Texting first. Calling feels too desperate, and I'm not desperate… not yet, anyway.
I type fast and send it:
Where are you?
I stare at the screen.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Natalia:They dropped off the keys to my room. I just checked in. I'm heading down to the yoga studio.
I read it twice.
I spin back around, and I'm out the door before I can talk myself out of it.
The yoga studio is tucked into the lower level of the resort, all floor-to-ceiling windows and polished wood floors that smell like eucalyptus and granola farts.
I walked in without knocking.
A dozen people are scattered around the room, rolling out mats, adjusting their overpriced leggings, sipping from metal water bottles like they're preparing for enlightenment instead of an hour of stretching.
And there she is.
Middle of the group, unrolling a purple yoga mat as if she hadn't spent last night in my bed, as if she hadn't left without a word, as if everything's fine.
I walk straight over.
She sees me coming and freezes, eyes going wide.
"What are you doing here?"
"You left," I say, loud enough that the woman next to her glances over. "What was that about?"
Natalia straightens, her jaw tightening. "My room opened up. It seemed like the logical choice."
"Logical."
"Yes."
"Without discussing it with me?"
She glances around, and I can see the panic starting to creep into her shoulders. "Luka," she says, quieter now, like that's going to make me lower my voice.
It won't.
I couldn't give a fuck who's watching. I need an answer. I need to know what the hell is going on in her head after last night. Sure, we said one night, but that was before she slept in my arms all night… because I slept all night without feeling the need to bolt.
"I left a note," she offers, as if the note she left gave any information as to what’s going on in her head or why she left.
"It said,Thank you for giving me a safe place to stay.That’s it. No other information about why you packed up and left. For all I knew, that note implied you left the country."
"I didn’t mean to be elusive, but I don’t understand why you’re upset. You should be happy," she says, forcing a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "This was always supposed to be temporary."
"That’s what we need to talk about."
"Class is about to start, and then I need to get some work done at the café. I'll come by later tonight, and we can talk then."
The instructor, a woman in her forties with the kind of serene smile that makes me want to punch something, clapped her hands together. "Is everyone ready? Do you have your mats?"
