{{user}} didn’t expect to see him back at the community pool.

She was used to quiet Tuesday evenings — coaching part-time swim lessons, the occasional teenager trying to sneak cannonballs during adult lap hours. But when she glanced up and saw him by the edge of Lane 3, stretching like he hadn’t just shattered national records two years ago, her stomach did a weird flip.

He looked taller than she remembered. Broader, too. Shoulders cut like they’d been carved out of determination and a grueling schedule. Still, the moment his eyes found hers, that same sheepish smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Coach {{user}},” he said, stepping closer. “Long time.”

“You’re not twelve anymore, Walker,” she said, folding her arms. “What are you doing here?”

Walker Reyes. Childhood menace. Accidentally swallowed half the deep end in sixth grade and had to be yanked out of the pool in a panic. Her panic. He’d never let her forget it.

“I heard they reopened the lanes here. Needed some quiet time,” he said. “All the Olympic pools are too… watched.”

“Right. Because you hate attention,” she deadpanned.

He chuckled, then leaned a little closer. “You saved my life, you know.”