Making my way down the dock, I take a deep breath and open Xavier’s text message.
Please don’t make me apologize in text. I want to look into your eyes, so you know how serious I am and how bad I feel. I miss the hell out of you. Throw me a bone, baby. Even KT can get behind that. I’m dying here.
My heart softens, and the text makes me smile. His messages over the last few days have grown lighter, more teasingly melodramatic and self-deprecating, but no less heartfelt. In truth, they’ve been ripping me apart because I’ve been having a hard time finding a way to forgive him while retaining my emotional safety and self-respect. Regardless of what happens between us from now on, it’s about time I made my own apologies for my contribution to this mess.
I change into a workout bra and yoga shorts and head toward the conference center, playing with words in my head, trying to figure out what I want to say. There are already a handful of women lying quietly in the yoga room, and I set up at the front, cue my music, and light a candle. It’s a new candle. A new pink candle. I stare at it, wondering if I want to forgive Chamuel or not. Undecided, I take a seat in lotus. Time for a little meditation on that apology for Xavier.
I can’t say I’ve made much headway when the room fills and it’s time to move. Teaching yoga is like breathing for me. Yoga is a form of meditation, a place where I feel confident, connected, and calm. Where I feel all my sharp edges soften, all my tight muscles ease, and all my problems fade, even if just a little.
After welcoming everyone and offering my gratitude for their participation over the last nine days, I lead them through an easy warmup, which is when I notice all their mats are pink. And that’s beyond weird, because when I purchased mats for the yoga center, I purposely chose five different colors.
“Am I seeing things, or is eveyone’s mat pink?” I glance at the basket by the door that holds rolled-up mats, and the few that are left are also pink. “Where did those come from?”
“Don’t know,” Renee, one of the participants who’s been here every day says, “but I saw Laiyla in here earlier moving things around.”
I exhale. Yes, Chamuel. I hear you. I know what I have to do.
Now I just have to decide how and when.
“Starring in child’s pose,” I say, moving along with the class, “open your knees nice and wide and allow your chest to come down right in between the legs. Reach out in front of you and feel that luscious stretch in your arms, shoulders, and back.”
I guide their breathing for two minutes in this resting position, then ease into cat-cow stretches. “Breathing into the lower back, exhale, and round slowly into tabletop. Now arch the back, hold, and shift, raising the hips and scooping the back. Get a nice stretch in your spine while opening your heart.”
From the corner of my eye, I see someone come in late. As I round my spine into cat pose, I glance around the room to make sure there’s a spot for her.
But it’s not a her. It’s a him. It’s Xavier.
My stomach tumbles. My heart floats. I’m simultaneously frustrated and thrilled. He’s in jeans, a tee, and, God, I can’t believe how much I’ve missed him. But I’m not ready and my nerves tangle.
“Sorry,” I tell him, continuing the stretches, “yoga students only.” Then to the class, “Lift your hips high and bring your
chest to the floor for puppy pose.”
Xavier shifts on his feet and glances around.
“Join us, Officer Wilde.” This comes from Renee in the middle of the room. I have several sassy, flirty, fun women in the class. “Grab a mat.” When he turns to do that, Renee says, “Danielle, sweetie, come back here by me.”
Danielle is directly in front of me. A wicked grin lights up her face, and she moves to a spot next to Renee.
“That’s right,” Renee tells Xavier. “You go on, right up there, honey. Give us a little eye candy on our last night here.”
A ripple of laughter flows through the room.
“What a great idea.” Xavier takes off his socks and shoes and unrolls the mat right in front of me. Fucking perfect.
“Lift back to tabletop,” I say. “Extend your right leg and your left arm.”
“Handsome,” Danielle says, “you can’t do yoga in jeans. Give us all a little sugar and shuck those bad boys.”
“Danielle,” I say combining my what-the-hell and knock-it-off tones.
“Just sayin’,” she zings. “None of us is wearing much more than boxer briefs. Why should he?”
Oh. My. God. I glare at the two women, who return snarky smiles.
Xavier moves to the side of the room again and drops his jeans.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Renee says, making everyone laugh among hoots and whistles as if this is a Chippendales show.