“Yes. And now that I know more about your health, I can do a better job of coaching you, you stubborn, secretive pain in my ass.”
The insult seemed to have the opposite intended effect. She looked downright happy. “Okay! Let me find a regular bra, and I’ll be right down.”
“Maybe run a brush through this?” I suggested waving a hand over my own head.
“Don’t be silly. Your hair always looks great.”
I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.
We decided on Moonshine Diner for our breakfast and chat. I had a lot of things I wanted to say to her. But I’d wait until we had some coffee and food first.
I took the menu from her when she slid into the booth across from me. Shelby was moving a little gingerly but leaps and bounds better than last night.
“How are you feeling?” I asked her.
“Fine. Can I have my menu?” she asked, stretching her arms across the table.
“No, you can’t.”
“Mornin’ Jonah. Mornin’ Shelby,” Clarabell greeted us with a smile and a pot of coffee. “Interest y’all in some caffeine?”
“Yes, please,” Shelby said, offering up her mug.
“Thanks, Clarabell,” I said as she filled mine.
“Shelby? The usual?” she asked.
“I’ll have the pancake stack—”
I cut Shelby off. “We’ll both have veggie omelets with cheese and a side of fruit.”
Clarabell’s red, red eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. “Is that so?”
Shelby wrinkled her nose but nodded reluctantly.
“You haven’t kidnapped this nice girl, and she’s sending me an SOS?” Clarabell asked me.
I grinned.
“Whatever Jonah here says,” Shelby said with zero enthusiasm.
“Comin’ right up,” Clarabell promised and disappeared with her coffee pot.
“Veggie omelets? Fruit?” she scoffed at me.
“Your diet is horrendous. I’m saying it as your trainer and your friend. With your condition—”
“Lower your voice. Fifty percent of the people in here are just waiting for some tasty niblet of gossip,” she hissed.
“Fine,” I said, leaning in. “Diet is one of the most important components of managing your condition. Which, judging by the look of disgust on your face, is something your doctor has already explained to you.”
“My rheumatologist may have mentioned something about nutrition,” she grumbled.
“And?” I pressed.
“And I didn’t hear what she was saying since I was too busy inhaling a bag of pork rinds on the exam table.”
I wasn’t sure if she was joking.
“Oh, come on.” Shelby rolled her eyes. “I’m kidding. It was a six-pack of Slim Jims and a carton of chocolate milk.”
I didn’t want to smile, but I felt one working its way up.
“There’s the smile,” she said, pointing at my face. “Now, let’s talk about why you’re having breakfast with me and not—as they say ’round these parts—‘your mama’?”
“We’re talking about you right now,” I reminded her. “And you’re valiantly trying to use your adorably weird sense of humor to deflect.”
She leaned back against the booth. “You’re trying to turn this into a professional relationship, aren’t you? We have a kiss that knocks my socks off, and then you find out I have a little bit of arthritis, and it’s all business now,” she complained.
She delivered it like a joke, but I could hear the disappointment.
I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Shelby, there’s nothing professional about my feelings for you. But I’ve never slept with a client before.”
“I’m not a client, and we haven’t slept together yet,” she pointed out.
“I’m trying to explain this is new territory for me. I want to help you train. It’s my area of expertise. But I’m also attracted to you. I’m also a little surprised you haven’t analyzed the hell out of all this.”
She gave a dainty shrug. “It’s harder to find perspective when it’s my stupid feelings of inadequacy.”
“Why would you feel inadequate?” I asked, stretching an arm across the back of the booth.
“I’m flawed,” she said with a small frown. “Duh.”
Now I laughed. “Shelby, of course you’re flawed. We’re all flawed. Let me be clear, I have a bigger issue with you asking forty million questions to dissect something than I do with you having ankylosing spondylitis.”
“You looked it up?” Surprised, she picked up her coffee and sipped.
“I did. You got a problem with that?” I teased.
“I don’t know. I haven’t decided,” she said primly.
“Well, you think on it.”
Clarabell returned, a steaming plate in each hand. “Enjoy, y’all.”
Shelby stared down at her plate like it was fresh roadkill.
“Back to your diet and nutrition,” I said, sliding the napkin-wrapped silverware in her direction. “We’re going to find healthy foods that you’ll like to eat. You