Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Keaton listened to the even breathing coming from Layne and knew she had fallen asleep in seconds. Sleep would do her good. He had never met such a wounded soul. Then again, he hadn’t been close to but a handful of others and wasn’t in the habit of sharing his own problems.
That was what was different about tonight.
The time he had spent in Layne’s company had been exhilarating.
Interesting. They had both unburdened to one another, something he was certain she never did and unthinkable for him.
Yet every word had rung with truth. He wanted this woman to know all of him.
The talent. The loneliness. The flaws. Just as she had things she needed to heal from, so did he.
He only wondered if they were meant to heal together.
It was time to stop thinking and merely enjoy lying next to her, the subtle scent of lavender wafting toward him from her.
It had been a while since he’d had sex with a woman, much less slept overnight with her.
Frankie was the last woman he’d had in his bed, and she was not one for cuddling after sex.
Even though they had been in a serious relationship, she rarely stayed the night.
He had thought he had known Frankie, down to her poet’s soul.
She was brash. Lively. Even unfiltered. And so very talented.
Whenever they had sex, though, she was always bursting with energy afterward, unlike the few other partners he had engaged with.
Frankie had told him that sex made her restless.
That she needed to go home and write. The few times she did stay at his place, he would awaken and feel for her in bed, the spot next to him cold and empty.
He would get up on the pretext of needing a glass of water and find her at the kitchen table, scribbling manically.
Back then, he had admired what he thought was her tremendous dedication to her craft.
The truth he had learned had been far darker.
Pushing aside all thoughts of Francesca Fairchild, Keaton concentrated on the feel of Layne against him. He matched his breathing to hers and soon tumbled into sleep himself.
When he awoke, he knew it was early. Warm woman nestled against him, filling Keaton with a sense of satisfaction, making him wish that he had a permanent arrangement with Layne Larson.
Thoughts like this were insane, yet he wasn’t quite willing to chase them away just yet.
Yes, Layne was hurting and fragile right now, but he believed a resiliency lay within her.
She would bounce back from this double tragedy and find her place in the world, becoming stronger for what she had survived.
The question was whether or not this would occur in Driftwood Bay or some other far-flung place where she didn’t have to think of her parents dying in the place she lived every single day.
He was in a quandary. He needed to get in his morning run, addicted to it as he was the air he breathed. Yet Keaton didn’t want Layne to awaken and feel as if he had skipped out on her. Was she sleeping deeply enough for him to go for his run and make it back to the inn before she awakened?
She stirred, and he knew he wouldn’t have to make that decision as she stretched her limbs. Then she laced her fingers through his, bringing their joined hands to her lips and brushing a soft kiss against his knuckles.
Though the room was dark still, he could feel the intensity of her moss green eyes upon him as she said, “I can’t thank you enough for staying.
For getting me through the first night under this roof.
I’m only sorry that I feel asleep on you.
You were so generous to me. Giving more than I could have asked for, Keaton. I’m sorry I didn’t return the favor.”
He brushed a kiss against her temple, smoothing her hair. “We were pretty darn good
together, weren’t we? You have a lovely body, Layne. One I thoroughly enjoyed exploring. As for the rest?” He shrugged. “Maybe another time.”
He sensed the intimacy which had been built between them in such a short time and hoped they wouldn’t lose it. Keaton wanted to remain friends with her, no matter what her future held and where it took her.
“I need to get up,” he reluctantly told her.
“I know. You’re ready to get your morning run in. You mentioned it. I do tai chi first thing in the morning.”
An image of people in a park in Jackson Hole came to him, and he chuckled.
“What’s so funny about tai chi?” she asked, playfully punching him in the shoulder.
“The only time I’ve ever seen others do tai chi was in Wyoming.
I lived in a cabin on the outskirts of town.
When I would go in to pick up groceries, there was always a group doing tai chi in a local park.
I think the youngest one might’ve been sixty.
Maybe even seventy. I just can’t picture you doing old people exercises. You’re too vibrant.”
She leaned over and kissed him, and he could feel her smile against his mouth.
“First of all, it’s not just old people who practice tai chi. And second, it is the most disciplined form of exercise you can do. You should give it a try sometime.”
“You’re on,” he said enthusiastically. “Wanna do some now?”
“Okay,” she agreed. “I get out of bed every morning. Hydrate. And then I do tai chi. I prefer to do it outside, though. You game, Mr. Maxwell, to head outside?”
“I don’t have any tai chi clothes with me,” he quipped.
“You’re close to my dad’s height. We can find a pair of sweats for you to wear.” She paused, smiling impishly. “Unless it creeps you out wearing a dead guy’s clothing.”
“Gallows humor. Good for you,” he teased. Wanting to continue to be in her company, he added, “Let’s go find them.”
She told him to stay while she went to her parents’ bedroom to hunt for the sweats. He took the opportunity to hit the bathroom and even splashed cold water on his face. Studying himself in the mirror, he wondered if he looked any different, thanks to his encounter with Layne.
She returned with the sweatpants.
“The bottoms should fit you. You’re broader in the shoulders than Dad, so I brought back the largest long-sleeved T-shirt I could find. The sweatshirts all looked too small for you.”
Layne handed the clothes over to him and said, “I need to go claim my workout gear from my suitcase. Meet you in the kitchen in five.”
He knew there were two staircases from his stay at the Bay Breeze Inn, so Keaton took the back set to the kitchen.
He opened the door to the fridge, surprised that it was almost totally empty.
It seems Mr. Larson was meticulous in his planning, down to making certain there would be no spoiled milk for his daughter to dispose of.
Since he didn’t spy any bottled waters, he poured them tall glasses of cold water.
He downed his, feeling parched, and refilled his glass.
Layne appeared, and he handed her a glass. She said, “I guess there were no bottled waters. Did the fridge stink? Mom always had all kinds of leftovers. I’m afraid to see what’s still lurking there.”
“No containers of leftovers. It was almost bare, save for a few jars of condiments.”
He saw understanding dawn in her eyes. “Dad took care of even the little things,” she said quietly. “Taking out the trash. Getting rid of leftovers. He was always thinking ahead.”
Keaton stepped to her, enveloping her in his arms, no words necessary between them.
She pulled away, wiping her eyes. “I’m glad you didn’t put on your boots.
Tai chi is best done in bare feet. I like practicing it outside, though, where I have plenty of room.
I just checked the weather. No wind and fifty-eight degrees.
Not bad for Christmas Eve early morning.
Are you willing to exercise on the porch? ”
“You’re the expert. Lead the way.”
“First, we need to do some basic stretching. Limber up our bodies. Let’s go to the foyer where we have some room to do that.”
For the next ten minutes, Layne led him through a series of stretches. Some, he was familiar with. Others were new and really loosened up his muscles.
“I like this stretch,” he told her, leaning hard into it, feeling the burn.
She grinned. “I stole some of these stretches from Piper years ago. She did them in drill team. I was captain of our soccer team, and so I got to lead everyone in exercises before we hit the field. This one was our favorite team stretch.”
“Well, I’m adding it to my repertoire before I run every morning. My calves feel great now.”
They finished warming up, and Layne told him, “In case you’re wondering, tai chi is an ancient Chinese martial art inspired by the movement of birds and cheetahs.
It brings your body to its natural state through a moving meditation.
You let go of tension. All thoughts. Allow your qi to flow smoothly. ”
“Why does it look as if people doing it are in slow motion?” he questioned.
“The slow movements help you develop body awareness. The tempo improves your posture and helps your circulation. It aids in grounding you. You become more flexible and disciplined. The biggest thing is that you don’t want to rush any of these poses.”
“Similar to yoga,” he commented. “I took a few classes of it in Wyoming at the local Y.”
“Did you like it?” she asked.
“I liked the yoga. I didn’t like being around a lot of people doing yoga.”
“I hear you. Though I’m a people person, sometimes, I just have to turn off that spigot and have quiet time to myself. You ready to begin?”
They went out onto the wide porch. His body temperature had already warmed, thanks to the stretches they had done.
“I’m going to stand in front of you, my back to you,” she told him. “Just do as I do and imitate my moves. And remember, form is key. No slouching. A slow pace is what’ll make this effective.”