Page 69 of Six Month Wife
I glance at the display on my bike, watching the numbers tick upward. My quads scream in protest, but I keep pedaling, imagining my little wellness café thriving again, with full bookings and clients waiting for appointments weeks in advance. That thought propels me forward until the final beat drops and Carla calls time.
The class erupts in a mix of applause and groans of relief. I join the other women in clapping, wiping my face with a towel as I dismount from the bike.
My muscles are jelly, but there’s something satisfying about pushing myself this hard.
In the locker room, the atmosphere shifts to relaxed chatter. Women wrap themselves in towels or change into breezy sundresses, their conversations flowing like the water from the nearby showers.
I sit on a bench, catching my breath and sipping from my water bottle.
“You were killing it out there, Adair,” says a woman I’ve seen around but don’t know well. Her name’s Denise, I think. She's petite, blonde, and perpetually tan.
“Thanks,” I reply, forcing a smile.
“First time here?” another woman asks. She’s tall, elegant, with the kind of effortlessly styled hair that screamsmoney.
“First spin class,” I admit. “I usually focus on yoga, but I wanted to try something new.”
They nod approvingly. The conversation shifts to skincare routines, and I perk up, hoping to find an opportunity to mention my café.
“Oh, speaking of something new! Have you been to Dr. Weiss’s MedSpa in Northwood Village?” Denise asks, her eyes lighting up. “It’s amazing. I got the HydraFacial there last week, and my skin feels like silk.”
“I love her place,” the tall woman chimes in. “Her laser treatments are worth every penny. She used to be a dermatologist in New York, you know. Very exclusive.”
I stuff down a twinge of jealousy. Dr. Weiss’s MedSpa is legendary among the wealthy set, and her services are priced accordingly.
“Where do you go, Adair?” Denise asks politely, though it’s clear they’re all expecting me to name somewhere equally high-end.
“I own Citrine, here in Palm Beach,” I say, trying tosound casual. “We focus on holistic food and drinks—organic, whole foods, fruits and veggies, as well as offer lotions, serums, and natural retin-a products. And, of course, concierge facials and massages. ”
That last part was a complete lie, since I've all but eliminated spa services, but it seemed fitting. And if I could pick up this crowd, I could start to offer them again.
And a concierge service makes it sound that much more exclusive.
There’s a brief pause, and then, as if on cue, their polite smiles slip.
“Oh,” Denise says finally. “I think I’ve heard of it. Maybe.”
The tall woman shakes her head slightly. “I’ve never been. I usually wait until I can get to Dr. Weiss’s.”
“Well, if you’re ever looking for something closer, we’d love to have you,” I say, trying to inject enthusiasm into my voice.
Denise glances at the tall woman, then back at me. “Cute name. Citrine, was it?”
I nod, too eager. “We do cold-pressed juice, immunity shots, organic treatments, bodywork—it’s a little holistic haven.”
“Sounds... earthy,” she says, with a polite smile so thin it might snap in half.
They nod politely, but the conversation quickly veers away from my café. I sit there, feeling invisible, as they gush over Dr. Weiss’s cutting-edge treatments and impeccable brand.
Brand. That’s what I’m missing. No matter how good my treatments are, no one’s going to trust a name they’ve never heard of.
I grab my bag and head out, frustration simmering beneath my skin. My little wellness café feels so smallcompared to what Dr. Weiss has built. If only I had the money to expand, to market my services properly, to hire the kind of talent that would make Citrine a name worth knowing.
As I walk through the club’s lobby, my phone buzzes with a new email. I pull it out, hoping for some good news to salvage my morning. Instead, my heart sinks.
From: Thatcher Investments
Subject: Investment Opportunity - Update
