Page 174 of The Yoga Teacher

He didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded. Once. Then again. And again.

“I want you as my wife,” he said, voice breaking. “God, Hannah. I want it so much it hurts.”

She smiled, just a little. Not big. Not flashy. But real.

And then she kissed him. Slow. Certain.

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It was her house now.

He had to remind himself of that.

Even as he lay in the bed they used to share. Even as her body was still tangled with his under the covers, one knee hooked over his thigh, her hand curled loosely against his chest like her heart had forgotten what her mind had been through.

She smelled like lavender and heat. Like memory.

And Daniel—God, he didn’t move. Not at first. Just breathed her in and counted every second he got to be next to her.

This wasn’t his home anymore.

Not yet.

He didn’t deserve the comfort of this room, the light pooling across the hardwood, the sleepy softness in her face as she blinked awake. But he would take the moment she gave him. Hold it without expectation. Let it be what it was.

Hannah stirred. Blinked up at the ceiling. Then at him.

Her expression was unreadable. Tired. Calm.

Present.

She didn’t pull away.

Just stretched, slow and quiet, then turned onto her side to face him. Her hair was a mess. Her lips were parted. And her eyes—steady, dark, wide—held him there like truth.

“Hey,” she murmured.

He swallowed. “Hey.”

Neither of them said it. Neither of them named the thing that had passed between them last night.

But it was still here. In the air. In her skin on his.

After a few moments, she sat up. Pulled the sheet with her. Ran a hand through her hair and winced at the tangles. “I need coffee.”

He smiled, soft and aching. “I’ll make it.”

She nodded. Then paused. Her eyes flicked to his chest.

To the spot where the chain disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt.

“Is that still…” she trailed off.

He sat up, heart tripping. Reached beneath the fabric and tugged the chain gently out.

The ring hung from it.

Her wedding ring.

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