Page 68 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
Marc turned a very restrained glare on his grandmother. “Could you at least tell us what day and time you’ve scheduled these classes?”
“Oh! Of course.” The sparkle in her violet eyes told me with complete clarity that she absolutely knew those details and had chosen not to mention it until now. “It’s Friday at 6:00 p.m., starting next week. We figured you’d need a week to get things figured out.”
Before either of us could respond, her trio of friends made their way back into the room. Martha with her coffee, Goldie with her serene expression, and Gladys delighted about something she clearly wasn’t sharing.
Martha surveyed the room with the calm authority of someone who had wrangled difficult guests over the years at her B&B and learned to read a room. “The sexual tension in here,” she announced, “could power a small lighthouse.”
I choked on my own spit.
Marc froze so completely I wondered for a second if he’d stopped breathing.
Martha nodded and gave us an exaggerated wink. “Possibly a medium-sized one, actually. There’s been an upgrade since before dinner.”
Gladys settled into her chair and considered this. “I give it a week. Maybe less if someone demonstrates downward dog incorrectly on purpose.”
“I would never,” Marc sputtered, horrified.
Glamma nodded sagely. “That’s what your grandfather said.”
“I didn’t ask?—”
“He also absolutely did,” she added. “In fact, several times. In our kitchen.”
“The kitchen,” Marc repeated faintly, like he was taking inventory of every room in the house and deciding which ones he’d never enter again.
Goldie sipped her wine with the unhurried grace of a woman who’d made peace with all of life’s great questions and most of the small ones too. “Sam threw out his back during a demonstration in 1987.” A small, luminous smile crossed her face. “Worth it.” She then high-fived Glamma without looking away from her glass.
Martha patted Marc’s shoulder. “Flexibility is so important, dear. It allows the body to access positions that naturally encourage emotional connection. Research supports it.”
“What research?” Marc muttered, not as a question but as a quiet plea directed at no particular person.
“Scientific research,” Martha stated firmly. “I have articles.”
“I regret having ears,” Marc groaned and I imagined he was taking very small, very measured mental breaths inside his head.
I absolutely should not be encouraging any of this.
“Please,” I said, leaning forward with my chin on my hand, not-so-guiltily enjoying his discomfort, “continue with your yoga theories. I’m genuinely learning things.”
Marc growled—low, under his breath—not directed at anyone in particular, yet it landed directly in the center of my chest.
My whole body registered it before my brain had any input on the matter.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even intentional, but everything in me went very still and then alert. A tuning fork struck, vibrating at a frequency I hadn’t previously known I had.
My thighs clenched together before I could stop them.
This was a problem.
A very specific, tortoiseshell-glasses-shaped, thoroughly repressed problem. That growl affected me in a way that I could never let Marc affect me.
Marc refocused with the determination of a man trying to find solid ground. “The first step is to secure at least twelveanimals. Texting Theo now.” His thumbs moved efficiently across the screen of his phone. “Next, we’ll need to set up a practice session. What days work best for you?”
I pulled up my calendar with more focus than it required, grateful for something concrete to look at. “Not tomorrow. I have energy healing sessions and a card reading, so I don’t have a lot of flexibility.” I scrolled. “But I can make Thursday, late afternoon, work.”
“I’m fully booked until five.”
I nodded. “Can you see if Theo has any volunteers willing to join us, and any others who can help keep an eye on the animals?”
