“Enjoy your dinner, Miles.”
Without looking back at him, I walk away. Away from the restaurant, away from the man who broke my heart eleven yearsago, and away from any chance of him having access to it ever again.
6
ABBY
I need this yoga class to heal me.
After I ordered room service last night and went to sleep before 9:30, I woke up too early this morning, my thoughts racing.
It’s my third day here, and I’m not feeling any more relaxed than I was when I arrived two days ago. I had that brief glimpse of relaxation after the spa early in my trip, but now I’m back to my baseline. I intentionally didn’t schedule any excursions or activities because I thought I’d want to take it easy, but the idea of just sitting at the beach or pool today and reading sounds terrible. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts right now. I’m either thinking about the graphic design program deadline, trying to figure out how to survive another year of anxiety and professional pressure, or I’m thinking about Miles and our conversation from last night.
It’s been a while since I’ve blown up on someone and walked away like that. My anger is always so contained, until it’s not. Hazel tells me I’m a kettle—boiling and boiling until I just scream.
After his apology, the way he was looking at me—with the interest and desire in his eyes—I was certain he was going to say he regretted dumping me.
I don’t even totally understand why I care. Of course, who doesn’t want to hear that someone regrets breaking up with them? It’s satisfying. But I don’t need that. Not from Todd and certainly not from Miles.
What I need is to actually stay away from him, like I said I was going to do on day one, because, truly, what good is going to come about from hanging around him?
“This spot taken?” a familiar voice asks as someone lays down a yoga mat next to mine.
What the fuck, Universe?!
“Why are you in a yoga class, Miles?” I ask, stretching my legs out in front of me to avoid looking at him. I got to class early because I wanted to pick the best spot—in the front of the room—but now I’d like to move. I scan the room, but it’s close to the start time, so it’s nearly full. I can’t move without losing my spot.
“I’m taking a yoga class,” he says innocently.
“Bullshit. Are you here because I’m here?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Abby. I love yoga. I’m a total yogi-head.”
“A yogi-head?” I ask, finally looking over at him to narrow my eyes at him suspiciously.
“Yep. It’s definitely a thing.”
I purse my lips together, tamping down my annoyance. Surely, he can feel that I do not want him here, next to me in this yoga class, but maybe he’s not socially aware as I thought he was, because either he doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care.
That’s so Miles. Doing whathewants without a thought for what the people around him might want.
Well, if he thinks attending the same yoga class as me is going to make me want to talk to him again, he’s got another think coming.
The instructor walks into the class, a curvy Black woman with long braids pulled into a ponytail. She smiles and greets a few people, as if she recognizes them, but when she sees Miles, her face lights all the way up. Miles doesn’t notice her at first. He’s leaning over to me.
“Abby, I was hoping we could?—”
“Do my eyes deceive me?” The yoga instructor stands in front of Miles, hands on her hips. He turns his attention to her, a smile growing on his face as well.
“They do not. I’m here for your class.”
He stands, and they clap hands in greeting with a half-hug. Like they know each other. Why does Miles know the yoga instructor?
“Mr. ‘I am not good at yoga’—today we will see.”
“I’m just here with my friend, Abby,” Miles says and gestures down to me.
Oh, you little…
