Page 75 of Big Dill

“Nope,” I say easily. “Sign-up’s out front.”

But as I say it, I can feel Brody behind me—silent, wound tight, caught between past and present—and I know this chance encounter isn’t nearly as casual as Elise wants it to be.

Outside my door, voices drift back to me. “I’ve got a class right now,” I hear myself say, bright and professional. “I could squeeze you in.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun, but I…” Elise trails off.

The pause stretches just long enough to register. Long enough to tighten my chest.

Her gaze lifts. I turn in time to see exactly where it lands—locked on Brody.

“I was hoping we could catch up.” Her words are soft. Casual. But they carry an echo of hope, of regret, of unfinished things that never really stayed finished.

“On what?” Brody asks.

Two women step into the studio then, murmuring hellos as they head for their mats, and Brody finally pushes off the wall. He walks over to Elise, and the rest of the conversation disappears down the hall.

I don’t hear her answer. And while I know—logically—that it’s probably for the best, I absolutely hate the look on Brody’s face when she asked to catch up. The way hurt flashed across his expression.

He still loves her.

A fashion designer.

From Toronto.

Who looks an awful lot like me.

I shove the idea away. Nope. Not doing this. What happened between Brody and me was sex. Great sex. Fun sex. Convenient sex. Not love.

Definitely not love.

I plant myself at the door and focus on greeting clients as they arrive, smiling like nothing inside me has just shifted.

“Did you see that?” Jessica—middle-aged, sharp-eyed, and someone I met at the café—whispers to her friend Brittany as they step inside.

They both glance over their shoulders.

“Yeah,” Brittany mutters, disgust thick in her voice. “Who the hell does she think she is? Acting like she didn’t leave town because she thought she was better than us. Now she looks like she’s trying to get Brody back.”

“I hope he’s smarter than that.”

“I know, but…” Brittany winces. “It might not take much. Did you see the way he was looking at her?”

I can’t—won’t—listen to this.

“Hello, ladies,” I cut in, voice bright. They both jump, then smile like nothing happened. “Please get yourselves settled.”

They hurry to their mats and I greet a few more people, then Mr. Cheeseman walks in.

I nearly swallow my tongue.

“Mr. Cheeseman,” I say, genuinely surprised. “So happy you could join us.”

“Just wanted to see what the hype was all about,” he replies, scanning the room like the idea of yoga is new to him.

Since he’s wearing sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt, I gesture lightly. “You’re staying for the class?”

He shrugs, noncommittal. “We’ll see how it goes.”