Chapter 4
“All I want for Christmas is…”
Sharp Shovels?
“Let your breath deepen like snow gently gathering on the earth—slow, steady, quiet.” Wren soundlessly weaved her way around the yoga mats and bodies stretched out across the studio.
Sunlight filtered past the tall pines and warmed the hardwood through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The overcast skies looked as though they would flurry.
The pale sun-bleached white oak floors were warm underfoot despite the cold outside. “Wake up those hands by gently wiggling your fingers.”
Her toe ring caught the light as she wove softly around her students as they rested on their backs in the savasana pose. With every gentle step, her mandala tattoo peeked out from the ankle of her cocoa brown harem pants.
“Now, wiggle your toes.”
A subtle blend of palo santo, cedar, and eucalyptus drifted from the clay diffuser in the corner.
“Invite sensation back into the body. And when you’re ready... roll gently to one side.”
One by one, her students shifted and turned.
Ambient Nordic folk music played softly as the gentle wind chimes trilled outside. Her fingers twirled the delicate moonstone pendant resting on her collarbone.
“Press up slowly, no rush. Find a comfortable seat. Palms together at heart center.”
Wren returned to her mat at the front of the room, where she kept the sound bowls and gong. She sat cross-legged in front of the class, their eyes half-lidded and peaceful as they awaited her guidance.
She matched their poses and took a moment to bask in her gratitude. “Thank you for choosing stillness today. For choosing presence.”
A few relaxed sighs met her ears, and as the class became more alert. She bowed her head slightly. “Namaste.”
“Namaste,” the class responded in unison.
“I hope The Haven gave you something you needed today. The kitchen has warm herbal broth and fresh rye crackers waiting if you want to linger. Don’t forget to grab a flyer on your way out.
It has our full holiday schedule and details about next month’s winter solstice flow, which will be by candlelight. ”
Pleasant sounds of interest accompanied the rustling of people packing up their mats and slipping into their snow boots. Wren retrieved her water from the shelf and took a long sip.
“Great class today.”
Swallowing a gulp, she capped her bottle and faced Noah. “Thanks.”
“That crow pose didn’t totally destroy me this time. I think I hovered for a full three seconds before the face-plant.”
Wren laughed. It wasn’t quite a face plant, but it wasn’t graceful either. “Practice makes perfect.”
Noah trailed her steps as she wandered around the room collecting blankets to hang on the driftwood ladder. “Your alignment’s come a long way.”
“Thanks to you.”
Noah was one of her most devoted local yogis. “It’s wonderful how dedicated you are.”
“Well, I enjoy the class—and the teacher—so it’s a rewarding hobby all around.”
Realizing he was waiting for some sort of reaction, she laughed nervously. “That’s sweet. I really appreciate devotion.”
“I’ve been telling people around town they should try a class.”
“The more locals who sign up, the more classes we can offer.” When she lifted the stack of folded blankets, he took them from her.
“I can carry those. Where do they go?”
“Oh, just over here.” She really didn’t need help, but he literally took the choice out of her hands. She neatly hung the folded wool over the wooden rungs as he handed them off.
“I was wondering if you would be interested in something more one-on-one.”
“Oh. You can schedule a private session at the front—”
“I was thinking more along the lines of dinner.”
She stilled, wondering how she hadn’t seen that coming. “Like a date?”
“Could be nice. No breathwork, no balancing on one arm. Just good food. A firepit. Maybe even a glass of wine—if that’s not too scandalous for a yogi master.”
Caught off guard, she smiled nervously. Noah was a transplant she didn’t know much about, but he seemed nice and looked about her age. “I’ll... think about it.”
He grinned and handed her the last blanket. “Just don’t make me hold a crow pose until you decide.”
A shadow passed by the door, and stilled. Her gaze shifted over Noah’s shoulder. Greyson stood in the empty doorway of the studio.
What was he doing here? As always, he glared at any man within ten feet of her.
“Well, it was great seeing you, Noah.” She didn’t know why she made the effort to touch Noah’s arm, but something inside her liked provoking Greyson. She supposed he was the bear she couldn’t resist poking.
Noah’s smile widened, and Greyson’s frown deepened. “Yeah, you too, Wren. See you tomorrow.”
“I look forward to it.” He turned and paused when he noticed Greyson watching them. Stowing his rolled yoga mat under his arm, Noah gave the other man a nod. “How ya doin’?”
In typical Greyson fashion, he didn’t say a word. He took Noah’s measure and barely moved out of the doorway when the other man exited.
Wren rolled her eyes, and as soon as Noah was gone, she turned her back on the entrance, on him. “What do you want, Grey?”
His cold stare followed Noah until the other man fully left the building. “Who was that?”
“A student. Why are you here?”
She typically wasn’t so short with him, but she’d had her fill of Hawthorne men today.
“What’s up your ass?”
“Can’t a girl be busy? Believe it or not, I am trying to run a business on my own.” Under her breath, she grumbled. “Not everyone has an inheritance waiting for them.” The moment the words left her mouth, she grew sick with regret. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I just said that.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not—“
“Drop it.”
She looked up at him, hating that she said something so cold to her friend who could lose his father at any moment. Pressing a hand to her stomach, she looked up at him apologetically. “That was a terrible thing for me to say.”
“It was true.”
The way Soren and Logan made it sound that morning, she wasn’t so sure. “How is your dad?”
“The same.”
How foolish to think Greyson might actually open up to her. Same old games. Same old Greyson. Her regret faded. “Well, if there’s nothing you need, I really have to get back to work.” Without waiting for approval, she pushed past him to collect the rest of the blankets.
She was annoyed. Greyson could blame his brothers for that. But this visit had nothing to do with their bullshit. “I came to get your shovels.”
She paused and glanced back at him, a divot forming between her brows. “My shovels?”
“Yeah. They’re overdue for a sharpening.”
“Shovels need to be sharpened?”
“It helps.” The automatic doors chimed as another guest left through the main entrance at the end of the hall, letting another draft into the building.
“Aren’t you cold?” His gaze drifted to the hem of her cropped top that hung slightly off her shoulder, and tied at the waist. He fixated on that sliver of tan skin and frowned.
“You’re dressed for summer. Where are your shoes? ”
She patted his chest as she breezed past him to the closet. “It’s a yoga class, Grey. What I’m wearing is perfectly normal.”
“So…who was that guy?” The front door chimed again, and another draft curled past his legs.
Wren pulled a broom from the closet and started sweeping the studio. “What guy?”
“The one who walked out of here like he just found religion.” He nodded toward the hallway, jaw tense.
“Noah?” She laughed, light and dismissive. “He’s harmless.”
Greyson glared at the empty corridor and walked further into the studio. His eyes didn’t leave her body as she swept the sunlit sprinkle of dust into a pile.
A flicker of heat crawled up his spine. He really needed to get laid. Jerking off wasn’t cutting it anymore.
Clearing his throat, he forced himself to look away. “Where did you say the shovels are?”
“I didn’t. I’m sure my shovels are fine, Grey.”
“We’ve got another eight inches of snow coming. It’ll make cleanup easier.”
She stopped sweeping and hung her weight on the broom handle. “My shovels aren’t your responsibility.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. On some level, he always felt responsible for Wren—and her shovels. “It’s no trouble.”
“From what I hear, you’ve got problems of your own to deal with. Your brothers told me all about your situation when they nearly ran me over this morning.” She moved closer and lowered her voice. “You sure you’re here for my shovels, Grey? Or are you looking for something else?”
His cock twitched and he took an intentional step forward, close enough that her head had to tip back to look at him and looming enough that there was no mistaking his position.
“Just the shovels,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
She held his stare, wisps of sandy blonde hair framing her face.
How the hell did she get all that hair into that knotted chaos on her head she called a bun?
A faint sheen of sweat clung to her skin, and he breathed deep, resenting the scent of eucalyptus and cedar coming from the steaming diffuser in the corner that masked her familiar fragrance.
The tiny brown flecks in her blue-green eyes mesmerized him as they stood, locked in a challenging stare. Too close. He stepped back and he swore a look of disappointment flashed in her eyes.
“The shovels are in the shed.” She tipped the broom handle against his chest and let it go. “I’ll grab them.”
“I can get them.” He was at the back door in two strides, propping the broom against the wall.
“I said I’ll grab them.”
He scowled at her tiny feet. “You’re not wearing shoes.”
“So.”
“So, have a little common sense.”
“The ground won’t hurt me. It’s actually good for you to stand barefoot outside.”
“Maybe in summer.”
“In any month.”
He was not falling for her nature mysticism. “It’s twenty-six degrees out, Wren. That’s how people get sick.”
She groaned and pushed past him, but he yanked her back before she could set foot out the door. Her eyes narrowed and locked with his.
“Greyson.”
He wasn’t thinking about the shovels anymore. “Don’t be stubborn.”