Page 17 of Strawberry Cake

“Sorry.”

“Not sure what you’re apologising for. You texted that it was bad out there.”

“Are you working out alone?”

“No, Marco is already waiting inside.”

She held the door open and followed him to the desk, where a young woman signed her in as Decan’s guest. Once that was out of the way, Decan gestured up to the second floor.

“Treadmills are up there, and the lockers are right over there.” He pointed at the other end of the gym. “Leave whenever you like, but not without saying goodbye.” Then, he reached for her loose shirt and tied the side of it over her hip bone. “You’re gorgeous, don’t hide yourself.”

“You’re putting my audiobook to shame. I’m already blushing.”

“People will just think it was me and not a naughty story in your head. Now go.”

“Shouldn’t I say hi to your friend?”

“God no. Once he starts talking he doesn’t stop. We’ll never get anything done.”

“Fair enough.” Hope smiled and headed up the stairs, choosing a treadmill right at the bannister that overlooked the gym floor. She had the perfect view. Decan stood with who she assumed was Marco. Once he’d warmed up at a—damn what were the bicycles for the arms called?—he went on to do some bench presses. He effortlessly transferred out of the wheelchair and onto the bench, securing his legs down with a belt. Marco spotted him, running his mouth and earning himself a few scolding glares from Decan that made her giggle to herself.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him as they worked through their routine. Before she knew it, she was out of breath and sweating profusely. Looking down at the timer, she was shocked to find that she’d been slow jogging for thirty minutes already. Maybe coming to the gym with Decan wasn’t as bad as she thought. She slowed her speed, letting her heart rate come down and finished off with some stretches. Probably not to the standard of an athlete but who cared? Not her.

Deeming herself spent, she wiped the sweat from her brow—even though it was useless—and made her way over to Decan. She lingered nearby, letting him finish his set before she approached.

“Leaving?” he asked.

“Yeah. It wasn’t as bad as I thought after all.”

“Ah, your woman might come more often,” Marco teased, catching Hope’s attention.

She quickly offered him a hand. “I’m Hope.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Marco.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Okay, let her go before she’s stuck with one of your monologues. She’s too polite to tell you to shut up.”

“I’m just curious,” Marco defended, hands held up in surrender.

“We never decided on dinner tomorrow,” Hope said, changing the subject.

“I was thinking of lasagne?” Decan suggested ignoring his best friend’s pouting face.

“Sounds good. Should I bring anything?”

“Just yourself.”

“And dessert?” she prodded, unsure about showing up empty handed.

“I thought she was the dessert—ow!” Marco earned himself a punch to the gut with that one.

“Bring whatever you like,” Decan offered with a smile.

“Okay.” Then she shily waved and walked off, grinning at the hushed bickering that followed her out of the building.

Decan