I plate the food, sliding it toward her.
“Eat. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
She eyes it suspiciously. “Is this part of your…European trend phase?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Very progressive. Breakfast. This one’s a Swiss trend. Unlike those blue Swedish yoga pants.”
She huffs a laugh despite herself.
I lean back against the counter, watching her take a bite. God, this is a bad idea.
“So,” I say, casual, “barbecue tomorrow.”
“Right. You going for sure?”
“I’ve got the day off,” I add. “Figured I’d show up. Maybe not in yoga pants this time.”
She nearly chokes. “Please don’t.”
“No promises.”
She sets her fork down, studying me now.
“You’re…tense.”
I raise a brow. “Am I?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Your shoulders are practically up to your ears. You okay?”
“That’s just my natural state.”
“Mm.” She steps closer. “I could fix that.”
Oh, this is dangerous. I stifle a chuckle. She knowsexactlywhat she’s doing.
“You’re so hot and cold, you know that?”
She giggles. “Maybe I like to keep you on your toes.”
“And how exactly would you do that? Fix my tension, I mean.”
“Yoga,” she says simply. “Basic stretches. Relaxation.”
I huff a laugh. “You’re prescribing yoga right now?”
“I’m offering help,” she says. “You seem like you need it. Might be good for your swing.”
I tilt my head.
“Alright,” I say. “Show me.”
Her eyes flicker like she didn’t expect me to agree that fast.
Too late now. She steps behind me, hands light on my shoulders.
“Stand straight.”
I do.
