Page 16 of Serenity at Seagrove
"You said that before on the beach—about breathing."
"Because it's true."
She stood and moved to the small kitchen area. "Let me make you some tea, my grandmother's blend. No pressure about the classes, just tea."
She could feel him watching her as she prepared the tea, and when she returned with two cups, he had relaxed a little.
"Your grandmother," he said, as she handed him the cup. "The one from Puerto Rico?"
Luna nodded and sat back in her chair. "She would have loved this place. She always said the ocean was its own special medicine."
Archer took a careful sip, his eyebrows raising slightly. "This is different, but good different."
"It's a blend of herbs myabuelagrew herself. Mint for clarity, chamomile for calm, and a few other special ingredients she swore by. She used to say that the best medicine doesn't come from a doctor's office."
"Smart woman," Archer said. "The movement classes—when do they start?"
Luna kept her voice steady. "Tuesday and Thursday mornings, right after sunrise. Small groups, just four or five people. And no pressure to commit to anything. You can try one class and see how it feels."
He nodded, tapping his fingers against the teacup. "Maybe... maybe I'll try one."
"I'll save you a spot," Luna said, trying not to show how she was cheering inside of her head. "Just remember, it's not about pushing through pain. It's about working with your body, not against it."
"Yeah, that's the hard part," he admitted. "I've spent my whole life pushing. I don't know how to do it any other way."
"Well, maybe it's time to learn," Luna said. "Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is just try something new."
"I should go," Archer said, setting down his empty cup. "Thanks for the tea. And the, well, you know…”
“Lack of pressure?" Luna suggested.
"Yeah, that."
He stood carefully and walked toward the door. "I'll see you Tuesday, I guess."
"Tuesday," she confirmed. "Just bring yourself and an open mind. That's all you're going to need."
As she watched him walk away, she felt a mixture of hope and anxiety. This was either the beginning of something important or a recipe for heartache. But as herabuelaused to say, the best things in life usually came with a little risk.
* * *
Archer sat in his room at the inn, staring at the workout clothes he'd put out for tomorrow's class. What in the world was he thinking, agreeing to this? He could already hear the whispers that would probably spread around town—how the fallen professional golfer was reduced to a gentle movement class at some kind of new-age woo-woo wellness center.
A knock at the door interrupted his brooding.
"It's open," he called, knowing it would be Dawson. Who else would it be?
His friend stepped in and looked at the workout clothes and Archer's troubled facial expression. "So you must have gone to see her."
"Julie told you?"
"Nah, she didn't have to. You've just got that look like you used to get before a big tournament, like you're simultaneously plotting to win and planning your escape route."
Archer laughed. "It's just a movement class, man. It's not the Masters."
"Right." Dawson leaned against the dresser. "And that's why you're sitting here staring at workout clothes like they might bite you."
"I don't know why I agreed to this," Archer said under his breath.
