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  She considered ducking into the bathroom for a shower, but she needed to know whether she owed the man an apology for passing out cold. “Did I finish all the gin?”

  He smiled but left his sunglasses in place. “I doubt you could have finished all the gin. Neil just made a grocery run to the warehouse club.”

  Exhaling, she remained by the door and shaded her eyes against the sunlight. “I mean, I’m pretty sure the movie was supposed to be the aperitif and we were supposed to be the main course.”

  “Does that make me the side of meat?”

  “Not exactly,” she said, “but I definitely had thoughts of licking you clean when we left the food truck.”

  His hands stilled. “You fell asleep.”

  “You should have woken me up.” She took a step toward him.

  He grinned. “I tried.”

  Two steps and a smile. “Next time, try harder,” she said.

  “That type of encouragement would be off-putting to most men.” He turned to face her and ran a hand through his hair.

  She stopped and eyed his orange juice, wishing the man had carried two glasses up the stairs so she could be sure he was waiting for her. Maybe he changed his mind about what he wants. She recalled Rikard’s advice. Maybe this is just his private space. The newness of their arrangement felt like a thin veneer of history separating her particle-board enclave from her nights on the street. She cleared her throat. “Well, thanks for being so chivalrous.”

  He took off his glasses and the intensity of his gaze stole her breath. That’s the man I should have seen when reality pulled me from my sleep. She wondered if his rigid posture had less to do with the comfort of the couch and more to do with the possibility of self-restraint. “In fact, let the record state that I’m all in.”

  “All in?” He rose and closed the distance between them, reaching for her and pulling her close, his hand anchoring their connection at the small of her back.

  Wylie looked up and forgot about the practicalities of bathing and maintaining appearances. She felt the steady assurance of his drive as he’d strode into the commissary, issuing orders and calling for updates like he owned the place. She trusted the type of man who noticed a burn wound and asked her if she had found time to address it after her flubbing her way through a night inside the food truck. “Yeah. Quite frankly, Nolan, I’m ravenous.”

  His gaze softened as he focused on her lips. “Last night you told me I tasted like a turmeric-laced mojito.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That sounds disgusting.”

  “I know. I half-carried you up the stairs and put you to bed.”

  “How many drinks did I have?”

  He kissed the side of her neck and she closed her eyes. “Just two, unless you and Antonia were taking shots while I took orders.”

  Wylie tilted her head, hoping he would take more than the simple liberty of a warm kiss. “We weren’t. I meant to say that you taste like citrus, mint and spice, all at the same time. Like something fresh and cool I never expected to find.”

  “Hmm.” The sound reverberated in his chest as he pulled back. “I never expected to find you either.”

  She cocked her head. “Give me fifteen minutes in the shower and your tongue can play hide and seek on every last inch of me.”

  “Tempting offer,” he said before he released her, “but I have an appointment with John and Patty.”

  Frowning at the growing distance between them, she adjusted the towel separating her pride and her desire to feel the heat of his skin. I’m laying myself out on a platter. Everything’s been so easy until this week. Life has just fallen into place. She smoothed the front of her towel. “And I have a job interview.”

  “So we’ll reconvene?”

  “Sure.” She turned to leave and smiled. “Nothing says ‘young love’ like the pink stain of a hickey.”

  “And you’re offering to give me one?”

  “No, I’m pointing out that not everything you see is as simple as it seems.” She winked. “Give my regards to Jonathan and Patricia.”

  * * * *

  The strip mall studio building catered to Warm Seas’ local yoga clients, but it also served as the hub for a network of studios scattered throughout the basin. The red-tile roof and cream stucco could have occupied any west coast street corner, but Wylie saw potential behind the tinted windows and steady stream of customers walking through the door. She reread the company’s job description and repeated the words that could connect her skillset with the benefits of full-time employment.

  Warm Seas LLC seeks a beautiful, experienced, spiritually grounded and lovely Yoga Instructor for our network of Los Angeles studios. Our Warm Seas Yoga Instructors are responsible for providing yoga instruction through a variety of transformative, impactful, entertaining and educational classes. Instructors will lead group classes in a safe, enjoyable and positive environment that promotes member wellness, engagement and transformative bliss.

  “I can be lovely and transformative.” She adjusted the vents as the idling SUV struggled to keep up with the demands of the sunbaked asphalt. “We’ll just gloss over ‘spiritually grounded’. Who the hell can claim that with a straight face?”

  The clock ticked closer to the time of her interview, but she stayed in the car, working up the courage and self-confidence to win over a hiring manager with anecdotes of entrepreneurship and examples of how she liked trouble-shooting poses.

  Her phone pinged with an incoming email and she clicked the app to soothe her nerves.

  Dear Students and Aspiring Instructors,

  We are canceling our classes for the next forty-eight hours. Please stay posted for further details. Thank you.

  Cynthia

  Wylie blinked to force the words to rearrange themselves into more meaningful sentences. What is this ‘we’ business? Her phone pinged again.

  Join us at our temporary location, The Setting Sun Spiritual Center. Existing membership or class passes can be used at this location. New to our studio? Drop in for only $20 per class!

  She exhaled and flipped to a messaging app to contact Cynthia and get information about the certification program. Before she could compose her text, she realized she had five minutes before the start of her interview and scrambled to get out of the SUV and arrange her wrap dress. It’s just a hiccup, she told herself.

  The hiring manager looked like he’d skipped every yoga offering for the past decade. His belly protruded past his belt and his shoulders slumped with the added weight left by decades of computer work and no desire to stretch. He gestured toward the office chair reserved for guests and settled back behind his desk. “Take a seat. I reviewed your website and client reviews. Very impressive.”

  She beamed, pleased to find her footing and get the interview off to a good start. “I’m very proud of what I’ve accomplished and have a lot of ideas to enhance the class offerings at Warm Seas.”

  He nodded and picked up her resume before she could list her ideas. “It says you’re pursuing accreditation with Cynthia in Playa Vista?”

  Swallowing, she glanced around the room and wondered who had picked out the motivational posters. I hope there’s no bad blood between them. She took a deep breath to center her thoughts on the interview at hand. “Cynthia and her staff host a well-received accreditation class equal to two hundred hours of instruction. I’ve already completed forty online hours and the bulk of my classes. I have about forty hours left in the classroom to meet the national certification requirement.”

  The man set down her resume. “But Cynthia’s studio is closing.”

  She shook her head, confident there had been a misunderstanding. “Oh, no. I think they’re just relocating or consolidating or something.”

  He raised his eyebrows and her phone pinged again.

  Dear Yoga Family,

  Our hearts feel heavy as we announce we will not be reopening The Setting Sun Spiritual Center. Please know this was not an easy decision and we would like to tak
e a moment to address the many rumors flying around town.

  For a myriad of reasons, we fell behind on our Playa Vista rent. The owners of the building terminated our lease amid negotiations. They gave us a few days to vacate, but at no time did they serve a legal eviction.

  It has been our most sincere pleasure to serve and share the benefits of yoga with the Los Angeles community for the past decade. The friendships we made mean as much to me as the life-changing moments etched in our memories. We want to thank every soul who walked through our doors to experience the benefits of a daily yoga practice.

  The light in me bows and honors the light in you.

  Namaste

  Wylie buried the rage she felt and took a deep breath. She bit her lips to compose her thoughts before she met the hiring manager’s curious expression. “How many people knew this was coming?”

  The man shrugged. “It’s not the first time she’s fallen behind on her rent. We’ve hired a few of her past instructors and people talk.”

  “But it’s a national accreditation program,” Wylie said, “I’m sure the credit will transfer to another studio.”

  He handed her back her resume. “And I’m sure we’ll have more job openings when you get it all straightened out. Until then, we can’t hire you as an unlicensed professional.”

  She stood and scanned the file cabinets stacked with paperwork. “Would you have hired me before this debacle?”

  “Probably,” the man said. “Most of your students said you were quite lovely.”

  * * * *

  Monument Street looked desolate when Wylie parked her SUV in front of the commune. Without the street-side Mercedes and the clutter of neighborhood vehicles, she could almost believe the house belonged to her. She eyed the spacious rooftop deck crowning the three levels. I don’t care how many neighbors are pissed off about that feature. It’s built. Right now, I just want somewhere quiet and safe to be alone with views of the Pacific. I want to pretend my mess of a day was nothing but a bad dream.

  She hung her new parking tag from the rearview mirror and sighed, grateful she had accomplished one thing, despite the rest of her plans crumbling around her. The house code let her onto the ground floor and she climbed the stairs to the main floor, listening for signs of occupation. The last thing I need is small talk with Neil and Jack, but I would settle for a cocktail with Antonia. Then she remembered the frustrating loneliness and rejection of waking up alone. Maybe I should lay off the cocktails.

  A cluster of apples sat on the table near the European kitchen. She picked one up and admired the main level. Whoever designed this house has style. She followed the open floor plan as it flowed from prep space to dining and living rooms. Who am I kidding? This kind of place will never be mine.

  Then a breeze caught her attention and she glanced toward the large sliding glass doors. They stood open, creating the seamless indoor-outdoor living space Nolan had advertised. He sat in a patio chair, shirtless and facing the infinity pool. A chilled wine bucket and an open bottle of wine sat beside him. Steam rose from the heated pool water and hovered beneath the fog-tinged blanket of the spring air. Who gets the other glass?

  She imagined the indulgence of slipping into that warm pool, naked as the sun set over the Pacific. Nolan would walk down the steps and join her, wordlessly pulling her close as he claimed her lips.

  ‘Hard day, honey?’ he would ask as he reached for her.

  ‘Shh,’ she would reply, ‘let’s not talk about it.’

  Instead, she strolled outside and took a bite of her apple, the loud crunch announcing her presence. “Well, the weather’s nice enough.”

  Nolan laughed and nodded. “I wondered when you would get home.”

  She remained standing, wary of getting too close. “What did you do with the other roommates?”

  He shrugged. “Various commitments.”

  Wylie’s gaze narrowed. “Real or manufactured?”

  He rose and faced her. “Does it matter?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve had a shitty day. I’m not sure you want to deal with the fallout.”

  The memory of sitting on the diamond plated steps of the food truck felt more realistic than the pleasure of coming home to sun-heated pool decking. She scanned the mansions dotting the hillside as Santa Monica faded into the glow of the ocean. This is just a game of pretending. What happened to the other man who could strip me naked with a glance?

  He poured another glass of wine and handed it to her. “I’m fresh out of gin-and-tonics.”

  She sipped the crisp white wine. “After a day like today, I might need tequila.”

  “Well, I’m sure we find some downstairs. At least sit down and tell me what’s got you all riled up.”

  She sank into a chair, grateful for his intent and his ability to regroup. “Do you know what ‘namaste’ means?”

  He sipped his wine. “Session’s up? Pay on your way out?”

  She smiled and sipped her wine, letting the cool tingle of the alcohol relax her senses. “When I was in high school, I assumed it had some deep religious connotation. Like, it sounded authentic and holy when the wizened man who taught my high school yoga elective said the word. Then I started going to studio classes and made friends with a girl named Natalia. She told me it means ‘goodbye’.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Goodbye, person I respect.”

  He laughed. “Fair enough.”

  She looked at the hillside and frowned. “But people don’t use it as a simple signoff. You see it everywhere now. T-shirts. Coffee cups. Nama-stay in bed. Namaslay. Namaste, Bitches. Who would buy a T-shirt that said ‘Goodbye, bitches’?”

  “I can think of several people,” he said.

  She looked at him and laughed, the moment releasing some of the steam and frustration that made her feel restless. “But they don’t know what they’re saying when they indulge in their little moment of cultural appropriation. It’s like assuming that everyone from South Asia speaks the same language. Namaste literally means ‘I bend to you’, like you’d bend to a god. Hindi speakers use it as a respectful greeting, but the rest of the world slaps it on coffee cups like the bus map.”

  “Did someone say it at the wrong time?”

  “No, worse,” she said. “Cindy”—she waited for a reaction, but his expression remained relaxed. He toyed with his beard, content to let her to finish her story—“namaste’d me and the rest of her studio clients with a poetic, meaningless email. Instead of apologizing for bad business decisions, she sugarcoated her studio closing with a bunch of yoga-ese crap about good intentions.”

  “She closed down her studio with zero notice?”

  Wylie swallowed another mouthful of wine. “The divine light in me bows to the divine light within you, but not enough to respect your time or your assets.”

  He offered to refill her glass.

  She shook her head. “I’d like to take that divine spark and light a fire under Cynthia’s ass. Without her, I don’t have accreditation, I don’t have a chance at job interviews, and I’ll probably have to throw in the towel and retreat to my parents’ house.” She looked up from her glass. “That’s not what I was planning to do with my life.”

  “Are you still thinking tequila?”

  She stared at him. “How can you absorb all that crap I said and just let it roll off your back?”

  “I learned to separate the things I can and cannot change.”

  Wylie rolled her eyes. “Please don’t tell me you have a magnet with the serenity prayer.”

  “What?”

  She thought of her mom’s coping mechanisms and the way they had bonded over a 2003 animated film. Her mom had nodded in the darkness when a little blue tang fish reminded them to ‘just keep swimming’. “Can’t you take a moment to be bad when things don’t work out?” she asked Nolan.

  He reached for her hand, waiting until she set aside her empty glass to pull her into his lap. “I’m not big into yoga or prayers,
but I know how to define a problem and look for solutions. It sucks that Cynthia closed her studio, but Modesto will still have a line of customers on Monday morning.”

  He traced the line of her collarbone and she shivered, wondering how the soft sweep of skin could capture her attention.

  “But I’ve still got a lot of options and so do you. So, we can spend the rest of the night researching yoga stuff.”

  She laughed.

  His hand dipped and skimmed the edge of her breast. “Or we can accept that Cynthia’s an idiot and move on.”

  She held his gaze, feeling the warmth of his arousal beneath her leg. “I can see the appeal of what’s on tap.”

  He nodded and reached for his wine, taking a sip. “And what is that?”

  “Satisfaction,” she said, meeting his gaze and looping her hands around his neck. “I’ve had a shitty day and I’m perfectly willing to swap relaxation for satisfaction.”

  “What about the rules?” he asked.

  She inhaled, forced to choose between being right and being happy. Could she suspend the frustration of the day for the pleasure in his touch? His polished edge and cool authority had grabbed her attention from the start, but the moment their lips had touched amid the chaos of the Social Club, she’d known she wanted him. Who else could shill sweet potatoes, rebuff my advances and still have the audacity to tease me with ‘Mini Mako’? It doesn’t matter how long it takes me to complete my certification and get my life back on track. Boundaries seem irrelevant when life keeps threatening to collapse around me.

  “We’ll let them slip. This is just”—she waved her hands and glanced at the pool—“a release. No need for pretenses and cinematic diversions.”

  He laughed and set down his wine glass. “Is that what we call it when we suspend the rules?”

  She shifted, watching his eyes widen as she licked her lips. “Organic attraction? Just call a spade a spade. I’m down for calling it pleasure.”