Chapter 45 Indulgences
Hannah
I take the club from the attendant with more confidence than I feel, the weight unfamiliar in my hands. The grass beneath my sneakers is trimmed so precisely it almost looks fake, like something meant to be admired from a distance, not stood on by people who don’t know what they’re doing.
Samantha accepts her club like it’s an extension of her arm. “Relax,” she tells me brightly. “It’s just hitting a ball with a stick. Very primal.”
Jacob laughs from a few feet away. “That’s not how my instructor explained it.”
Timothy steps closer, close enough that I become acutely aware of him again. The faint scent of his cologne, clean and understated. He gestures to my grip.
“Alright,” he says, voice calm, businesslike. “First rule, don’t choke the club.”
I glance down. “I’m not choking it. I’m… holding it securely.”
His mouth twitches. “You’re strangling it.”
Samantha snorts. “She’s nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” I protest, then immediately adjust my grip the wrong way.
Timothy sighs softly, not impatient, just… resigned. “Okay. Let me show you.”
Before I can respond, he steps behind me.
Everything in my body locks.
His presence is suddenly everywhere, heat at my back, the solid line of his chest just short of touching me. His hands come over mine, long fingers wrapping gently but firmly around my grip, repositioning them with practiced ease.
“Like this,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, meant only for me.
My breath stutters. I hate that he notices.
“Loosen your shoulders,” he continues, close enough that his words brush my ear. “You’re tensing up.”
“I’m fine,” I say, but it comes out thin and reedy.
He adjusts my stance with a light pressure at my hip, barely there, but my body reacts anyway, awareness flaring sharp and sudden. I can feel the strength in him without him exerting it, restraint layered over control.
“Eyes on the ball,” he says quietly.
I nod, though my thoughts are anything but focused. The world seems to narrow to the space between us, to the way his thumbs rest against my knuckles, steady and warm.
For half a second, just half, I wonder if he feels it too.
Then he clears his throat abruptly and steps back.
“There,” he says, too briskly. “Go ahead.”
The absence of him is almost louder than his presence had been.
I swallow, nod again, and swing.
The club slices the air with impressive enthusiasm and absolutely no coordination. The ball hops pathetically to the side, rolling a few feet before stopping like it’s embarrassed for me.
Samantha claps anyway. “Great start!”
Jacob grins. “Bold technique.”
I groan. “I’m never touching sports equipment again.”
Timothy exhales through his nose, something dangerously close to a laugh. “You lifted your head.”
“I panicked.”
“You can’t panic,” he says. “The ball senses fear.”
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t know that.”
Samantha takes her turn, sending the ball soaring cleanly. She beams. “See? Fearless.”
I square my shoulders, refusing to glance at Timothy again. I will not think about how close he stood. I will not think about how his voice sounded when he spoke into my ear.
I swing again.
This time, the ball lifts properly, not far, but straight. I grin despite myself.
“Yes!”
“There you go,” Timothy says, approval unmistakable.
We take turns, the rhythm settling in. Between shots, conversation flows easily with Jacob teasing Samantha, Samantha recounting an unhinged story about one of her twins projectile-spitting at a pediatrician, Timothy chiming in dryly at unexpected moments.
I find myself laughing more than I expect to.
At some point, I realize the light has shifted. The sun dips lower, casting everything in gold and long shadows. The air cools, carrying the smell of grass and distant food stalls.
I hadn’t noticed the time passing at all.
“That’s it for us,” Jacob says eventually, checking his watch. “If we stay any longer, I’ll embarrass myself.”
Samantha loops her arm through mine without warning. “You were amazing,” she says. “And I expect dinner soon. Proper dinner. You’ll come, won’t you?”
I blink, caught off guard. “I…yes. Of course.”
“Good. You need to meet the twins. They’re terrifying and wonderful.”
Timothy steps closer as we say our goodbyes. Jacob shakes his hand firmly, business already creeping back into his expression.
“Good game,” Jacob says.
“Next time,” Timothy replies.
Samantha hugs me again, whispering, “He’s gone,” with a knowing smile before pulling away.
As they leave, Timothy turns to me. “Tired?”
I consider it. My body feels pleasantly loose, my mind buzzing. “Not really.”
“Good,” he says. “We can walk around a bit. Maybe eat.”
“I’d like that,” I reply, surprised at how easily the words come.
He hesitates for half a second, then offers his arm.
I look at it. Then at him.
His expression is careful, unreadable, but there’s something tentative there too.
I take it.
The contact is simple, proper. And yet my pulse jumps anyway.
We walk through the complex, past polished storefronts and softly lit paths. He leads me into a store without preamble.
It takes me a second to realize where we are.
“A pet store?” I ask, delighted.
“For Momo,” he says, like it’s obvious. “You’ll need supplies and…equipment.”
Joy bubbles up, unrestrained. I let go of his arm and immediately start browsing, fingers skimming over leashes and bowls and toys.
“What about this?” I ask, holding up a ridiculous plush.
“That looks… loud.”
“That’s the point.”
He watches me with an expression I can’t quite name as I pick out essentials, then indulgences. When I show him collars, he considers them seriously.
“That one,” he says, pointing. “Durable.”
“It’s expensive.”
“So is vet care.”
I laugh. “Fair.”
I choose a custom collar, fingers lingering over the engraving options. When the attendant explains it’ll be delivered in a few days, Timothy nods and pays without comment.
As we leave, he carries the bags.
My heart feels too full.
We’re almost past another storefront when I stop short.
There it is.
I stare.
He notices immediately. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Hannah.”
“I don’t need it.”
He turns fully to me. “What do you want?”
I hesitate, then gesture weakly. “That bag.”
He exhales, already moving. “Come on.”
Inside, I go straight for it, lifting it triumphantly. “How do I look?”
I turn to him, breath held.
His gaze lingers, slow and deliberate. Then a small smile curves his lips.
“Amazing,” he says.
My chest warms in a way that has nothing to do with the lighting.