Page 7 of Channeling the Flannel with the Mountain Man

“Yoga isn’t revenge.” I try to sound professional.

“That isn’t a no.”

“It’s not a yes, either.”

We sit facing each other, legs spread, soles nearly touching. He wraps his hands around my forearms—I take his. Even seated, he seems enormous. I lean back, drawing him forward until his shoulders stretch.

“Breathe,” I say.

“I am,” he growls.

“You’re staring.” I flex my hands around his forearms.

“I am.” John steadies his breathing.

My cheeks heat. “At what?” I swallow, trying to keep my composure.

“The glitter on your nose.”

“Festival decorations—it multiplies.” I drop his forearms, planning to wipe away the glitter when John reaches out and brushes the bridge of my nose with his thumb. The touch is slow and startlingly tender. He looks at the glitter on his thumb, then at me.

“Got it.”

“John,” I whisper.

Mrs. Tanner clears her throat. “Should we switch partners?” She shifts on the mat, eyeing John and me with a smirk. I jump back, finish class, and barely hold on to my professionalism.

Afterward, John places his attendance card on the desk, and I sign the final line, a heaviness in my chest. “You’re free.”

He slides the card into his pocket. “There’s a fourth class on Tuesday.”

Hope rises too quickly. “There is.” I remind myself to be careful. Just because he’s coming to class doesn’t mean anything big. Dinner isn’t a promise. Still, my heart never listens to reason, and the way John looks at me—like asking is more important than hearing yes—makes staying cautious hard.

“Would it be inappropriate if I came?” John holds my gaze.

“To yoga? No.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.” He steps closer, leaving enough room for me to step away—I don’t. “I want to take you to dinner,” he says. “When you’re not my instructor.”

Every bubbly part of me wants to shout yes and climb him like a tree. But the trained part makes me pause. “The class series technically ends tonight,” I say. “But your department paperwork,” I don’t finish the sentence—instead, I wait for him to finish it.

“It’s complete when I hand Chief Donaldson the card tomorrow. I won’t come Tuesday if dating conflicts.”

“Do you want to keep practicing?” I let my gaze drift across his face.

He glances around the studio. “Maybe.”

“Then come to class on Tuesday and meet me at the fall festival on Saturday as John, not as my student,” I say before I can change my mind.

“Is that a date?” he raises an eyebrow.

“It can be if you win me a ridiculously large stuffed animal.”

“Carnival games are rigged.”

“Are you afraid?” I tease.

His slow smile transforms his whole face. “Ten percent less than I used to be.”