Page 55 of Bountiful
Kieran was a quiet presence beside me. He was a great worker, hustling to refill the platters of baked goods from the trays in the kitchen, pouring coffee orders, anticipating our customers’ needs. He did everything well, except for small talk. Every day I watched various women try to catch his eye or engage him inconversation.
Good luck, sister, I’d think. But it never reallyworked.
Five hours went by in a rush, and I took off my apron just as Audrey came through the door. “Morning, sunshine!” she sang. “How’stricks?”
“Not bad. Do you need me to stay a little longer while you get thebiscottion?”
She looked around at our moderate crowd. “Nah. It’ll only take me a few minutes. Go on. It’s yoga day,right?”
“Sure.Thanks.”
Audrey waved me away, looking unconcerned. She slung an arm around Kieran and greeted him. He gave her a quick kiss on the temple and then motored off to grab more bagels fromtheback.
And then I walked out the door. Going to yoga a couple of times a week always made me feel guilty. It was stolen time. I texted my mother from the parking lot.Thinking about goingtoyoga.
You should, she replied immediately.The princess is napping.I’m reading the new JillShalvis.Go.
All right. Thank you!I replied. The words “thank you” were the two most common in my vocabulary. I thanked my mom, Alec, Benito, my uncles, Audrey… The list went on forever. I was in debt to everyone, all the time. And I would steal this hour of yoga for myself because their assistanceallowedit.
Since I’d worn my yoga bra and leggings under my clothes when I went to work this morning, I didn’t have to go upstairs first. I jumped into my car and drove the ten miles to the Green Rocks resort community. It was a group of rental properties in the woods, with a lodge for community activities. I never went there except for yoga, but my mother played bingo at Green Rockssometimes.
My mother loved bingo. She was like a Fifties housewife in a new-millenniumbody.
The day was warm but not unpleasant, and I made the drive with the windows down. I parked my little car on the gravel lot outside the lodge and retrieved my yoga mat from the trunk. My water bottle was only half full, but it would havetodo.
“Let’s get started in child’s pose,” Rayanne—the teacher—was saying when I slipped into the back of the lodge’s great room. “Unless there’s another pose that’s calling out to youtoday.”
Everyone else was already kneeling on their mats, their arms stretching out toward the front of the room, foreheads lowering to the floor. Not wishing to tromp around where my classmates were beginning to relax, I tossed my mat onto the floor in the back, hastily unrolling it. Then I shucked off my top and tossed it against thebackwall.
“Welcome, Zara,” the teacher said softly, and I smiledather.
Another yogi’s head swung around to look at me. And I froze when I realized it belonged to none other than Dave Beringer. His green, startled eyes tookmein.
Then he smiled. And my insides went all warm and squishy. I found myself smiling back. He winked, and then turned to faceforward.
The spell was broken. I kicked off my skirt and settled down on the mat, wondering what the hell he wasdoinghere.
“Let’s begin by focusing on our breath,” the teacher prompted. “Bring yourself into a place of presence on the mat. Inhale deeply through your nose. Open your mouth and sighitout.”
The whole room inhaled and sighed. But one of those sighs was his, and now I was listeningforit.
Great.
I tried some deep breathing while my brain tried to catch up with the idea that Dave was on a yoga mat about seven feet away. Yoga? Really? I knew he was a professional athlete, but I pictured him grunting in a gym somewhere, not stretching inchild’spose.
Maybe he had an injury, and had been advised to stretch? Or maybe he’d never been to a yoga class in his life before today and had decided to tryitout.
Don’t even think about him, Zara, I coachedmyself.
Yeah, right. As if I could look anywhere else. All his muscular glory was on display in a pair of black lycra shorts. They were neither thin nor very short. But no scrap of fabric of any caliber stood a chance against thatmusculature.
Seriously, his butt was a work of art. And I had a great viewofit.
When the teacher asked us to rise to mountain pose, I could see that his T-shirt read, “You Ain’t Nothin’ But a Down Dog.” When we were asked to dive down into a forward fold, he bent that drool-worthy body with such swiftness and grace that I clawed backagasp.
My ability to focus only went downhill fromthere.
The man had obviously been to many, many yoga classes. His body in motion was a tremendous distraction. It was lucky that Rayanne always used the same poses during the first half of the class, because my attention was shot. I watched, enthralled, while Dave executed the sun salutation sequences as if he’d been doing them all his life. And every time he lowered his body slowly from a plank position to the floor, I pictured myselfunderneathhim…
