Cynthia isn't playing around. When she says she'll help me, she isn't kidding. I have no idea how lost I'd be without her.
"We won't," she says, standing to grab our drinks. "But I'm asking for those later."
When she returns, she hands me my coffee and sits down.
"Cynthia," I begin, taking a sip, "why are you helping me?"
She looks startled. "Look, I'm just looking out for one of my own. We lift each other up.You'll pay it forward one day, too. We're going to get you on your feet in no time."
"I want to pay you."
"No."
I open my mouth to argue, but she holds up a stern finger, cutting me off. It reminds me of Samantha, and guilt washes over me.
I'd stolen her man.
I told her what happened between me and Vince a week ago, and she took it surprisingly well—no hard feelings,apparently she'd already moved on to someone else. The whole conversation left me confused, my thoughts spinning. Could I trust her, or was she just putting on a good act to cover for trashing my apartment?
"Andrew," Cynthia says, still scrolling through my account, "you've got a good number of followers, but you're not following anyone. What gives?"
"Where?"
"Instagram. Actually, all your accounts. You're going to look like an AI bot if you keep this up. You need to engage."
A groan escapes me. "I hate all this, you know."
"Don't care," she says matter-of-factly. "Keep listening to me, and you'll be able to pay someone else to do it for you. Now, give me your phone."
Smiling in thanks, I slide it across the table. She fiddles with it while I finish my coffee.
"There," she says after a few minutes. "You're now following me and a few other yoga studios. Your homework is to actually use social media, Andrew,engage with people. Checkout what other studios are doing, and come back to me with your observations."
"Does Vince have an account?"
Cynthia laughs, wiping cappuccino foam from her lip. "Are you serious?"
I stare blankly.
"Oh. You're serious," she says, her eyes widening. "Baby, yes... Have you spent your entire life under a rock?"
"It's pronounced rural Alaska," I deadpan. "I don't do TV either. My family didn't have a lot of money, so... I spent my time doing other things."
"Like yoga?" she teases.
I laugh. "Yeah. And hockey. And running on a treadmill. And lifting weights. And reading—a lot of reading."
"Do you watch that show you were in, with Vince? What was it called?"
I laugh, fiddling with my coffee cup. "Relay. It hasn't aired yet... it's still in post-production."
I'm really looking forward to it coming out. It's been so long since we filmed, and so much has happened between Vince and me since then.
I just hope they don't edit me into a complete idiot, especially now that my yoga business is starting to take off.
"Here," Cynthia says, tapping something on my phone before pausing, her finger hovering over the screen.
"I added him for you—"
