“Ouch!” I exclaim at a spreading purple bruise above his temple.
“Does it look that bad?”
He reddens sheepishly, leaning back on the den couch to press a small pouch of frozen vegetables on the bruise.
“What happened? Did Bonnie sucker punch you?”
“Nah... I just got it when I was out.”
“Out doing what?”
“Working out. CrossFit.” But his face deepens to a cranberry red.
I smirk. “You know, you’re a terrible liar. Come on... how’d you really get it?”
“Okay... okay... it’s ayogainjury.” With an endearing grin, he pulls the pouch off. “Ginger always wanted me to join her in yoga class. She used to complain that I never did anythingnewwith her. She’d been pestering me about it for some time saying that I wasn’t interested in anything other than lawyering, hunting, and fishing. She bought me a yoga mat last year, but I never even took it out of the package.”
“What was holding you back?” I ask, feeling every bit the hypocrite as I never took those dance lessons.
He shrugs. “Cowardice, maybe. Like what if I pass wind when I’m in downward dog?”
“Everybody does that at least once.”
“Or what if I fall on my butt doing one of those eagle poses? I feel like a dang fool standing there with my knee bent up thatway. But I suppose Ginger was right that I am a little set in my ways. Tonight was my first class, and ten minutes in, I pitched forward during some leg-up forward bend.”
I’m laughing at that point, unable to see Henry in yoga leggings, flowing through all those movements.
He grins again. Bonnie comes up, wagging her tail, and he hands her a chewy treat.
“Are you going to go back?” I ask.
“Yeah—I guess so. It can’t get much worse, right?”
“Unless you loudly pass wind during Savasana.”
He grins again. “What’s going on with you?”
I’m still a little giddy from the afternoon with Dansworth, but for reasons I don’t completely understand (or want to admit), I don’t want to talk about him with Henry.
“It looks like the book and movie sequels are a go.”
“Well, that’s fantastic, Lizzie!”
“I’m still in shock. It’s been... well, it’s just been an exciting and unusual day.”
“You know what this means?”
“What?”
“I’m going to have to read the book. I never read anything but legal crap—briefs and case histories. Now I’m doing yoga, so why not add good oldWuthering Heights?I probably need to dive into that one before I read your book. At least I’ll get to know the characters, like your little hurricane’s namesake.”
I chuckle, unable to see Henry readingWuthering Heightsout on his fishing boat.
We chat a bit more about lighter topics. A new fishing pole he bought, Ms. Fernsby’s amazing cooking. We don’t mention Philip, but I feel him on the margins of everything between us. We both know Philip would be ridiculously proud of me. We know we wouldn’t even be friends now if it weren’t for him.I’m attracted to Henry, and I love his company. But I’m also confused. Where can this possibly go?
Soon after the phone call, I go to sleep.
I’m in the front hall of the Azalea Dream at dusk. The hall glows with hazy twilight, the long, damask drapes drawn over the windows. Waning light slips in, streaking across Mirabel’s polished hardwood floors, her pricey oriental vases and the portraits lining the hall.
