James.”

I force myself to wait a minute before I reply, not wanting him to think I’ve been obsessively checking my phone waiting for him to text (even though I definitely have). I have no clue how to start a conversation with him, and it occurs to me again that I know absolutely nothing about him aside from the fact that he owns a gym, is significantly older than me, and has some wicked skills with his fingers. My first text response is about as eloquent as I can get: “Hi :)” It’s not like I can come right out and ask him for his entire life back story.

His response comes in a few minutes later. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to talk to you tonight. I didn’t expect you to come until later, and there were a lot of things to deal with.”

“No worries. I needed a good, uninterrupted workout anyway. It’s been a weird day.”

“Why?”

I type out a small paragraph explaining everything that happened with Brady earlier today, hit send, and wait for a response.

“Wow, he’s a piece of shit. I don’t understand why you stayed with him for so long.”

I’m not entirely sure what to say to that, but I decide that there’s no harm in being honest. After all, he doesn’t know much more about me than I do about him. “Idk, things were good between us at first. I think after awhile I just didn’t want to lose that security and time spent in the relationship, even when things started to get bad. It’s hard for me to let go of things sometimes, especially when I’ve put a lot of effort into them.”

“You definitely deserve better than him,” he says. “And I understand how you feel.”

“Do you?” I guess that’s as good of a way to pry into his personal life as any. I pour myself a glass of wine as I wait for his response. Finally, it comes through.

“I do.” Well, shit. That tells me absolutely nothing. Time to pry some more.

“How so? Any significant relationships recently?”

“Yes.” I read his one-word message and my stomach knots. Damn it. What if he’sstillin a significant relationship and I was just a mistake? But before I can let my mind conjure up too many scenarios, my phone vibrates with another message from him. “I was engaged up until a couple years ago. We were together for five years. I finally realized that even though we weren’t necessarily miserable, neither of us was happy or living up to our potential. I ended up breaking it off for both of our sakes.”

Oh, wow. I didn’t expect him to open up so much, but I’m glad he did. It gives me a small glimpse into who he is and what he values. I type, delete, and retype my reply a few times before I send it. “I want to say I’m sorry to hear that, but it sounds like it was a good step for both of you. Thanks for sharing that with me.”

“You’ve been so open with me, it’s only fair. Plus, I really am enjoying getting to know you.”

I smile like an idiot as I read the message and formulate my response. “I’m enjoying getting to know you too. Although, aside from that last admission, I really don’t know anything about you . . .”

His next response comes in quickly. “Ask me anything.”

Taking a sip of my wine, I try to sift through all the questions I have about him in my mind. Where do I even start?

“What did you do before you owned the gym?” I remember the gym opening when I was still in high school, maybe 9 years ago, so I know he did something else for a decent portion of his adult life before this.

“I was in the Air Force for quite a few years when I was younger. When I got out, I worked a bit in construction then decided I wanted to work on cars instead. I’ve always liked working with my hands, doing something physical, and the gym has always been my favorite place. So, I worked hard, opened it up, and here I am.”

“Wow, that’s quite a list. I’m impressed.” I take another gulp of wine as I think about what he’d look like working in those environments — in uniform, all hot and sweaty and muscular . . .

“What about you? What do you do for work?” He asks.

“I’m an administrative assistant. I started college and realized it just wasn’t for me. I don’t mind my job, but I don’t love it by any means. I still haven’t quite figured out what I want to do yet.”

“You’ve got plenty of time to figure it out. You’re still so young. How old are you, anyway?”

“You first,”I shoot back.

“I’m 44.”

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