But I’m pretty sure that’s not in the playbook.
Chapter 16
Katie
Now it’s my turn to catch him up on my career.
“I started a yoga brand with my sister, building on the classes I’d been teaching—yoga for people who hate yoga. And boom. Turns out there are a lot of those people who learn to fall in love with it. Our style is a little irreverent, a lot fun.”
“And you’re the face of it,” he puts in.
That’s all true. When Olive and I met with the investor in Los Angeles seven years ago, Charlotte liked my style and Olive’s penchant for numbers. She invested and helped us grow the concept. Now, some of my classes are available online for a subscription package of videos. Others I do in person, when I tailor sessions for clients and retreats. And others still are taught by the teachers I’ve trained in our various studios. “We expanded it to twenty studios all across the West Coast. Added clothing and fashion, with T-shirts that have sayings likeYoga—it’s cheaper than therapy; If you think I’mbitchy now, you should see me when I miss yoga;orYoga is my favorite way to pretend to work out. So that’s my story, and Sassy Yoga has been fabulous,” I say.
“You became a yoga queen,” Harlan remarks as he takes my plate, rinses it, and sets it in the dishwasher.
“Please. I’m a yoga empress,” I tease, then roll my eyes in self-deprecation. “That’s the term an LA magazine used to describe me, and the nickname weirdly stuck. Now, some of my students call me a yoga empress in the classes I teach.”
“A yoga empress running a yoga empire. It’s fitting,” he says, adding a wink. “Since you’re so damn flexible.”
And I like the sound of that. “Let me show you what I can do with my legs.”
In a flash, he scoops me up in his arms, carrying me again. As he heads to the stairs, I laugh, loving the ride.
Loving this whole strange turn of events.
All this talking with Harlan seems like the second date we never had.
That makes my chest dance with butterflies, but my head throbs too. With confusion.
How is this even possible?
I’m having an amazing time with another guy, the best time I’ve had in ages. Did Silvio and I ever have this much easy, breezy fun?
Just the thought of the man I was supposed to marry stirs up a bucket of guilt.
Less than twelve hours ago, I was about to say I do to another man. To pledge love and fidelity to an Italian artist who likes operaand ordering tuna tartare at midnight. Instead, I spent the evening with a man who cooks killer eggs and rocks out to one of the greatest country singers of all time.
And I loved tonight.
Is something wrong with me for enjoying it?
As we head up the steps, questions clang through my mind.
Is something wrong with me for craving more hot sex from Harlan, rather than missing…anythingwith my ex right now?
Am I, well, a female cad for savoring that sweet conversation in his kitchen? Loving the tales of his daughter? Wanting to know more about his job? Wanting to share stories of mine?
That felt so date-y.
How can I do that the night of my…
But I stop that train. Tonight isn’t my wedding night.
It’s a night that seems to exist in its own time and place.
It’s a parallel universe night.
That’s what I tell myself as we turn into his bedroom—that I’m another me right now.
