Chapter 18
My alarm blares, and I dive for my phone before it can wake the sleeping beast on the couch. Not that it matters—Caleb could sleep through the apocalypse.
The memory of last night sits heavy in my chest. Virginia in his lap. The way she'd known how to touch him, how to make him respond. How she'd turned flirting into an art form while I'd fled the room like some kind of startled deer.
Not because I was jealous.
Not exactly.
It's more about how easy she made it look. How natural. As if desire were something to wield instead of something to carefully pack away. As if wanting didn't terrify me.
For one wine-drunk moment, I'd tried to mirror that energy with Carter.
Attempted to be bold, to lean into his space the way Virginia would.
But each move was too precise, and every laugh rang hollow.
Amelia's always telling me to be more daring, to "put myself out there," but there was something in it that didn't sit right.
The bedsprings creak as I push myself up, and—oh.
Caleb's sprawled on the couch, blanket shoved to his feet, wearing nothing but boxers.
His broad shoulders eat up most of the space, his chest and arms soft but solid in that completely unfair way some guys pull off without trying.
Dark blond hair trails from his navel into his waistband, and I force my eyes away before they can follow it further.
That crush I thought I'd buried years ago stirs, dangerous and familiar. The one I've been shoving down so long it's become reflex. Because sometimes, in moments like this I remember why sixteen-year-old me fell so hard.
"No," Caleb mumbles, face scrunching adorably. "That's . . . not how you make pizza."
The familiar sight of him sleep-talking about work should snap me out of this trance. Should make me stop staring. Stop wanting. Stop imagining the heat of his skin, the weight I ache to sink beneath. But it doesn't. Not even close.
"Pineapple is a crime," he mutters, turning his face into the cushion.
My body burns, desire a living thing under my skin. I want him. Have always wanted him. But girls like me don't end up with guys like Caleb Miller. We linger at the edges, invisible, while they fall for someone else. They always pick wild over steady. Sparks over softness.
Anyone but us.
The bathroom light is stark after the soft morning glow, and I'm halfway into my yoga clothes when the memory blindsides me.
I'd drifted awake in the night, disoriented by the unfamiliar shadows.
The shower was still running, steam curling under the door.
Then his voice . . . a low groan that melted straight through me.
And maybe—this is where it veered into full-blown delusion—I'd heard my name.
I'd stared at the shower, my heart performing somersaults in my chest. My half-asleep brain must've twisted the sound of rushing water into something filthy. Because the alternative? That Caleb had been in there, thinking about . . .
Stop.
I'm either severely sleep-deprived or Virginia's lap dance broke something fundamental in my psyche. Because there is no version of reality where Caleb Miller groans my name in the shower. Not when girls like Virginia are practically throwing themselves at him.
The mountains rise behind our neat row of yoga mats, still misty in the golden light, and there's just enough humidity in the air to make my hair start to curl. It would be peaceful if not for—
"Center your chakras, ladies!" Kristal twirls between our mats in head-to-toe pastel Lululemon.
Her blond hair swishes with each movement, the embodiment of some bizarre Barbie–Buddha hybrid at sunrise yoga.
"Feel the universe flowing through your root chakra!
Channel that hangover into spiritual growth! "
Seriously, is there anything this woman can't do?
Wedding planner, yoga instructor, crisis manager, and I'm pretty sure I saw her fixing the industrial coffee maker earlier. Whatever they're paying her to wrangle this chaos, it's not enough.
Virginia lets out a guttural groan from her mat, designer sunglasses firmly in place despite the early hour. Her sleek bob's unraveling by the minute, and she's looking distinctly green around the edges. "If I channel anything through my root chakra right now, we're all going to regret it."
"Hydration is key!" Kristal bounces over. "Mind-body connection! Spirit-soul alignment! And remember to breathe through your—"
"If you say 'third eye' one more time," Virginia lurches forward, dry heaving, "I'm going to hurl my breakfast all over you."
Next to her, Dixie flows through poses with precision, her highlighted ponytail swinging.
"Y'all just need to embrace the morning energy!
This is nothing compared to my old dance team days.
Back when I was with the Panthers . . ." she pauses, making sure everyone's listening, because apparently, being an ex-NFL cheerleader is still her entire personality five years later, ".
. . we'd do these sunrise conditioning sessions that would make this look like naptime. "
Sarah, somehow looking fresh and put-together despite the hour, flows through each pose with effortless grace, and I follow along easily, grateful for all my hot yoga sessions. There's something grounding about the familiar movements, even if the company is . . . different.
"Beautiful form, Ivy!" Kristal beams. "Such natural alignment!"
Virginia scoffs from behind me. "Of course she does yoga. Probably communes with crystals too."
The cattiness in her voice yanks me straight back to high school—whispers behind locker doors, fake smiles and petty comments. At least then, I had Daphne and Amelia to roll my eyes with.
Mary watches from the corner of her mat, her smile a practiced curve that never touches her gaze.
"Sarah always had a knack for doing everything just right," she says, saccharine-sweet.
"I'm sure the wedding will be flawless too.
Though I did hear the florist raised a few concerns about the budget. "
"The flowers are gorgeous," Sarah says firmly, but I pick up on the tension edging her shoulders.
"What happened with you and Caleb last night, Virginia?" Dixie asks as she flows into another pose. "One minute you're giving him a private lap dance, the next he's practically vaulting over the coffee table to escape."
I hide my grin in a forward fold.
"Well," Virginia announces, her sunglasses doing little to mask the bruised ego, "I suppose Caleb's cute, if you're into that broad-but-soft thing. Personally, I like my men with muscle that wasn't earned chasing snacks to the couch."
Something hot and unfamiliar rises in my chest—pure rage—and my fingers twitch with the urge to tackle her. Because Caleb is good looking. "You don't know anything about him."
"Aww, look at that." Virginia's voice drips with poison. "Caleb's little bestie coming to his defense. Tell me, does he even know you're in love with him?"
My entire body goes rigid.
"Oh my god." She laughs. "I've known you both for less than twenty-four hours and it's just so obvious . . . and sad."
I open my mouth but nothing comes out.
"Oh honey." She leans in, all faux intimacy, her voice dripping with fake sympathy.
"You're sweet, Ivy. The kind of woman men trust. Lean on.
Confide in. But let's be honest, you need to let go of that little fantasy where Caleb suddenly realizes you're it.
Guys like him don't wake up one day and decide to settle for safe.
They want the chase. The thrill." Her eyes flick over me, slow and surgical.
"Not the girl who's just . . . there when it's easy. "
But Caleb isn't like that, I want to argue. He's different. He's . . .
Except he kind of is, isn't he? Every girl he's dated has been what Virginia described—bold, challenging, exciting.
"You met him yesterday," I say, meeting her gaze directly. "You don't get to reduce either of us to whatever convenient stereotype fits your narrative."
Virginia's eyes widen for a split second before her face hardens. "Wow, the kitten has claws. Cute. But tell me—if I'm so wrong, why isn't he with you after all these years?"
Words bubble up in my throat, but Sarah's voice cuts through first.
"That's enough! This isn't high school. And you're not the mean girl queen bee anymore."
Virginia shrugs, all calculated indifference. "Just being honest." She glances at me with feigned sympathy. "Sorry if that was harsh. But someone had to say it." Her lips curve. "Who knows? Maybe I'm wrong."
But her words have already found their mark.
Kristal swoops in with borderline manic cheer. "Let's harness that energy for our salutations!" She stretches high with exaggerated grace. "Feel your feminine power rising, radiant and unstoppable, just like the sun! Awaken your inner goddess!"
I'm still reeling from Virginia's words when Delilah—who's spent more time adjusting her matching set than moving—perks up. "Ivy, don't you do, like, actual rituals and stuff? With crystals and moon water? I looked you up on Instagram last night."
"Sometimes," I manage, grateful for the lifeline even if my voice sounds thin. I ease into the pose, using the familiar movement to ground myself.
"That's so cool." Delilah's eyes light up. "Could you do my birth chart?"
"Focus, ladies!" Kristal claps her hands. "Less chatting, more channeling! Virginia, honey, that's not sun salutations, that's . . . are you okay?"
Virginia's response is a muffled groan as she face-plants onto her mat, and I hate that part of me feels vindicated.
"She's fine," Dixie says cheerfully.
"Breathe through your core!" Kristal pirouettes between us, her endless enthusiasm giving me something else to focus on besides the ache in my chest. "Channel that gossip energy into your solar plexus!"
I concentrate on my breathing, trying to pack away Virginia's observations like I pack away everything else about Caleb.
"And now," Kristal announces, "let's try some partner poses."
Virginia makes the sound of a dying whale. "Touch me and die."
The next twenty minutes blur by in a haze of Kristal's increasingly unhinged motivational speeches, and Virginia's creatively profane commentary.
Mary maintains a steady stream of passive-aggressive jabs at the bride, while Delilah films between poses, muttering about engagement rates and algorithm gods.
And through it all, Sarah holds her serene smile—though I catch the strain tugging at the corners.
Amelia's going to have a field day with this one.
She already spent twenty minutes cackling over my play-by-play of yesterday's lunch from hell, complete with her trademark, "I told you so".
Even Vinnie, who usually tries to see the best in everything, agreed this might be more than I bargained for.
But what am I supposed to do now? Back out and leave Caleb alone with this crew?
At last, the call for savasana comes, and Virginia weeps with relief.
"Remember," Kristal croons, her voice taking on a soft, floaty lilt, "every challenge is an opportunity for growth. Every breath, a gift. Every hangover is—"
"Whoever thought sunrise yoga was a good idea clearly hasn't been to a real wedding," Virginia grumbles from her corpse pose, casting a thinly veiled glare at Sarah. "Whatever happened to brunch and bottomless mimosas?"
Sarah flinches. Death by a thousand paper cuts, all wrapped in designer activewear and fake smiles.