Page 62 of Unclench Me Softly

Chapter Twelve:

Sacred Stillness and Other Lies I’m Making Up Today

I wake up to the sound of birds, a beam of sun directly on my face, and the deeply unsettling realization that my robe is on the floor, my legs are still trembling, and I have zero plans for the day.

Sacred Stillness in the Root Chakra Lounge™ was a title.

A concept.

An aspirational Pinterest board.

But actual activities? Structure? A schedule?

Nope.

I was far too busy last night being spiritually rearranged by a man whose growl can summon orgasms.

Jax is gone.

Which is probably for the best, because if he was still here, I would not be focused on breathwork or grounding or whatever today was supposed to involve. I’d be busy losing my religion on repeat.

I sit up slowly, every muscle aching in the best way. I find my robe (inside out), put it on (wrong again), and stumble out of my dome into the morning light like a woman reborn and also deeply unprepared.

Asher is already standing by the fire circle. Of course he is.

His hair is freshly damp, his Fox Cub mug is full, and he is holding his notebook.

I freeze.

He waves. “Hey! I wasn’t sure if you wanted us to meet here or in the lounge. Do you have a printed itinerary for today’s stillness progression?”

I blink. Smile. Big. Serene. Totally fake. “Today… is itinerary-free.”

Asher blinks. “Oh.”

“It’s part of the design,” I say quickly. “Sacred Stillness is about the absence of schedule. The presence of intuitive flow. Structure is the enemy of surrender.”

He nods slowly, eyes wide. “Wow. That’s… that’s kind of revolutionary.”

“It’s also because time is a colonial illusion,” I add, for no reason. “Now go hydrate in silence.”

He bows, and then walks away, whispering “absence of structure is the structure” like I’m some kind of robe-wrapped prophet.

I exhale hard.

But before I can sneak off to maybe write an emergency fake worksheet on “Grounding with Intention,” I catch it.

A glance.

Seb. Sitting nearby. On a bench. Quiet. Still. Watching me.

His expression is unreadable. But his brow lifts, just slightly. Like, “So... you and Jax?”

I immediately look away, cheeks flaming.

Which is how I almost collide with Jonah, who appears like a shadow I definitely didn’t invite.

He says nothing. Just raises an eyebrow. Then his eyes flick, briefly, pointedly, to my neck.

---