Chapter 6
Summoning discipline, which she knew future Frankie would thank her for, she kept walking past the sinfully delicious temptation.
Frankie yawned for the tenth time in as many minutes and seriously considered turning around and crawling back into bed.
If she thought she had even a chance at sleep, she would do just that.
Since she did not possess psychic abilities, she had no way of knowing she’d spend the night before the class she’d booked online the week she arrived lying wide awake in her bed obsessing over her ex-fiancé’s brother.
She’d nearly canceled the class, but she promised Yaya she’d drive her back to the hospital today, and that meant she’d be spending visiting hours camped out in the jeep because there was no way she was going to risk running into “Dr. Davies” again, not until she had answers.
So, if she didn’t want to end up with a sore back, neck, and hips, this class was not optional.
Hours of online sleuthing had proven fruitless.
She still had no answers as to why Liam Sterling was now Liam Davies or why he was working at Pine Ridge General Hospital.
Yaya was none the wiser to Liam’s reappearance: that was one thing Frankie was certain about.
When she came out to the car, three hours after they arrived, the only thing she spoke about on the drive home was Arthur.
If she recognized Liam, Frankie would have been the first person Yaya would tell.
The woman lived for gossip and scandal, and Liam cutting off his dad and brother and then, for all intents and purposes, disappearing was both.
Every few months, Yaya would bring Liam up and ask if there were any ‘updates.’ The answer had always been the same: no.
It had taken every ounce of self-control Frankie possessed not to call up a friend who did private detective work, someone she’d used in a professional capacity for clients at Tristan’s firm, to find out what Liam’s story was, but she stopped herself.
That would be an invasion of his privacy.
He clearly didn’t want anyone to know where he was or what he was doing.
As much as it was killing her, she had to respect that.
But why? What had happened to make Liam cut them off?
Why did he barely talk to anyone from his past?
And why did he have to look so damn sexy?
That last question was not truly relevant, nor was it something a P.I.
would be able to dig up answers for, and yet, it was the one question that kept pushing its way to the front of the line.
With two blocks left to go, Frankie tried to shake off the anxiety she was feeling and get into her Zen Zone by taking in and appreciating her surroundings.
It was a technique she’d learned in the one year she’d taken psych in college.
It was supposed to ground her and bring her into the present moment.
There was a storybook magic to Main Street.
Downtown Hope Falls was the kind of place that made tourists get their phones out and take a hundred pictures before they even made it out of their cars.
Every shop had its own personality and identity.
Two Scoops ice cream parlor with its striped awnings and two giant cones painted on the display windows advertising “buy one scoop, get the second free.” It had been family owned and operated for over fifty years.
Hope Falls General Store, formerly Hope Falls Trading Post, held the distinction of being the first establishment in the town.
Every time Frankie walked by, since she was a little girl, she saw a collie sleeping in the sun that was shining down from the skylight in the roof.
The Secret Garden Flower Shop looked like a set from a Hallmark movie.
Jackie, the owner, had an entire closet full of leather and rode a Harley on her days off.
At the far end of the road, the Sierra Nevada’s rose up—a vibrant display of greens, oranges, yellows and reds against the blue and white powdery sky.
It made the whole town feel like it was in a snow globe, safe from the rest of the world.
Frankie rolled her shoulders as she neared Om Sweet Om, mentally preparing herself to be a human origami for the next hour.
Back home Frankie did yoga several times a week, but she hadn’t been to a class since arriving.
She was excited to get even a small sense of normalcy back.
She hoped that for the next hour she could shut her brain off, it needed to take a break.
On the sidewalk in front of the studio was an A-frame chalkboard that read, “Yoga is cheaper than therapy (but we recommend both).” Amen, she thought to herself.
The glass storefront was fogged from the heat and sweat of the sunrise class, condensation beading and dripping down the windowpane like slow tears, the sign of any good studio.
Inside were rows of fellow yogis stretching limbs, chatting, or sitting on their mats, phones in hand, scrolling, waiting for the next session to begin.
The door was heavy as she pulled it open.
That, or she’d gotten very weak over the past twenty-four days she’d been in California.
A wall of warm, eucalyptus-tinged air washed over her as she stepped inside.
She had to blink to recalibrate. The space gave her an immediate sense of calm, which she was sure was done by design.
Soft sage green walls gave the space a clean, cozy, and welcoming first impression.
A tall potted fiddle-leaf fig was positioned in the corner beside the check-in counter next to a bamboo bench in the waiting area.
The studio itself was filled with students facing a wall of mirrors opposite large windows overlooking the river that flowed through Hope Falls, adjacent to Main Street.
The back wall was lined with white oak cubbies, and in the corner sat an oversized wicker basket with coiled yoga mats in it.
Succulents, along with a variety of candles and incense, were positioned strategically around the room, all competing to be the dominant aroma as smooth R&B music played at a low volume through the speakers.
Frankie scanned the barcode on her phone to check-in, following the instructions she’d read when she booked the class.
She dug in her tote for a water bottle as she walked along the back row of the class and stashed her phone and bag in the nearest empty cubby.
A quick survey of the room revealed only one spot open to lay her mat.
It was next to a woman with glossy brown hair wearing a hat, whose profile triggered something like déjà vu in Frankie’s brain.
Hats were not typical yoga attire, so she wondered if she might be famous.
Hope Falls was known as the “Hollywood of the Sierra Nevada.” Besides Karina Black, an international pop multi-Grammy winner, including Best New Artist and Best Album, who was born and raised there, film star Kyle Austen Reed, whose name was on the shortlist to play the next Bond, and Academy Award winner Shayne Fox, who also won a Golden Globe and Independent Spirit Award for Best Actress for her portrayal of Marilyn Monroe, also resided in Hope Falls.
The woman was mid-shoulder roll as Frankie settled onto her mat, and their eyes met briefly. She noticed that the woman’s eyes were red and swollen, it was obvious she’d been crying.
“Do you need a—”
“Hi everyone, welcome to Om Sweet Om.” Tiana glided to the front of the room.
Frankie was mid-tissue-offer when the class started. She knew if she continued speaking, it might draw attention, which was probably the last thing this woman wanted. So, she dropped it and turned her attention to Tiana, the owner of the studio she’d met at a book club she’d attended.
Tiana was the kind of beautiful that made you want to call your dermatologist and start investing in better serums. Everything about her was graceful and fluid—her arms, her long curly hair, the way her voice flowed through the room.
She was the sort of person who meditated for fun instead of necessity.
She reminded Frankie of Zoe Kravitz in both appearance and energy, she was just effortlessly cool, stunningly gorgeous, and sexy without trying or probably even knowing.
“I see a few new faces today. Welcome, we’re so happy that you are here.
This is an advanced vinyasa class set to hip-hop and R&B music.
My one rule is, listen to your bodies. If you need to rest, rest.” Tiana’s eyes landed specifically on Frankie and several other students who were probably newbies as well, with an intentional kindness.
“Today’s theme is letting go—of old habits, old identities, and old relationships.
You can leave whatever burdens you brought with you on your mat. ”
It looks like I came on the right day.
Tiana gave a little bow and started the warmup.
The next sixty minutes were a blur of movement, sweat, and the collective hum of thirty people breathing as one to the soundtrack of Heavy D, LL Cool J, Blaque, Nivea, Tupac, Bel Biv Devoe, and more.
Frankie’s body was not the biggest fan after not working out for a month, but around the halfway mark, she lost herself in the measured burn of the poses, the catch and release of muscle and memory.
Tiana moved through the rows, gently realigning a wrist here, a tilted pelvis there.
By the end, Frankie was both jelly and electricity, lulled by the final moments of savasana as the last notes of the Karyn White hit “Superwoman” faded out over the faint sound of a bicycle bell clanging somewhere outside.
She rolled up to a seated position on her mat, feeling the kind of exhaustion that was almost identical to relief.