Page 6 of The Yoga Teacher

“Hey, birthday boy.” Her voice was soft, affectionate. She stretched out her arms toward him. “Come here.”

Daniel didn’t hesitate before crawling onto the bed beside her. She immediately curled into him, pressing her cheek against his chest.

“Did you have a good birthday?” she murmured.

He exhaled, wrapping an arm around her. “I did,” he lied. “You made sure of that.”

Hannah reached up, tracing a finger along his jaw. “You didsowell at yoga. Very bendy.”

“You really think so?” It came out strangely flat.

Hannah pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Of course. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

She smiled as he leaned into her touch. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you—we're launching that new intergenerational program next month. The one connecting seniors with the elementary schools."

Her eyes were lit with excitement, the way they always did when she talked about her work. "We've got fifteen elders signed up already. They'll be reading with the kids, sharing stories..." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smile widening. "One woman, Margaret—she's eighty-four—she used to be a children's book illustrator. She's going to teach a little art workshop."

Daniel smiled, his hand lazily tracing circles on her bare arm as she spoke. He liked seeing her this animated, even if he didn't quite understand her passion for her work. Spending all day with old people seemed depressing to him, though he'd never say that aloud.

Daniel kissed her properly then, slow and lazy. Hannah’s body was familiar, warm,his, and when she sighed into his mouth, he let himself focus on that. Justthat.

And for a while, it was enough to drown out the rest of it—his father’s voice in his head, the weight in his chest, the vague unease he still couldn’t put words to.

He lost himself in the slide of skin against skin, in the heat of her hands on his shoulders, in the way she pulled him closer, like she couldn’t get enough of him.

And it was good. It wasgreat.

But afterward, as Hannah drifted off beside him, soft and content, Daniel lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

CHAPTER THREE

Daniel

DANIEL TWIRLED THE glass of whiskey between his fingers, watching the way the amber liquid caught the light. His father had insisted on this lunch, and Daniel knew from experience that refusing an invitation wasn’t worth the headache that would follow.

So here he was, sitting across from his father and Isabella in one of those restaurants that lived on social media—overbooked, overpriced, and aggressively aesthetic.

It was just two blocks from the office where he worked. He'd need to head back for a 2:30 client presentation—some athleisure brand targeting Gen Z with their new industry “disruption”.

Across the table, Isabella lifted her glass of white wine, her expression open and earnest. There was something unguarded about her.

She smiled at Daniel. “I was sorry to miss your birthday dinner.”

He forced a smile. “Yeah, it was great. Hannah put it all together.”

His father’s eyes flickered to Daniel’s agency badge, still clipped to his belt. “Still working your magic in advertising, huh?” He smirked. “Smart industry. It’s all about the youth, right? You’re in the perfect place to stay ahead of the curve.”

"The agency's doing well," Daniel said, his voice even. "We just signed that sports drink company you like."

His father nodded approvingly. “Nowthatis where the money is. Health, energy, longevity.” He took a sip of his drink, then added, “But you know how these things go. One day, you’re the guy calling the shots. The next? You’re the guy trying to convince some kid in sneakers why you still belong in the room.”

Daniel’s stomach tightened, remembering the new creative director they’d hired last month. Twenty-six and already featured inAdWeek's"30 Under 30."

His father leaned back in his chair, swirling the last of his drink. “Gotta stay current. Keep the right company. Say, the four of us should double date.” He turned to Isabella. “Something trendy. Show the world we’re still in the game.”

Daniel fought the urge to roll his eyes. His father acted like this sometimes, like they were just a couple of guys in their twenties rather than father and son. Like the twenty-five-year age gap between them didn’t exist.

Isabella beamed. “Oh! What about next week? I know this amazing pasta-making class—super intimate, very hands-on.”

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