Chapter 17
17
RUBY
I wake to the morning light filtering through the mosquito netting and for a moment, I'm disoriented. Where am I? Then it all comes rushing back—the retreat mix-up, the shared bed, the bug invasion.
Speaking of which, I cautiously investigate the netting. To my relief, our unwelcome visitors have departed, at least for the daylight hours. Small mercies.
I wonder where they all go?
I turn my head to find myself face to face with a sleeping Chuck Newcomb. His features are soft, almost boyish. A lock of his long hair lays splays his forehead, and I resist the urge to brush it off. His eyelashes flutter slightly, and I wonder what he's dreaming about.
Wait. What am I doing? I shake my head, trying to dislodge these ridiculous thoughts. This is Chuck, for crying out loud. Annoying, arrogant, admittedly handsome Chuck. Hockey star, barroom brawler, and lady killer.
Also, friend of my big brother.
All good reasons to be completely allergic to this man. Nothing good could possibly come from hanging out with him.
Carefully, I extricate myself from the bed, wincing as the mattress creaks. Chuck stirs but doesn't wake. With my back to the bed, I pull on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and tiptoe out of the bungalow.
The morning air is heavy with humidity, but it’s slightly cooler than the night before. That’s somehow refreshing, a term I’d never thought I’d use when drowning in jungle stickiness. I make my way to the front desk, rehearsing what I'll say. Hi, there's been a terrible mistake. I need to book the first flight back to San Francisco, please.
But when I arrive, the desk is deserted. A small sign informs me that staff won't be available until 9 a.m. I check my phone. 7:30. Great.
Unsure what to do with myself, I wander the grounds. That's when I spot a sign for a morning yoga class. Why not? It might help clear my head.
I follow the signs to an open-air pavilion overlooking the ocean. A few other early risers are already there, unrolling mats and chatting quietly. I find a spot near the back and sit down, closing my eyes and listening to the waves.
"This seat taken?"
My eyes snap open. Chuck is standing there, yoga mat in hand, grinning down at me.
"What are you doing here?" I hiss.
He shrugs, unrolling his mat next to mine. "Thought I'd give this yoga thing another shot. Plus, I figured you'd try to sneak off without saying goodbye."
I open my mouth to protest, then close it again. He's not wrong.
The instructor, a willowy woman laden with crystals around her neck, wrists, and ankles, kicks things off.
"Welcome, people," she says in a voice as smooth as honey. "Let's begin our practice with some sun salutations."
What follows is both hilarious and mortifying.
Chuck, it turns out, has all the grace and flexibility of an uncoordinated giraffe. As we move through the poses, he wobbles, he flails, he nearly takes out the woman on his other side with an overzealous arm sweep.
"Chuck," I whisper-yell as we transition into Warrior II. "What are you doing?"
He turns his head to look at me, loses his balance, bobbing and weaving to stay upright.
"I'm finding my inner peace," he stage-whispers back, scrambling to his feet. "It's around here somewhere, I swear."
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. The instructor glides over, adjusting Chuck's pose with gentle touches.
"Remember to breathe, darling," she coos. "Let the energy flow through you."
Chuck nods solemnly, then winks at me as soon as she turns away. I roll my eyes, but I can't quite suppress my smile.
As we move into a balance pose, I can't help but notice the determined set of Chuck's jaw. He's actually trying, I realize. It's... kind of cute. And endearing.
That thought distracts me enough that I lose my own balance, toppling into Chuck. He catches me, strong arms steadying me before I face-plant on the floor.
"Whoa there," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "I thought you were supposed to be good at this."
I pull away, my face burning. "Shut up and do your tree pose, Newcomb."
The rest of the class passes in a blur of awkward poses and stifled laughter. By the time we reach final relaxing savasana, I'm sweaty, well-stretched, and surprisingly relaxed.
As we roll up our mats to leave, Chuck bumps his shoulder against mine. "So, still planning on making a break for it? Leaving all this behind?" He gestures broadly and I can’t help but laugh.
I hesitate before answering him. The truth is, I'm not sure anymore. This morning has been... fun. Unexpectedly so.
"I… don't know," I admit. "Maybe I'll stick around for a bit. You know, to make sure you don't accidentally kill anyone with your downward dog."
He grins, and I'm struck by how genuine it is. Not his usual cocky smirk, but something warmer. Something real.
I think he wants me to stay.
Is that because he enjoys my company, or just wants someone to suffer through this with?
"All good, Brooks," he says. "I’m gonna get a shower. Meet you at breakfast? I don't know about you, but all this inner peace-ing has worked up my appetite, and I gotta wash off some of this sweat before I make anybody barf."
As we head out, I have an unexpected spring in my step. This place isn’t half bad, and if I came back sometime—on the right dates—I may even really enjoy it. Not that the last twenty-four hours have been that horrible. I mean, there’ve been challenges, but hey, I have a place to sleep and food to eat. My daytime survival is likely. Evening is another story, with the oversized insects.
As we walk, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers a warning. Be careful, Ruby. You're treading in dangerous waters here.
I push the thought away. It's just yoga and breakfast. What could go wrong?
I have a feeling the universe will answer that question when I least expect it.