Page 74 of Big Dill

“Brody.”

The voice comes from the entrance to the yoga studio. With my back to door, a foot inside Jami’s private space, I freeze and Jami’s eyes go wide as she inches back out of sight.

“I thought that was you.”

17

Jami

Tension fills Brody’s body the second he turns away from me. It’s not subtle. It rolls through him like a shockwave, snapping his spine rigid, locking his shoulders in place.

I crane my neck, trying to see the woman the voice belongs to—the woman who has him tied in knots—but Brody’s broad frame blocks the doorway, as if his body has decided, all on its own, to stand guard.

“Hi, uh… wow.” He clears his throat and reaches for the doorknob. His grip is too tight, fingers curling like he’s afraid he might fall if he lets go. His knuckles turn white. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

What the heck is going on?

“Home for a visit,” the woman says easily, like this is no big thing. Like she hasn’t just dropped a live wire into the room.

Brody doesn’t move right away. He just stands there, shoulders drawn up around his ears, legs locked, as though his brain is lagging behind the moment. Like if he stays perfectly still, time might rewind itself.

“You were talking to someone?” she asks gently. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

That seems to jolt him back into the present.

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He pushes the door open wider and steps aside, movement stiff and mechanical.

And that’s when I see her.

She hovers just outside the doorway of my studio, not quite entering, not quite retreating. Average height. Dark hair cut to her shoulders. Blue eyes. She’s wearing sleek, expensive-looking yoga wear—the kind you definitely can’t buy around here—and my stomach knots painfully at the similarities between the two of us.

“Jami…” Brody begins, but his words fall off.

I glance up at him. He’s looking at me, but he’s not really seeing me. His eyes are unfocused, distant, like he’s slipped into another version of himself—one that exists in a different time, a different universe. One where I’m not standing here at all.

I step past him before I can overthink it and hold out my hand.

“Hi, I’m Jami.”

“Elise,” she says, taking it.

His ex.

From the way Brody’s jaw tightened, I should’ve guessed it.

“Nice to meet you, Elise.” I keep my smile polite, steady. “I’m not sure if you know Brody’s partner, Jaxon, but I’m his sister. I’m staying here for a few months.”

Her smile flickers—small, cautious—like she’s trying to read the room and coming up short. Like she knows she’s walked in on something, she’s just not sure what.

So I keep talking.

“I started teaching yoga here.” I tilt my head toward Brody, who’s still lingering in the doorway of my private space, looking like he doesn’t know where to put himself. “I was showing Brody my secret project, but I guess it’s not so secret anymore.” I lean in conspiratorially. “I’m designing clothing for the studio.”

Her eyes widen, genuine interest lighting her face. “That is such a great idea. You’re a designer?”

I nod. “Yoga and athletic wear.”

“I do costumes,” she says. “Mostly for theater. I’m just home visiting from Toronto.” Her gaze drifts around the room, curious now, more comfortable. “I can’t wait to sign up for your classes. You’re not full this week, are you?”