His eyes narrow slightly. “You okay?”
“Gram’s here.”
He smirks, glancing over at her. “I noticed.”
He glances toward Gram, proudly standing there with her hip jutting out, showing off her sequined ass slogan. “Why does her ass say namaste?”
Harper practically falls over laughing.
“Because she’s Gram.”
She rolls her mat and steps closer to us. “So, when’s the wedding?” she asks, her voice echoing around the room.
“Gram!” I shout, mortified.
But she has no shame. “What? I’m already looking at leopard print bridesmaid dresses. They’re slimming.”
Daltyn looks visibly uncomfortable. He runs a hand through his hair, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
“You ready?” he asks me.
Meanwhile, every woman in a ten-foot radius looks ready to risk it all.
“Yes,” I squeak. “Let’s get out of here.”
I grab his arm, pulling him behind me like I’m fleeing a burning building.
So much for finding peace through yoga.
43
DALTYN
The gravel crunches beneath our boots as Peyton and I walk slowly down one of the trails winding through the back of my property.
The mountains are exploding with color. Orange. Gold. Deep red.
Leaves drift lazily through the chilly afternoon air while the scent of pine and damp earth settles around us. Somewhere deeper in the trees, water rushes softly through the creek cutting across the edge of the property.
Peyton tips her head back slightly, staring up through the canopy of trees. “It’s ridiculously pretty here.”
I glance over at her.
The cold turned her cheeks pink twenty minutes ago.
Now she looks like something out of one of those stupid autumn Pinterest posts women obsess over online. Especially wearing my flannel.
“It’s quieter this far back,” I tell her.
“I can see why you like it.”
The problem is, I liked the isolation before Peyton.
Now? The silence only feels right when she’s standing beside me.
Which is deeply fucking concerning.
We continue down the trail slowly while fallen leaves crunch beneath our boots.
