Me:Bold from a man who panic-bought an entire tray of macarons this week.
Logan:Efficient.
Me:Thoughtful.
Logan:Don’t push it, or I’ll withhold your macarons.
Me:Monster.
Logan:Efficientmonster.
Me:You may have a limited vocab, but you’re all heart, Miller.
Logan:Don’t get used to it, Ms. Parnell.
I snort out loud, earning a side-eye from cantaloupe woman. Shoving my phone back into my tote, I try to focus on the avocados and my groceries before meeting Zoe and Charlie. But the truth is obvious: this flutter in my chest has nothing to do with produce.
***
The studio smells like a candle shop and a spice market had a lovechild. Incense curls through the air, silk scarves drape from the ceiling, and a group of women already sit cross-legged on an array of yoga mats and velvet cushions.
Zoe freezes in the doorway. “Lulu. This is not yoga.”
Charlie’s already biting back a laugh, water bottle half-raised and bracing for impact. “Whatisthis?”
I kick off my sneakers, grinning as I roll out my mat between two scarves that definitely came straight from a thrift store. “It’s yoga. With… extras.”
A woman glides to the front of the room in flowing white linen, palms pressed together. “Welcome, sisters. Today, we honor our sacred feminine, our inner goddess, our yoni energy.”
Zoe chokes on air. “Ourwhat?”
Charlie leans in, eyes wide. “Did she just say—”
“Yes,” I whisper, delighted. “She absolutely did.”
The instructor continues, voice soft and reverent. “Your yoni is your portal, your power. To awaken her fully, you must give her a name.”
Zoe snaps her head toward me, whisper-yelling, “Aname? Lulu, I didn’t come here toname my vagina.”
Charlie’s shoulders shake with contained laughter. “Oh my god, I cannotwait to tell Jake about this.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Zoe warns with a shake of her head. “Chase already has a name for mine, and he’sobsessedwith using it.”
That does it for Charlie, who collapses onto her mat. “Of course he does. He probably had it engraved on a mug.”
“Cake, actually.” Zoe crosses her legs neatly, mimicking the instructor. “Red velvet. Buttercream cursive. Very chic.”
I slap both hands over my mouth, squeaking. “No!”
“Yes.” Zoe nods solemnly. “The man’s committed to branding.”
A smug smile tilts my mouth. “You’re welcome.”
Zoe narrows her eyes. “Wait—what do you mean,you’re welcome?”
“Just so you know, I didn’t know what the message was gonna be… But I gave him the bakery name,” I whisper, grinning. “And the idea for buttercream cursive. You think Chase knows where to buy a cake that doesn’t come from Safeway?”
“You’re an absolute menace.” Zoe sighs, turning her head forward and closing her eyes.
