I closed my laptop with more force than necessary and pressed my palms against my eyes. What was I doing? This isn't me. I don't cyber-stalk my clients, even if they happen to be the town's golden boy.

To avoid falling down another rabbit hole, I stalked out of my office, grabbed the broom, and started sweeping the studio floor with excess vigor. Eventually, the repetitive motion helped calm my racing thoughts.

I’d just finished when the bell above the door jingled. I looked up to see Liz walking into the studio, carrying a small glass container.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” She smiled, warm and bright. “I brought you some chicken cacciatore Sam made last night. He might be struggling with his fastball, but his cooking is still major league.”

I felt heat creep into my cheeks. Did she somehow know I'd just spent hours researching her son?

“That's so sweet, Liz. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

I took the container from her. She looked at me expectantly, like she was waiting for me to eat it right now. I hesitated for a second before propping the broom against the wall.

“I could use a break,” I said.

We walked to the small break room at the back of the studio. I popped it into the microwave while Liz settled at the table.

“Can I get you a drink?” I opened the small refrigerator in the corner. “I have water, peach tea, or orange juice.”

“Peach tea sounds perfect.”

I grabbed one for her and a bottle of water for myself.

“So,” she began as I handed it to her, “Sam's been awfully quiet about his session with you.”

The microwave beeped, and I welcomed the excuse to ignore her comment. I opened the door and carefully pulled out the container, the bottom warm against my palms. As I fully peeled off the lid, a rush of steam escaped, carrying the mouthwatering scent through the room.

I grabbed a fork from the drawer, then crossed the room and settled into the chair across from Liz, the comforting scent curling around us like a warm hug.

“This smells amazing,” I said, taking a bite. The flavors burst on my tongue…perfectly seasoned chicken, tangy tomato sauce, and a nice hint of garlic and wine. “Oh my God, Liz! This is incredible.”

She smiled, looking pleased.

“I taught him the basics, but he's perfected his own version over the years.” I took another bite. “About the session…”

I twisted the cap off the water bottle and took a drink. More as a way to collect my thoughts than because I was actually thirsty. The cool water gave me a second to steady myself, to decide what I was going to say next without letting too much show.

“I really can't discuss the details,” I said. “It wouldn't be professional.”

“But I'm his mother.” She gestured toward the Reiki room. “And he's coming back for another session on Friday, right? He must have gotten something out of it.”

I nodded, swallowing another delicious mouthful.

Obviously Sam told her that, so I felt comfortable confirming.

“He is coming back, yes.”

Liz leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.

“He looked different last night.” I shoved the last forkful of chicken into my mouth to avoid having to answer. “That's normal, though, isn't it? When energy shifts?”

Her eyes were shrewd, studying my face. I focused on keeping my expression neutral as I finished chewing and swallowed.

“Everyone responds differently to energy work,” I said carefully, making sure to keep my answer general, steering clear of anything specific about Sam. “Some people feel immediate effects, others take time to process.”

“Hmm.” Liz sat back in her chair. “Well, I'm just glad he's trying something new. Sam's always been so traditional about his training. All weights and statistics and physical therapy. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but sometimes you need to heal more than just the body.”

I nodded, standing to wash the now-empty bowl. If she only knew how many of those statistics I'd memorized in the last two hours.

“He's always been so driven,” she continued. “Even as a little boy. When he sets his mind to something, watch out world.”

I turned off the water and grabbed a towel to dry the container and set it on the table.

“How long is he in town for?” I asked, as I sat across from her again.

“Until the end of January, maybe the beginning of February,” she said. “Then he's off to spring training in mid-February.” She paused, her expression clouding slightly. “Hopefully. A lot depends on how his recovery goes.”

I nodded, absorbing this information. Six to seven weeks. That was how long Sam would be in Starlight Shores.

“Does he usually come home for that long?”

I’ve been living here four years and have never met Sam before yesterday. Chances are, if he was here for weeks at a time, I would have.

“No, not usually,” she said. “When Sam’s in between seasons, he takes me on a vacation, or I visit him in Myrtle Beach. He’ll come home for the holidays, but he doesn’t usually stay here like this. Not for this long anyway.”

I do remember Liz going away, often on extended trips. And of course, she travels to see Sam play.

“It’s nice you get to see each other so much.”

“I’m very fortunate. Sam is a good son. I just wish…” She trailed off and stared at me, her gaze sharper, more focused than it had been a moment ago.

“Wish what?”

“Oh nothing.” She waved her hand, as if to shoo the thought away. “But you know, Sam hasn’t gone out much since he came home. So many of his old friends have moved away, and the ones still here are married with small children.”

I lifted an eyebrow as I took a sip of water, letting the silence stretch just a beat longer.

“That's too bad.”

“It would be nice if he had someone to show him around, maybe introduce him to the new spots that have opened up since he left.”

“Starlight Shores isn't exactly a metropolis,” I said. “I doubt much has changed since he left.”

“Still,” she persisted, “it's always better to explore with someone who knows their way around.”

“ Liz .”

“What?” she asked innocently. “I'm just saying my son could use a friend while he's home. Someone who understands the mind-body connection. Someone kind, intelligent, beautiful.”

“And I'm just saying that might not be appropriate, given that he's my client,” I countered.

“You're not his doctor.”

I laughed despite myself.

“I still have professional ethics.”

“Well, think about it.” She shrugged, unrepentant. “That's all I'm saying.”

After that, she dropped both the topic of Sam’s session and talk of me spending time with him outside the Reiki room.

We chatted for a bit longer, the conversation light and easy, filled with stories and laughter.

Eventually, she stood, stretching a little as she gathered her things, signaling it was time for her to go.

After she left, I grabbed a rag and polish to continue cleaning the studio, but my mind kept drifting to my conversation with Liz.

She made it pretty clear that she’s trying to play matchmaker between her son and me.

What surprised me though was my own reaction.

It wasn’t irritation or embarrassment, but a flutter that felt suspiciously like anticipation.

I know way too much about Sam Cherry now. His career highs and lows. The way his hands had trembled slightly during our session. How he cooked chicken cacciatore so good it made you want to close your eyes and savor every bite. And somehow, none of it was enough. I wanted to know more.

I was in trouble, and I knew it.

Regardless, I couldn't help smiling.