Her smile tugs a little further on one corner than the other. "I think I can manage."

To tell the truth, she wouldn't mind another visit out, another path to run, another test of balance and control. Chasing Steve up and down the mountain, that reckless run to the parking lot, the speed and bounce and arbitrary glee in running like a kid, all abandon and stretching out her stride to its furthest. A coltish gallop along with gravity.

But more than that, she's looking forward to getting back, to stripping out of sweaty shorts and sports bra, ditching her running shoes and socks (thinking fondly of bare feet on the grass of Steve's backyard, the slope down to the sandy beach). Looking forward to a shower, looking forward to the look in his eyes when she wraps her arms around his neck and lets him spill her onto the couch or carry her upstairs like she's barely anything. Her pulse is up and it can only add to the ease of the day, prove a good distraction and a good time, something familiar to lose themselves both in.

That, and he's awfully cute after a run, even all sweaty and dusty, with that little-boy smile and the way it makes him shine.