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“I’ll just pay for the full set then,” she decides and squeezes Kace’s shoulder again.
It’s overt at this point, and I have to bite my tongue, avoiding saying what I really want to. Instead, “Great, I’ll leave a note with the reception office later today,” is what comes out of my mouth.
“Yeah, you do that,” she replies. “Kace, as I was saying, brunch tomorrow? I’ve got a couple of ideas I know you’ll be interested to know more about.”
“Sure,” he says.
Good grief, I am jealous. I shouldn’t be. Whatever this is between us, it’s not supposed to spill into the yoga studio. I’m the one falling short here, and I have to correct my course before I get hurt. The last thing I need is another heartache.
Shaking the thoughts away, I decide to focus on what I can control.
And that is being a yoga instructor. Which is what they pay me for, anyway.
“Okay!” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Let’s begin with some warmup stretches. Ramada, you can grab yourself a mat from over there,” I add, pointing to the corner of the studio. “Please, join us.”
“I’m not ready yet,” she barks, then gives Kace a business card. Wow, she had one waiting in the tiny side pocket of her yoga pants. This woman came prepared precisely to zero in on Kace. “My new number,” she tells him. “Save it, babe.”
“Will do,” Kace replies, ever the polite and welcoming gentleman.
Ramada grins like the Cheshire Cat, thoroughly pleased with herself as she gives me a bored look and goes over to grab a yoga mat. “There. Now, we can start the class,” she has the audacity to say.
“I’m so glad,” I reply bluntly.
She’s going to be a handful and then some. I don’t need anyone to tell me who she is or where she’s from. Ramada Chesterfield clearly comes from money. She’s spent more time on an operating table and in a Botox chair than anywhere else, the solar bed being another favorite place to be.
“Are you okay?” Elias asks me.
“I’m perfect,” I reply with the same flat tone and smile I used earlier. “Let’s begin the session. We’ll start with child’s pose first. Everyone, down on your mats.”
They know I’m anything but perfect. I can feel their eyes on me. I can also feel Ramada’s eyes on Kace. My stomach churns as I become more and more aware of the discomforting feeling of jealousy.
I have to take a couple of steps back and maybe forget about anything we might’ve had planned together, if only to protect my heart.
I deserve peace of mind as well as love.
I shouldn’t settle for less. I won’t.
Frazzled, frustrated, and worn out after the last class and meeting Ramada, I decide to spend my evening with Mikey. We have dinner at the estate’s American Diner-style restaurant, complete with sweet potato fries and a strawberry milkshake—Mikey’s favorite—before taking a trip to the park. We play together on the monkey bars and I watch as he climbs the ropes in the jungle gym before asking me to push him on the swings.
By the time we’re done, Mikey is exhausted, his eyes drooping as we make our way back to the house. I love holding his little hand on these walks, though I’m always prepared for one of his uncomfortable questions. He’s at that age where he springs the weirdest stuff on me.
“Momma?” he asks, the evening breeze brushing through his rich, blonde curls.
“Yes, honey?”
“Sammy said that Twinkies last forever. Is that true?”
I laugh lightly. “I suppose they could, yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re made with certain ingredients called preservatives that make them last longer. I’m not sure they’d last forever, but definitely longer than most foods,” I tell him. “It’s not a good thing, though.”
“We like natural food,” Mikey says, remembering one of our many talks about eating as many unprocessed foods as possible. Fortunately, my kid loves fruits and veggies more than I do, so he’s got a good head start there. “But I do like Twinkies.”
“Twinkies are okay, but only once in a while,” I say.
He gives me a curious look. “And if I eat them, will I last forever, too?”
