Chapter 27
Calista
“Golf is a game of inches. Life, as it turns out, is measured in even smaller increments.”
—Eloisa Hobby
Calista stood in the bedroom doorway, frozen like a Popsicle in the Arctic. The bed loomed before her, a continent of crisp white sheets and fluffy duvet. Reid perched on the mattress, looking unfairly calm for someone about to sleep with his ex.
“Cal?” His voice was soft, careful, like approaching a skittish animal. Which, fair. “We don’t have to—”
“No, I want to,” she blurted. Smooth, Dempsey. A+ for enthusiasm, F- for execution. “It’s just . . .”
“A lot?”
Calista nodded, grateful and frustrated in equal measure. Where had this fear sprung from? Ten minutes ago, she’d been ready to audition for the lead role in Hobby Island After Dark. Now she felt sixteen again, all sweaty palms and racing thoughts.
His eyes crinkled at the corners in a tender smile, and he patted the bed beside him. “Come here. I have an idea.”
She arched an eyebrow. “If you’re about to suggest a game of Monopoly as foreplay, I’m out.”
Reid’s laughter wrapped around Calista like a favorite sweater, warm and familiar. “No board games, promise. Just . . . trust me?”
And there it was.
The million-dollar question. Did she trust him? After everything—the years, the hurt, the misunderstandings that could fill a book titled How to Screw Up Your Love Life Royally—could she put her heart in Reid’s hands again?
The answer, terrifying in its simplicity, was yes.
Calista crossed the room and lowered herself onto the bed as if it might suddenly become sentient and kick her off for crimes against romance.
Reid’s hand found hers, and his touch sent a jolt through her that had nothing to do with static electricity and everything to do with years of pent-up longing. “Stretch out, milady.”
She side-eyed him. “If you start quoting Shakespeare, I’m leaving.”
“Please. I’m more of a ‘there once was a man from Nantucket’ kind of guy.” His infectious grin lured her in. “Ever heard of yoga nidra?”
Calista blinked. “Is that like hot yoga, but for people who’d rather nap than sweat?”
His laughter rumbled through her. “Not quite. It’s a kind of guided meditation. Just humor me, okay?”
“Um.” She lay down, muscles coiled, ready to hop up again if this got too weird.
Reid fussed over her, sliding a pillow under her knees and draping a blanket over her. “Comfy?”
“Uh-huh.”
Reid settled beside her, close enough that she could feel his body heat. “Close your eyes,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “We’ll start with a body scan.”
“A what?”
“Just close your eyes, please.”
Reluctantly, she closed her eyes, but not all the way, leaving a slit to peek through.
“Focus on your toes,” he said, his voice honey smooth. “Wiggle them, then let them relax.”
As he guided her attention through her body, Calista experienced tension she didn’t even know she was carrying melt away. By the time he reached the top of her head, she felt like she was floating, anchored only by the sound of his voice, her eyes fully closed.
“Now,” he said, “you’ll set a sankalpa.”
“A what?” She cracked one eye open.
“An intention. Something short and positive you want to manifest.”
“Oh.” Calista pondered and shut her eye again. World peace? A lifetime supply of ice cream? In the end, she settled on I am worthy of love. She repeated it in her head, feeling it resonate throughout her body.
“Got one?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good. Now focus on your breath. Don’t control it, just observe.”
Calista paid attention to her breathing. In . . . out. In . . . out. Until she rode the waves of her respiration, a surfer in the Zen Olympics.
“Count your breaths backward from twenty-seven. Lose count? No biggie. Just start over.”
She began. Twenty-seven, twenty-six, twenty-five . . . Somewhere around eighteen, she lost track. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the rhythm of her breath and Reid’s deep voice, a lighthouse in the fog of her mind.
“Let go of tension, thoughts, worries. Just be.”
Calista felt herself sinking deeper into relaxation. Her thoughts, which had been doing the Macarena earlier, slowed to a gentle waltz. She was aware, yet not. Awake, yet not. It was like being pleasantly buzzed, minus the tequila and regrettable text messages.
“Now . . .” His voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. “Imagine intense heat. Feel it on your skin, in your body.”
Calista pictured standing on a sunbaked beach, heat radiating up from the sand like a giant, grainy sauna.
“Shift to intense cold. Feel the chill, the shiver.”
She imagined plunging into icy water, the kind of cold that makes you question your life choices and your swimwear options.
He led her through more opposites—heavy and light, pain and pleasure. With each transition, Calista sank deeper into blissed-out relaxation.
“Now . . . recall your sankalpa and repeat it three times.”
I am worthy of love. I am worthy of love. I am worthy of love.
“When you’re ready, wiggle your fingers and toes. Take a deep breath and open your eyes.”
She blinked, the dim bedroom coming into focus like a Polaroid developing. Reid watched her, his expression a mix of tenderness and something more profound that made her breath catch.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
Calista took stock. Her body lay heavy yet oddly light as if filled with helium and sandbags in equal measure. The nervousness from earlier evaporated, leaving behind a clarity that felt foreign.
“Like I just had an emotional spa day. I want to marry yoga nidra.”
His smile could power a small city. “Good. That’s good.”
“Wow, just wow. Where did you learn that?”
“Meditation retreat in a Tibetan monastery.”
“You went to Tibet?”
“For a month. I needed tools to help me deal with the fast-paced life of sports vlogging and a couple of my friends were going, so I tagged along.”
“I’m impressed. Although I’m having a hard time imagining you in a monastery.” Calista reached out and cupped his cheek. His stubble rasped against her palm, grounding her in this place and this time.
“I’m multifaceted,” he teased. “Not just a pretty face.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “For not letting me spiral into a meltdown.”
He pressed a kiss into her palm that sent wild sparks racing up her arm. “Anytime, Cal. I mean it. Though next time, maybe we can try body painting with melted chocolate?”
“Don’t push your luck, Thornton.”
He turned on his side, tucked his hands under his cheek, and she mimicked him.
They lay still, simply looking at each other.
Calista marveled at how different this felt from their earlier heat.
This was tender. Intimate in a way that transcended physical desire and spoke to the connection between them, a language all their own.
“Reid?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m glad it’s you.”
His voice went husky, his eyes shining in the dim lighting. “Me too. More than you know.”
She scooted closer, and he nestled her into his arm.
Her head found a perfect spot on his chest where she could hear his steady heartbeat.
This moment was its own kind of perfect.
Different from what she’d imagined, yes.
Colored by all they’d been through. All they’d lost and found again, but exceptional in its own messy, honest way.
She couldn’t go back and change the past, but maybe she could move forward into something equally beautiful. Something real, with all its complications and challenges and unexpected joys. Maybe second chances weren’t just the stuff of fiction, after all.
For the first time, the thought didn’t terrify her. It felt like possibility. It felt like hope. It felt like redemption for them both.
And then Reid’s mouth came down on hers in the hottest of kisses, and this time, she was truly ready.
After knock-her-socks-off sex—he’d learned a few things in the interim—Calista rolled over, nearly smooshing Reid. Poor guy didn’t sign up to be a human pillow when he agreed to this whole rekindled romance thing, but here he was, snoring softly next to her.
She snuggled against him, curling up tight, her heart bursting with happiness. Oh, what a day this had been!
“Mmm,” he murmured, voice drowsy as his arm slipped around her waist. “That was beyond beyond.”
“Really?”
“As if you don’t know how spectacular you are.”
His words lit her up inside, and she let loose a giddy giggle. “Only because of you.”
That tugged a chuckle from Reid, who looked more awake by the second. He propped himself up on one elbow, his expression relaxing into something that sent Calista’s stomach cartwheeling. Damn him and his ability to look unfairly attractive at stupid o’clock in the morning.
“That yoga nidra thing . . . wow, it was like you erased a lifetime of trauma in one session.”
“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, running a hand through his hair, which somehow made him look even more handsome.
“It was like I finally could let go.”
“That’s because you’ve done a boatload of healing on your own,” he said. “I’m so impressed by you and how you didn’t get bogged down by our misspent youth.”
“Misspent youth?” Calista snorted. “More like mistreated youth, at least in my case.” She paused, then added, “Hey, want to hear about the time I tried to impress Benjamin by caddying for his entire four-hour golf game in August without a water break? Spoiler alert. I passed out on the seventeenth hole, and he just stepped over me to take his shot.”
“Jesus, Cal. That’s . . .”
“Awful? Yeah, I know.” She shrugged. A gesture that felt both casual and monumental. “But hey, it’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine-fine, but you know, character building and all that jazz.”
His thumb traced soothing circles on the back of her hand. “You know you didn’t deserve that treatment, right? Any of it.”
Her chest tightened. “Yeah, well, try telling that to ten-year-old me.”
At that age, she’d been convinced if she just tried hard enough, ran fast enough, smiled wide enough, her dad would actually see her.