Page 25 of Anchored

For the cabin, rather. Not home.

“Sure. And then some yoga after?” Holt grimaces, which makes me laugh. “Why are you so anti-yoga?”

“I’m not anti-yoga, it’s just too slow for me.” Holt’s thumb taps the steering wheel. “I, uh, have ADHD. My brain doesn’t like sitting still for long.”

My chest warms, knowing he trusts me enough to talk about it. “My friend Angie has it too. She’s a yoga instructor though. She mostly focuses on the really physical types of yoga. Says it calms her mind and gets her out of her brain.”

Holt tilts his head, then makes a left onto Anchor Lake Estate Road, the street that winds around the entirety of the lake and hosts some stunning estates and cabins.

“Hmm. That’s why I work out and eat right. I mean, I’ve always been into health and fitness, but I learned that taking care of my physical body helps my symptoms. Maybe I’ve just tried the wrong forms of yoga.”

I shrug a shoulder up and down. “It’s possible. Or you may just not like yoga. Not everyone does and that’s okay. Have you always had ADHD?”

Holt pulls up the long dirt driveway to the cabin. “I think so. I didn’t get diagnosed until middle of college though. I tried some of the meds but the side effects were too much. I’m mostly just handling things with lifestyle and therapy.”

I nod, getting out of the car. “That’s very progressive of you.”

He grins and joins me at the hood of the car to walk inside. “What? Because I’m a man? Men can go to therapy too.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.”

Mookie’s nails click across the wood floor, racing to get to us as we step up to the front door of the cabin. Holt opens the door and she launches herself at our ankles, tail wagging a million miles a minute.

“Hey, sweet girl. Who’s ready for a hike?”

Mookie must know that word because she goes positively frantic, turning in circles and peeing a little bit. Holt just laughs and goes to get something to clean it up, calling over his shoulder, “Go get dressed and after our hike I’ll make you my famous grilled chicken and asparagus.”

I grimace. I’m mostly a take-out girl, leaning toward vegetarianism when I’m home, but not strict about it. I never met a carbohydrate I didn’t like and think tofu is the most underrated food out there. “Okay.”

When I come out of the bathroom in a sports bra, T-shirt, workout shorts, and hiking boots, Holt is waiting at the door with Mookie in her harness and a hiking belt around his trim waist with two water bottles. But he doesn’t have a shirt on. Jesus. I guess if I looked that good without a shirt, I wouldn’t want to wear one either.

“Ready, moonbeam?”

I paste on a smile and refuse to count his six-pack abs or trace the line of veins that start at his chest and go all the way down into his fingers. Whoops. Too late. “Yep.”

We cross the street and head for the trailhead just down a few houses. He leads the way, which is unfortunate for me. His ass is a thing to behold in workout shorts, mostly because it’s round and athletic and a fucking machine as the incline gets steep almost immediately.

“So, how do you like your job? You’re the head physical therapist at Sunny Shores?” I have to pant to catch my breath after I complete my questions. Yoga is great, but it’s not cardio.

“Yeah, I came back to Anchor Lake not long after my sister got married. Sunny Shores was looking to fill a head therapist position and I applied.”

I thought back to the way all the nurses seem to look to him for direction. Seems like the owner or director or whomever is a bit absent. “Who owns Sunny Shores?”

Holt glances back, slowing his pace, probably because my cheeks are beet red and I’m out of breath. “I do.”

My head whips up, and I stop in my tracks. “Youownit?”

Holt looks embarrassed. He shrugs like it’s not a big deal he owns a retirement community that spans twenty acres and houses several hundred retirees requiring all levels of care. The place is like a high-end, geriatric resort on steroids.

“Holt, that’s…incredible.”

“Thanks.” He scrubs the back of his neck, his arm muscles bulging. Mookie tugs at the leash but he ignores her, handing me one of the water bottles off his hiking belt instead. “I have quite a few staff members that help me run it. I still like to get my hands dirty with the therapy though. That’s my true love.”

I nod, gulping back some water. Now I feel even more foolish telling him that I’m a glorified pet shrink. He must think I’m a joke.

He waits for me to hand him back the water, not at all in a hurry to keep going, which I appreciate. “You good?”

I nod. “Yep. I was wondering why you were going so slow.”

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