Page 90 of Wells

"Come for me, Cera."

I do. I clench around him and cry out, and he follows a heartbeat later, his whole body shuddering as he comes inside me.

We stay there, breathless and tangled. His forehead rests against mine. His hands loosen on my hips. I run my fingers through his hair and try to remember how lungs work.

This has stopped being a risk. It's something I want to keep.

TWENTY-TWO

Wells

The Fixed Smile: A carnival mask is built to wear one expression no matter what moves beneath it, a face that puts the crowd at ease while hiding its own intent. The trusted face across the booth wore calm and goodwill, steering him gently away from the truth.

I stand on the grass, questioning why I agreed to this and wondering if I can turn around now before Cera spots me.

The sun is already beating down on the back of my neck. The park is wide and flat and completely open, no walls, no screens, no shadows deep enough to matter. Families spread blankets on the lawn. A woman in neon green leggings adjusts a portable speaker. A man in his sixties rolls out a mat near a tree.

Cera talked me into it. She said it was beginner-friendly, gentle, and that I could not possibly embarrass myself. She promised the instructor would not call anyone out and that half the people there would be first-timers just wanting an excuse to do something healthy outside.

I typically avoid healthy and the outdoors whenever possible.

I don't know when that started happening. When showing up for the things she loves became something I wanted to do. I don't want to be the man who watches from a distance or pays for privacy while other people live their lives. I want to be the man who stands on grass with a borrowed mat under his arm because she asked me to.

That doesn't mean my body knows what to do with the openness.

Cera waves from the far edge of the gathering, two mats already unrolled in front of her. She walks toward me, barefoot in leggings and a fitted tank, her hair pulled back in a low bun. The sunlight catches the gold in her brown hair. She looks completely at ease. I look like a man who doesn't belong here.

"You look like you're casing the park for an escape route."

"That would imply there's only one."

She grins and stops in front of me, her gaze sweeping over my chosen yoga outfit. Lifting on her toes, she kisses me on the lips. That makes it all worth it.

"You going to just stand there and look unfairly good on a Saturday morning, or come with me to get ready?"

I ball up my fists and put them in my pockets.

"The sun is aggressive."

"That's called daylight, Stone. It's new for you, I know."

I want to fire something back, but the instructor calls for everyone to settle, and Cera nods toward the open space beside her mat.

"Come on. You'll survive."

I follow her to the spot she claimed and lower myself to one knee. The mat she brought for me is hot pink and has henna-style drawings on it. It looks just like me.

The instructor introduces herself as Marla and tells us all to find a comfortable seat on our mats. I sit, cross my legs, and realize immediately that comfortable is not the word for this position. My hips protest. My knees hover awkwardly off the mat. I adjust, shifting my weight, and a tightness pulls across the backs of my thighs.

Cera sits beside me with her spine straight and her hands resting on her knees, no fidgeting, no discomfort, no visible effort. She catches my eye and raises one eyebrow.

"Relax. It will be easy."

"Nothing about this is easy."

Marla starts the music, something instrumental with flutes and a rhythm that sounds too calm for the tension in my lower back. She tells us to close our eyes and breathe. I close my eyes. I breathe. I am already counting the minutes until this is over.

"Now bring your hands to your heart center," Marla says.