"Childcare can be tricky," I say. "And we were a bit slow to get going today." More accurately, his issues with some of the exercises at the start slowed us down. 
"What do you normally do?"
"Clean up all the weights and put the child in here with some toys while I do physio in the room next to this one."
Logan takes in the clock above the door, and a crease appears in his brow. "We're late today. That's my fault. Sorry." He lets out a deep sigh. "I can watch the kid while I finish. Then I'll tidy up the weights and head out. Just leave me a list of the last few things."
"Are you sure?" I ask. "He's three and a bit of a dynamo."
"I can handle one kid." His smile is wry. 
I step out into the hallway and have a quick chat with Matilda. After she agrees, I leave Logan with the final workout items, and a three-year-old who has no clue one of the top hockey players in the world is his stand-in babysitter.
Just as I enter the next room with Matilda, Logan's low rumble is audible. 
"All right, buddy. You get the toys, and I get the weights."
In the treatment room, I become so absorbed in trying to get Matilda's frozen shoulder going that I don't register the noise from next door until there's a loud shriek.
"I'll check," I say, when Matilda tenses. 
I open the treatment door, and Benji's shrieks turn into giggles of delight. I peek around the doorframe, and Logan has tied bands around Benji, and he's using him as a weight, pulling him up into a clean and then flipping him over his head and onto his shoulders for a squat. Each time Logan rotates him to the front or back, Benji squeals and then lets out peals of giggles.
"You two okay in here?" I ask, leaning my shoulder against the doorframe.
"I love it," Benji cries. "Again! Again!"
Logan heaves a sigh and goes into the sequence again. 
"If you need to go..." I say, taking in the time. He must have finished the last couple exercises already. Whatever is happening here is on top of what I assigned.
"How long are you going to be?" Logan asks, never losing a beat in the swing, lift, squat sequence.
"Another half an hour," I say. "I know you're busy. Benji can play in here, or he can bring some toys into the physio room."
"But you'd be able to concentrate better, and his mom would probably benefit more, from him being occupied, right?"
"Of course, but—"
"And she's your last client of the day?"
I take a beat to consider the implications. "She is."
"You meant what you said the other night? About us hanging out?"
That's a loaded question. The other night, before the sexual tension was ramped up from a six to an eight or ten at any given moment, I didn't see too much harm in spending time with him outside training. Now? There's a red neon sign at the back of my brain screaming "danger", impossible to ignore.
"Yeah," I say, letting out my breath in a whoosh. "We can figure out what you want to do when I'm done."
"All right, buddy," Logan says, lowering Benji to the ground. "Now, you show me how one of your toys works. I showed you that exercise."
"Oh, oh, oh," Benji says, running to the closet where I keep the toys. "Sawee has good toys. I show you."
Logan slides me a look that I think might be resigned amusement, and he follows him to the toys.