“Partner poses?” I whisper to Julie.
She’s trying not to laugh. “Don’t worry; I’ll be gentle.”
“Liar.”
The first pose involves sitting back-to-back, arms linked, trying to stand up together. It requires complete trust and coordination. Julie and I fail spectacularly the first time, both of us laughing as we tumble sideways.
“You’re supposed to push back,” she says.
“You’re supposed to communicate,” I counter.
“I’m communicating with my back pressure.”
“That’s not a thing.”
Jessie appears above us. “Less talking, more breathing together. Feel one another. Quit fighting it.”
We try again. This time, I focus on matching Julie’s breathing, feeling the rise and fall of her back against mine. We stand smoothly, perfectly synchronized.
“Better,” Jessie says. “Now hold the tree pose while maintaining contact.”
The next hour is a special kind of torture. Not because the poses are challenging, but because every move requires me to touch Julie. Her hands are on my waist for balance. My palms press against hers for warrior pose. The warmth of her skin when we move through flowing sequences does something to me.
At one point, she’s in downward dog, and I’m supposed to place my hands on her hips to help deepen the stretch. The position is innocent, therapeutic even, but the way she looks back at me with those green eyes makes it feel like foreplay.
“Breathe, Nick,” she whispers, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
“Trying,” I manage.
Jerry—an older guy who’s partnered with his girlfriend, Margaret—chuckles from the next mat. As Julie walks away to grab some water for us, he chats with me.
“Jessie’s classes have saved more relationships than counseling in this town.”
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“Forces you to pay attention to each other,” Margaret says. “Can’t fake connection when you’re trying not to fall over.”
By the time class ends, I’m sweating, and Julie’s face is flushed pink. We’re lying in final savasana, side by side on our mats, pinkies touching. The sunrise has painted the sky in brilliant oranges and golds, and I can’t remember the last time I felt at peace.
“That concludes class,” Jessie says, then dismisses us with a series of breathing techniques.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Julie says as we roll up our mats.
“I had a good time,” I admit.
As we help pick up the accessories we were using, Mrs. Caldwell approaches us with her phone out. “You two are just adorable. Mind if I get a picture? For the book club newsletter.”
“The book club has a newsletter?” I ask.
“Oh, honey, the book club has everything,” she says, already snapping photos.
“The Fairy Godmothers need to stop.” Julie grabs my hand and leads me away.
“That will never happen,” Mrs. Caldwell says with a laugh.
“Breakfast after that intense session?” Julie asks.
“I’d love to,” I admit, not wanting our day to end so quickly.
