Page 132 of The Yoga Teacher

Mia’s eyebrows lifted. “What?”

“When she takes that job—I’ll move there. I wouldn’t bother her. I just…I’d need to be there. Just to be near.”

Mia didn’t speak.

He shook his head. “I can’t imagine living in a city where she doesn’t exist. I don’t want to breathe air she’s not breathing.”

Mia looked at him for a long moment. “You’re a mess.”

“I know.”

“And you still love her.”

More than life. More than himself.

“I always did,” he said. “I just didn’t deserve her.”

A silence passed between them. Then she sighed. “Well. Don’t screw up the lemonade station.”

Daniel gave a dry smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

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“Haven’t seen you all afternoon.”

Her voice.

Daniel turned toward it like it was a muscle memory. Like her voice still lived somewhere in the marrow of him.

Hannah stood a few feet away, arms loosely crossed, a plastic cup dangling from her fingers. Her hair was wind-swept. Her cheeks flushed from the heat or the crowd or maybe just from being alive in the way he remembered and didn’t get to know anymore.

His heart stuttered. She looked… breathtaking.

He remembered those arms wrapped around him. Wrapping around him after late nights. After bad days. After sex that had left them wrecked and laughing.

But that was before.

He straightened. Swallowed.

“I didn’t want to get in the way,” he said.

She tilted her head, considering. “You haven’t.”

It was nothing. A scrap. But it lit something in his chest—small and painful and warm.

He nodded, trying not to let it show. Trying not to drink her in.

ButGod, he missed her. Missed standing this close. Missed knowing how she liked her lemonade, how she rubbed her thumb along the side of her cup when she was thinking. He missed the scent of her sunscreen. The curve of her shoulder when she slept. The laugh she only gave him when she let herself be soft.

“I heard about Denver,” he said.

Her jaw tightened—barely—but he caught it.

“I didn’t know you were still talking to Marcus,” she said.

“I’m not,” he replied, quietly. “He just… texted.”

A silence. Not cold. But waiting.

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