Page 27 of Anchored

Her giggle, one I usually love to hear, is starting to sound a little diabolical. “You’ve got this, Holt. I’ve taught a lot of classes, including one that several NFL players came to on the regular. If they can do yoga, you can too.”

My grimace turns into a jealous frown. She touched football players like this?

“Now, lower back to the mat and push back into our second down dog.”

She demonstrates on her own mat, and I miss her hands on me. This time, my calves don’t quite burn as much. She instructs me into warrior pose, which feels pretty good. But then she has us twisting at the waist and reaching for the sky. I decide she’s pure evil. I must black out or go to a safe space in my head because the next thing I know, I’m dripping sweat into a puddle on my mat and Maple’s said the magical words.

“To end things off, let’s try bridge pose before relaxing into savasana.”

She demonstrates, lying on her back, pulling her feet in and pressing her hips to the sky easily. I try to copy her but grunt as my hips fall back to the mat. Maple stands up, straddling my hips again, this time with me on my back staring up at her. She’s so fucking pretty with her mess of blonde wavy hair and sky-blue eyes. With a yoga flush to her face and a sheen of sweat on her skin, she’s even prettier.

“Okay, lift up your hips and I’ll help.” She puts her hands on my hips and I do as she instructed. Except with her helping, my hips do thrust up to the sky, where they meet her body. As she’s straddling me. I squeeze my eyes shut and beg my body not to respond.

I will not get a boner doing yoga with my fake fiancée.

I will not get a boner doing yoga with my fake fiancée.

“Good, Holt. You’ve got it.” Maple’s throaty encouragement seals the deal.

I get a boner doing yoga with my fake fiancée.

My eyes fly open to see Maple’s widening. Her cheeks flame red and she slowly lets go of my hips and steps off of me. “Great. Let’s cool down with savasana. Relax all your muscles, close your eyes, and melt down into your mat.”

I sneak a peek down at my body, sprawled on the mat. Fuck, there’s nowhere to hide the erection. He’s pitched a tent right here in our yoga session. I hope to God Maple’s eyes are closed. She continues talking through a meditation of sorts and I find myself melting backward into the mat and her words until the tent is gone and I’m calmer than I’ve been in a decade.

“Holt? Did I lose you?”

Her gentle voice pulls me out of a nap. I blink my eyes and gain some awareness. I’m still on my mat by the lake. “I nailed that last pose.”

Maple grins and moves away to roll up her mat. “You’re a savasana king, Holt McGrath.”

I sit up, feeling like I’ve twisted my body into a great workout. “I have to admit…I see the appeal. I should do yoga a couple times a week.”

Maple offers me a hand, which I take, standing up and grabbing her mat and my own. “I’d love to join you if you don’t mind. I miss teaching.”

We head for the cabin, where I pour her a glass of wine and get started on dinner as she sits on a barstool and watches me. “Why’d you quit?”

Her shoulders slump. I pretend to be preoccupied with chopping the salad in perfect bite-sized pieces, but I’m intently focused on her. “My fiancé—the real one, not you—was an instructor at the same studio I taught at. Things were good while we dated and he eventually asked me to marry him with a ring he made out of a flower stem.”

My head shoots up. “And here I went and spent money on real gold for Macy.”

Maple smiles wryly. “It was cute at the time, but not so cute when I found him in our bed with a new instructor. Younger one, cheerleader type. In it to wear skimpy workout outfits and not the actual practice of yoga.”

“That bastard,” I growl.

Maple laughs, but I wasn’t joking. What kind of idiot cheats on Maple Thatcher? She’s sweet, beautiful, charming in her awkward ways, super funny, and loyal to her family.

“Anyway, he’s not worth wasting any time on. I just never got around to telling Grandma Gracie because she was so excited when I told her I was engaged. I didn’t want to disappoint her.”

I slide the chicken into the oven and pour my own glass of wine, making sure I top off Maple’s. “I’m sure she could never be disappointed in you, Maple. She talks about you all the time. I felt like I knew you before you even came to Anchor Lake.”

Maple clinks her glass to mine. “You did know me!”

I roll my eyes and take a sip. “Being twelve and fourteen doesn’t really count.”

She nods in agreement and the conversation turns to speculation as to who Hank is and whether we’ll ever find him. We take our plates outside and sit around the unlit fire pit as we eat. Maple doesn’t eat much of the chicken. I always forget that most people aren’t used to eating as plainly as I do.

“Sorry about the chicken. I know it’s pretty plain, even with the rub.”

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