Page 145 of The Yoga Teacher

Hannah set her gym bag down by her desk, shoulders still buzzing from the workout. She moved to the kitchenette, poured herself a glass of water, and drank slowly.

“You’re a menace,” a voice said from behind her.

Hannah turned to find Morgan standing in the doorway, travel mug in one hand, a half-eaten danish in the other.

“You’re here early,” Hannah said.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “I’m here because I thought I was the overachiever on this team. But here you are, glowing like a war goddess.”

Hannah let out a soft laugh. “That’s the gym. Not divinity.”

Morgan gave her a once-over. “Still. You look like you could crush a weak man between your thighs.”

The memory rose without warning—Daniel’s mouth, desperate against her skin, the way he’d groaned when her thighs clenched around his shoulders, like it wrecked him to be that close.

She blinked it away, sharp and fast, but her pulse kicked anyway.

God. Stupid body. Stupid memory.

“Don’t tempt me,” she said, dryly.

They moved to the large table in the center of the office—half-covered in paperwork, flyers for the upcoming garden fair, and a few still-warm donation receipts clipped to envelopes. Morgan perched on the edge of a chair while Hannah pulled her hoodie tighter, settling into the quiet of the early hour.

Morgan took a sip from her mug. “I heard something yesterday. Board chatter.”

Hannah’s brow furrowed. “What kind of chatter?”

Morgan tapped her phone against the table, a quiet beat. “Expansion. The Youth Garden Initiative’s getting attention. Someone from the city’s sustainability office asked for a meeting.”

Hannah straightened slightly. “Are you serious?”

Morgan nodded. “Very. They’re calling it a model for intergenerational wellness. Apparently, we’re what community looks like now.”

Hannah exhaled, slowly. Her heart fluttered—hope, or nerves, or both. “It was just an idea. I wanted to give people a place to belong.”

“Well, congratulations. You accidentally started a movement.”

There was no sarcasm in Morgan’s voice. Just respect. And something quieter beneath it—pride.

Hannah looked down at the table, running her thumb over the corner of a flyer she hadn’t finished proofing. “Do you think I’d be crazy to turn down Denver?”

Morgan didn’t answer right away. Just watched her. “No. But I think you’d be crazy to pretend this place didn’t start with you. You made this. People believe in it because they believe in you.”

The words landed heavier than Hannah expected.

Not because she didn’t already know it—deep down—but because it was the first time someone else had said it out loud.

She nodded, slowly. “Thank you.”

Morgan gave her a soft smile. “Whatever you choose, just don’t choose it out of guilt. Or fear. You don’t owe anyone the version of you that left. You’re not running anymore, Han. So maybe it’s okay to stay.”

Hannah sat back in her chair, muscles aching in the best possible way.

Outside the window, the city was waking up.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was trying to outrun it.

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