Page 84 of Saltwater Cowboy

Last night, after my disastrous experience on Bandit, Wells surprised me by agreeing to do yoga with me this morning. It caught me off guard—especially since, in all our time together, Thad had always dismissed it as a waste of time, insisting I do it alone.

I was already rolling out my mat when I heard the screen door creak open behind me.

I turned and immediately had to stifle a laugh.

Wells stood on the porch, arms crossed, looking absolutely unimpressed with life. I scanned his body and he was in jeans and a t-shirt.

I blinked at him. “Is this…” I motioned towards his body. “Is this your yoga attire?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t know there was a dress code.”

I let out a slow, dramatic sigh, shaking my head. “Wells, buddy. Pal. You cannot do yoga in denim.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have to bend,” I said, motioning wildly to his legs. “You’re gonna cut off your circulation and pass out before we even get to downward dog.”

His brows lifted. “I don’t even know what the hell that means, but it sounds inappropriate.”

I snorted. “Just—go put on something comfortable.”

With another sigh—one that made it very clear he regretted ever agreeing to this—he turned and headed back inside.

I stayed outside, stretching idly as the sky slowly shifted from deep blue to soft orange, the early morning light casting a warm glow over the fields.

Then, from above, I heard a window creak open.

I looked up just in time to see a pair of basketball shorts dangling out of it.

“This work?” Wells called, holding them up for approval like he was asking me to inspect a fine wine.

I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, those are acceptable.”

“Good,” he said, disappearing back inside.

A minute later, the screen door opened again, and this time, Wells was dressed in the shorts and a plain t-shirt, barefoot, looking a lot less like a cowboy and a lot more like someone about to get his ass handed to him by basic stretching.

He stopped in front of me, arms crossed. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

I grinned, unfolding my mat. “Oh, we’re just getting started, Calloway.”

Wells eyed my mat like it was some sort of alien artifact, his lips tugging into an uncertain grin. “I’m pretty sure the only stretch I do is when I reach for a cold beer.”

I laughed, setting my feet wide apart and demonstrating a simple stretch. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

He tilted his head, sizing me up. “Alright, but don’t expect me to start chanting or anything.”

“Noted.” I smirked, then guided him through the first few moves.

He was stiff at first, like a tree trying to bend without breaking. I showed him how to stretch properly, keeping it simple, but he still looked like he was suffering with every breath.

After a couple of minutes, I paused, trying not to laugh at his awkward stance. “Okay, so you’re supposed to be relaxed. You look like you’re trying to wrestle a bear.”

He shot me a side-eye. “I’m pretty sure the bear would win, sweetheart.”

I stifled a grin. “You might be right. Let’s try a forward fold—don’t worry, this one’s easy.”

I bent down, touching my fingers to the mat, then looked up to see Wells trying to do the same. He got halfway down before his face twisted in confusion, his hand barely touching his knees.