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“You’re new,” he announces.

“Yes, I am,” I reply, matching his energy.

“You think you’ve got what it takes to hang with us crazy old men?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You think you’ve got what it takes to hang with me?”

He throws his head back and roars with laughter, thumping his quieter friend on the back, almost sending the poor guy flying. “Well, let’s not disappoint the lady!”

By the time the clock hits ten, the room is buzzing. I close the door and settle onto my mat, crossing my legs and gathering my breath. “Welcome, everyone,” I say, projecting warmth into the space. “Let’s start by grounding ourselves. If this is your first time, don’t worry about perfection. Yoga is about meeting yourself where you are.”

I lead them through a gentle warm-up, watching how each person moves. The back-row newbie is stiff and hesitant, her movements unsure, while the older men surprise me with theirflexibility. The door creaks open and someone enters but I don’t look up, allowing them time to settle without judgement.

I flow into Downward-Facing dog, taking a moment to check on my newbie in the back. Her arms are shaking, her knees bent awkwardly, and she’s scanning the room like she’s lost in a foreign country. I offer some gentle corrections and encouragement, then move to check on the latecomer.

Oh. Wow. A large man—easily bigger than anyone else in the room—is struggling in Downward-Facing dog, his body trembling like a leaf in a windstorm. I place a hand on his upper back, leaning in to whisper, “Is this your first time?”

He looks up at me, and we both freeze, the air between us thick with recognition.

“Nick?” I blurt out at the same time he exhales my name, dropping to his knees, clearly as surprised as I am.

“I didn’t know you taught this class.”

“I didn’t know you did yoga.”

“Today’s my first day,” he admits with a sheepish laugh, and I nod.

“Same.”

He looks vulnerable. Shocked. Uncomfortable. Like the Nick I knew, but also not. Part of me wants to run away, but most of me is glad to see him. I reach out and pat his back, feeling his muscles tense under my hand. A rush of memories surge through my brain, water thrashing against a dam. I blink them away and force a smile.

“I promise I’ll take it easy on you,” I say, going for professional and landing on awkward.

With that, I return to the front of the room, leading the class into standing poses. My eyes drift to Nick as sweat rolls down his forehead, dripping off the tip of his nose. He wobbles through warrior two and outright topples out of tree pose, but each time he stumbles, he stands right back up. He’s fighting theposes, trying to muscle his way through them, and it’s clearly not working. The other newbie has already tapped out, but Nick keeps pushing.

I make my way back to him, placing my hands on his shoulders to soften the tension in his traps. “Breathe into it,” I whisper. “It’s not about control. It’s about reacting, softening, finding movement in the stillness.”

“I have no idea what that means,” he pants.

I adjust his posture, pressing his ribs down with my hands and using my hip to keep his thigh aligned. The connection between us is electric, his warmth radiating through my touch, and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of how close we are. I meet his eyes—dark, intense, his nostrils flaring slightly. My breath catches in my throat, and I quickly retreat to the safety of my mat.

EIGHTEEN

Nick

By the time yoga ends, the midday heat is in full swing, wrapping around me like a hot, sticky blanket when I push outside the studio. I feel like I’ve just been through some kind of bizarre boot camp. Only, instead of barking orders, Charlie spent most of the class calmly instructing me to “breathe into it.” Sounded easy enough until I realized every pose was designed to make me question my life choices.

I’m still wiping sweat from my forehead, and it’s not just from the class… or the heat. Charlie in yoga pants, bending over, running her hands over my body to ‘check my alignment.’ The kindness with which she attended to the other newbie when she dropped out. The flash of “OH SHIT” when she recognized me, quickly replaced by gentle professionalism with only a tiny dash of awkward.

All proof of why Charlie Cooper is so freaking special.

If I had been paying attention when I slipped into class, I would have slipped right back out again. But I felt so bad about being late that I didn’t want to interrupt more than I alreadyhad. I saw the instructor was upside down, grabbed the first available space, and tried my best to imitate the people around me. If I had seen it was Charlie, I would have left.

Not just to save my pride—I do hate letting her see me fail—but also because of how I feel about her. Being with her used to be simple. And in a way it still is. Whenever we’re together, we fall back into familiar rhythms. But those rhythms complicate everything.

I told her we were friends because that’s what she needs. A friend.

But I still love her. I don’t think that will ever go away. And the way my body reacted to her proximity? Her touch? That was sweet agony.

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