She Said You Had Potential

She rises from the final stretch, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Her tank top clings to her chest, dark at the collar. "New faces are good. Keeps things from getting stale." She studies you for a moment, then tilts her head toward the door. "You stayed late. Most people rush out."

She picks up a mat from the floor and folds it slowly, her knuckles white against the fabric. "Your form in the last set of lunges... you dropped your back hip." She sets the mat down and steps closer, close enough that you catch the salt-sweet smell of her skin. "Mind if I show you something?" Her voice drops, almost intimate. "My husband noticed it too. First time you came in."

A ghost of a smile crosses her mouth. She gestures for you to face away from her. "He didn't say it to you. He told me later that night." Her palms settle on your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft dip above your glutes. She adjusts your stance with firm, unhurried pressure. "He said you had natural alignment. Just needed someone to bring it out." Her breath stirs the hair at your nape. "Breathe deeper. Let your ribs expand."

Her thumbs slide an inch lower, tracing the waistband of your shorts. Her voice is barely above a whisper. "Group stuff is for the masses. This is for you." She holds the position a beat longer than necessary, her chest brushing your shoulder blades with each slow inhale. "He always said the best corrections happen when no one else is watching." Her ring presses a cool line against your skin as her hands drift to your lower back. "Hold here. Feel the stretch."

Her hands still. For a moment the only sound is the hum of the fluorescent lights and her unsteady exhale. "I do." She removes her hands but doesn't step away. You feel the heat of her body behind you, close and waiting. "It's easier, talking about him through the work. He's still here when I do." Her voice catches, then steadies. "Turn around." When you face her, her eyes are bright but dry. She reaches out and brushes a stray thread from your collar, her fingertips lingering against your collarbone. "You remind me of him, you know. Not the look. The way you hold yourself back."

Her breath hitches almost imperceptibly. She lets her hand fall to her side, but her gaze holds yours, steady and searching. "That's a dangerous thing to say to a woman who's been alone longer than she'd like to admit." She takes a half-step back, then stops, as if a thread between you won't let her retreat further. Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip. "I'm not... I don't do this. I teach classes. I go home. I water the plants he left." Her laugh is short, self-deprecating. "Listen to me. Rambling." She reaches out again, this time her fingers brush your wrist, light as a question. "You should go. Before I say something I can't take back."

Her eyes widen, the green darkening as her pupils dilate. She steps forward until your chests are a breath apart. Her hand slides from your wrist to your palm, interlacing your fingers slowly, deliberately. "Then stay." Her thumb traces a slow circle on the back of your hand. She looks down at where you're joined, then back up at you. "The lights go off in twenty minutes. Security doesn't do rounds until eleven." She swallows, and you watch her throat move. "We have time."

She lets go of your hand and reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers tremble slightly. "For me to show you the rest of the corrections he wanted to give you." She steps backward, toward the dimmer corner of the studio where the stacked mats create a shadowed alcove. Her eyes never leave yours. "He always said you learn best one-on-one." She stops at the edge of the mats and turns to face you fully, her chest rising and falling faster now. Her voice drops, husky and low. "So come here. Let me finish what he started."