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“And the goal of this is what?” The challenge both in his voice and strained body language makes me want to laugh. Noah Ashcroft may have grown up, but he is still the same boy I knew, always questioning everything and annoyed when he immediately doesn’t get the purpose of something. He needs to understand so he can win and be perfect at it.

“There are several things this will help you both with,” I reply, “not only with trust but also to rebuild and deepen physical and emotional intimacy. It removes performance pressure since there is no immediate goal and allows partners to focus purely on sensation and presence.”

Noah’s eyes narrow. “I do not have performance anxiety.”

“Let him talk,” Quinn snaps before I can tell him that’s exactly what he has. Not only in his life—the biggest external clue being the missed goal during his last game—but it’s also what he suffers from in his relationship with Quinn.

Their disconnection, Quinn’s lack of satisfaction in bed, Noah’s perfectionism in everything he does is not unique to them. A lot of couples that come through here with type A and people-pleasing personalities have this issue. I can help them get through it just like I’ve helped Noah get through it before, even if he’s choosing not to remember.

“I’m not passing judgment or giving any sort of diagnosis, but I’ve seen how much this exercise supports couples. I think it will aid you both in rediscovering each other’s bodies and reignite desire that’s faded due to routine, stress, or disconnection. This exercise is not about doing anything right; it’s about experiencing together.”

“I’m game,” Quinn says. She tugs Noah’s hand so his attention is on her. “We’ve got this, baby. A team, remember?”

The tension lines on his face ease, and he curtly nods. “Okay, Sunshine.”

Their interaction is sweet and a stark reminder that I’m not part of their dynamic. I’m their mentor, and that’s it. I will not be participating in this beyond my normal instruction, even if I do have more insight into this couple than usual.

“Quinn, sit down on the mat, and when we’re ready to begin, Noah will help you place this over your eyes.” I pull a silky black padded eye mask from the basket and hand it to her. She drops Noah’s hand and takes it, our eyes meeting.

The bungalow I’m in has the same floor-to-ceiling windows that all the bungalows have, but unlike the other mentors’ places, I have a view of the backyard area and the desert beyond. It means I don’t have to draw the shades for privacy unless requested, and the afternoon sun illuminates the space without having to use artificial lights.

Quinn’s newly sun-kissed skin and pink hair glows, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. It’s amazing how much just being here for a short time has changed her since the night we met. I still see a sadness in her eyes, and her under eye is a bit sunken from lack of sleep, but there’s no denying that the desert agrees with her.

“Is what I’m wearing okay for this?” she asks.

I refocus so I’m not staring at the beautiful woman’s face like a man who’s writing poetry about her and take in her attire. She’s wearing one of those high-low skirts in light blue, shorter in the front and longer in the back, along with a peasant-style short-sleeved white top that shows a sliver of her soft belly.

“It’s perfect.”

The tiniest of smiles graces her lips, and I swear the apples of her cheeks tinge pink, but it’s hard to tell since she applied some makeup to her face today.

Noah clicks his tongue against his teeth to draw our attention to him. By his glare, it’s obvious he’s caught me appreciating his wife and her possible reaction to my praise, something she also reacted to yesterday. I’m going to incorporate that knowledge into today’s exercise, but Noah will be the one praising his wife this time.

As it should be, my smart brain reminds me.

“After Quinn is seated, sit behind her, and I’ll explain the rest of the exercise,” I say.

Noah offers Quinn his hand to help her sit, and once the couple is in position, I place the basket next to Noah and sit on the couch so I can have a view of them, their bodies angled so he can look at me easily, the coffee table between us.

“Are you comfortable?” Noah asks Quinn, his long legs bracketing hers. He’s wearing gray shorts and a casual button-down short-sleeved shirt, attire I’m not used to seeing on him. His lean thigh muscles strain against the fabric.

“I’m good,” she replies.

Noah and Quinn look to me, and I’m glad I was no longer admiring Noah’s body or how good they look together. Quinn’s softness is pressed into her husband’s hardness, something I can’t stop noticing or enjoying despite myself.

I sit closer to the edge of the couch, pressing my hands to my thighs. “First, I’d like you both to start by breathing together. Close your eyes, and get in sync. Once that happens, Quinn will be blindfolded. And Noah, you’ll take items from the basket one at a time and use them on her body.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Quinn says, though I hear a slight shake in her voice, no doubt from trying something new and intimate with me watching. I know from her intake form that sex with Noah has felt disconnected, that she thinks he doesn’t notice her. It makes sense to have nerves when this exercise directly addresses those issues.

“It’s fairly simple,” I assure her, “but there’s a bit more to it than that. Instead of describing what you feel, Noah is going to pay attention to your breathing, body language, what you like and don’t like, then describe it out loud.”

“Me?” Noah asks.

“Is there another Noah here?”

Quinn chuckles, and Noah presses his lips together, no doubt stopping an insult from flying out of his mouth.

“The only job Quinn has is to feel and let go. Your job is to pay attention to your wife. If she isn’t enjoying an item, you can switch it out. You may also use your hands if you desire. Does that sound doable?”