We all smile and join pinkies much the way we locked elbows just hours ago in the storm, using our combined strength to lead ourselves to safety.
In unison, we agree. “Pinky swear.”
1
Xavier
Eight years later
God, I love Wednesdays. It’s the best day of my freaking week.
I stand sideways at the deli’s sandwich counter, one hand resting on the Glock at my hip, the fingers of the other tapping restlessly against the Formica. I glance at my watch, then toward the front of the store and out the window to the sidewalk.
“Don’t worry,” Sadie says as she wraps my order. “It’s a ninety-minute class. You’ve got plenty of time.”
I turn my gaze back to the middle-aged woman behind the counter and grin. “Caught.”
I’ve never been exactly sneaky about my preferred Wednesday lunch spot—on a bench outside Chloe Hart’s yoga studio, Wanderlust, where she instructs a hot yoga class. She recently remodeled the studio she purchased from the original owner a few months back and took both the building and the business to the next level. My favorite part was her idea to take out the wall of the largest yoga room, the one facing the street, and replace it with glass. The name of the studio runs along the lower third of the wall in a loose scroll script.
“Boy, I didn’t catch you.” Sadie tapes the paper on the sandwich. “I figured you out the day she unveiled that glass wall next door.”
Sadie slides two sandwiches across the counter to me.
“What’s this?” I ask, hooking my fingers into the neck of my body armor. “I only ordered one.”
“Chloe’s been coming in for a very specific sandwich, going on a month now. She taught us how to make it, so we let her name it. That’s the Green Goddess,” she says, tapping one of the sandwiches. “Maybe you two can actually eat lunch together for a change.”
I smirk. “Guess I should have thought of that a while ago.”
“Guess you should have.” Her barb holds no heat, and she’s looking at me the way my mom used to when I did something she considered sweet.
“She’s sort of a picky eater,” I say. “What’s in this?”
“She’s not picky at all.” Sadie plants one hand on the counter and the other on her hip. “She’ll eat just about anything, but she chooses to eat healthy whole foods, which is one of the reasons she’s got that mouthwatering body you spend your lunch hour staring at every Wednesday.”
I’m surprised to feel a twinge of heat sting my neck. “I don’t stare.”
“What else would you call it? Ogling, gawking, rubbernecking, stalking?”
I search my mind for an appropriate description, which means I have to toss out crave, lust, ache, fantasize… “I…appreciate.”
Sadie laughs. “It’s got bean sprouts, radishes, cherry tomatoes, bell peppers, avocado, and arugula.”
“Aruga-what?”
“It’s a salad green, like broccoli or cabbage, and the dressing is made with green onion, basil, lemon, and olive oil. Not only is it fantastic, it’s become one of our best sellers to the post-yoga crowd. She’s brought in a fresh customer base for us, and she’s even going to work up some other recipes that suit her groupies.”
My brows shoot up. “Groupies?”
“Xavier,” she says with a hint of admonishment, “you’ve known her since she got to town a year ago. If you can’t see that she’s got one hell of a following, you’ve been using your eyes too much and your brain not enough.”
She arrived eleven months and three hundred and sixty days ago. Yes, I’m counting.
“I know she’s got friends in town. I mean, everyone knows and loves her.”
“I’m talking about her cult following, the wealthy mommy set and the worn corporate climbers who crawl out of their hillside mansions before or after work so Chloe can guide them back to energy and peace.”
r /> I stare blankly at Sadie for a beat too long.