My reprieve is over. There’ll be no more sleep tonight.
ELEVEN
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SAM
The pounding on the closed door at the top of the studio stairs comes ten minutes after the end of Yolanda’s class. Dragging myself off the living room couch, I open it to her smiling face.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she squeals, shaking a tiny slip of paper at me.
Taking it, I see my contact details and realise it’s been torn off the advertisement I pinned to the Community Noticeboard of the local shopping centre. “You know, these are supposed to be for people who want to hire the studio.”
“There were plenty left,” she scoffs. “Besides, having a few missing makes you look more popular.”
Only three days have passed since the newspaper version of the ad came out and I’ve already been contacted by three interested people. That’s popular enough for me. “How did you see this?”
“I put notices for my yoga classes up there every month,” she tells me. “Which you’d know if you’d done it before.”
“Fair enough.” Turning, I trudge into the kitchen. “How was class?”
“Blessedly cool.” She drops into her usual chair with a delighted sigh as I start making tea. “Thanks for fixing the air conditioning.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, proud I managed it with a minimum of fuss. The repairman was friendly and the problem less expensive than I’d feared.
Yolanda gasps and I glance over my shoulder. She’s peering at the notebook I left on the table. “Are you taking on more students as well?”
Leaping to her side, I snap the book shut. “You’re a snoop.”
“You’re the one who keeps leaving stuff all over the table,” she points out. “Don’t you have an office?”
“Yes, but it’s a mess.” That, and being in there reminds me how much I’m not doing. Which makes me edgy and unable to concentrate. “I get more done in here.”
“What made you decide to take on more students?” she asks, grabbing a biscuit from the plate I put on the table. “I thought twelve was some kind of spiritual cut-off for you.”
“Not exactly.” Writing an ad to promote my classes is on this week’s list ofthings Sam must do. Despite agonising over the wording all morning, I’m still unhappy with the result. It’s hard to invite people into your bubble when you keep wanting to add a disclaimer about excluding them again if they give you the heebie-jeebies.
When I openedSam’s Sanctuary, soon after finishing my professional training, I only had a few students per class, which was perfect. It gave me time to get used to running the classes without my brain fritzing out on me. As word spread, more students joined. That was tougher. There were bad days. There were worse days.
Capping the classes at twelve was the right thing to do at the time. Getting that far had exhausted me. I needed time to familiarise myself with my students and get better at handling the larger groups. But I should have started growing the classes again once my equilibrium was restored. I’ve been meaning to for a while now. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Tristan’s help has been the kick up the butt I needed to get moving. Adding more students is unnerving, but it won’t break me. Tristan’s right, I can be brave when I need to be.
“I’ve decided it’s time to increase the numbers again,” I tell Yolanda. “I have plenty of space and I want to help more people.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Sam?” Yolanda teases, but then her brow creases in concern. “You aren’t taking on too much, are you? You look worn out.”
“Oh my lord, I am so worn out,” I admit, rubbing my hands over my face. “Change is hard. But I’m determined to follow Tristan’s plan.”
She smiles. “This Tristan dude must be super hot.”
A grin sneaks onto my face as I fall back in my chair. “He is so gorgeous I can barely stand to look at him.”
Her eyes widen in excitement. “Seriously? Has anything happened between you?”
A jolt of heat runs through me as I remember the feel of his lips, his body, the hard length of him pressing against me. “I kissed him, and he kissed me back.” My excitement is followed by a regretful sigh. “Then he stopped and then… nothing.”
Tristan was subdued after we went down to the studio last Friday night. “I’m not sure I’m up to pretending tonight,” he said as the other students started to arrive.
“You won’t be,” I assured him. “Tonight you’ll be playing theas ifgame.” He responded with a predictably blank expression. “You’ll listen to my instructions as if you’re planning to follow them. Then you won’t.”
