Free

Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

Charlie

“All righty! I’m off to work!” I swipe my water bottle off the counter and stuff it into my bag.

“You know you didn’t have to take this job,” Garrett grumbles into his coffee, his voice heavy with early-morning exhaustion. “You don’t owe us anything. Benefits of having a wealthy older brother.”

I press a kiss into the top of his head, ruffling his hair the way I did when I was a kid. “You know I love you for that, Bear. I really do. But I’m a fully realized adult, and I need to support myself. Besides, you know me, if I don’t have something to do, I’ll drive myself crazy. Probably take you and Angela along with me. Terrier energy.” I wiggle my fingers for emphasis.

Garrett groans. “Do you have to keep calling me that?”

“Bear? Of course I do. You hated it when I was five, you hate it now, and that only makes it more satisfying.” I grin, grabbing my keys.

Angela stumbles into the kitchen with Elise on her hip and two cats twining around her legs. Her red hair is a mess, and the bags under her eyes suggest Elise has once again waged war on bedtime. I squish the little one’s cheeks and give Angela a quick hug.

“You know you didn’t have to take this job,” she mumbles, looking up in question when Garrett huffs a good-natured laugh.

“That seems to be the consensus,” I reply.

“We could have found a class for you to teach at The Hut. Our guests love our yoga program.”

“It’s a sweet offer, but you two have given me enough already. My life blew up because of my decisions. It’s on me to put it back together. Now, wish me luck!” I call, and the exhausted couple murmurs something vaguely resembling words.

It’s a glorious Saturday morning. The sky is a brilliant blue, the air crisp and invigorating, with just enough warmth to promise a gorgeous day. On my way to the yoga studio, the sun filters through the palm trees, casting playful shadows across the road. I roll down the windows, letting the breeze whip my hair into chaos. My playlist shuffles through my favorites, and every traffic light turns green. One of those days. The kind that feels charmed before it even begins.

The studio sits nestled between a flower shop and a boutique café, with a coffee shop a few doors down, its facade simple and inviting. A bright teal door beckons beneath a sign reading Bloom Yoga Studio . Climbing vines frame the windows, where potted ferns and orchids add vibrant splashes of green. Inside, the scent of lavender and cedarwood envelops me, mingling with the faint hint of freshly brewed coffee drifting in from next door.

The studio itself is small but lovely, all polished wood floors and walls painted a soothing sage green. Tall windows flood the space with natural light, and the back wall is lined with cubbies for shoes and belongings. A rack of mats stands in one corner, next to a basket of rolled towels. It feels more like a sanctuary than a workspace.

I breathe in deeply, letting the peaceful energy of the room settle my nerves. This is a new job, a fresh start, and even though it’s small, it feels meaningful.

I light a stick of sandalwood incense and place it in a holder near the front of the room, letting the gentle curls of smoke waft through the air. The first students trickle in—a mix of young and old, some carrying their own mats, others borrowing from the studio. I greet them with warm smiles, helping them get situated.

A tall woman with tight blonde braids sets up in the back row, clearly a newbie. Two older men follow—one broad and booming, like he belongs on a football field, and the other smaller, quieter, with a careful gait that hints at an old injury. The first man plops his mat directly in front of mine and grins.

“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 their flexibility. 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 the poses, 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.