Page 11 of Unclench Me Softly

“I brought my own grounding mat,” he blurts. “And probiotics. But I’m open to other bacteria.”

I blink.

He blinks.

“I don’t know why I said that,” he adds, voice cracking. “I haven’t talked to a human woman in... like, two months. Not really. Not... skin-on-skin energy interface levels of talk.”

“I.” I stop. “Skin-on-skin what?”

He turns bright red. “Sorry. That wasn’t... I didn’t mean... not like that. I meant, like, energetic connection. Not sex. Unless sex is part of it. Is sex part of it?”

“It’s... not,” I say, although honestly at this rate I might start charging extra for it.

He nods again, too fast, and hoists a sleek carry-on bag out of the car like it’s packed with shame and imported teas.

“I’m Asher,” he says, finally. “Asher Voss.”

The name hits me like a glitter bomb to the face. I knew I recognized him, tech money. The kind of man whose nervous breakdowns make headlines and stock prices dip.

And now he’s here. In my weird little almost-cult.

Asher looks around at the domes, the wild trees, the wood-chopping gremlin in the background who I pray is too far to hear this, and then back to me.

“This place is...” he breathes in, visibly grounding, “...exactly wrong for me.”

“Good,” I say, taking his hand. “That’s how you know it’s working.”

I take his bag. Not because I’m feeling generous, but because he looks like one wrong touch might cause him to drop it, scream, and apologize to the wind.

“This way,” I say, motioning toward the guest path. “You’ll be in Dome Four.”

Asher follows, clutching a small canvas tote bag that I swear has a moon cycle chart printed on the side. I’m afraid to ask what’s inside. Crystals? Books? A backup mat for grounding emergencies?

He walks too fast and then apologizes for walking too fast. Then walks slower and apologizes for that too.

“I just…. sorry,” he says as we pass the koi pond. “I get nervous when I think people are watching me walk.”

“Are you... okay?”

“No,” he says immediately. “But I’m trying.”

Oh. Okay.

I glance at him.

He’s not smiling. Not being sarcastic. He’s just... telling the truth. Raw and earnest, like it’s normal. Like it doesn’t punch me right in the heart chakra.

Which is rude.

He should not be allowed to show up looking like a Whole Foods ad for emotional healing and then say things like that.

Asher looks around the property, his brow furrowed like he’s doing emotional calculus. “This place feels like it’s going to break me open.”

I nearly trip on a root.

“I mean, in a good way,” he rushes to say. “Like... a soft spiritual lobotomy.”

I don’t even know what that means, but my body reacts anyway.

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