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“That wasdivine,” Judith enthused. “All the tension has left my body. Just from doing nothing but breathe for an hour.”
“Fern’s an amazing teacher,” Carts replied. “I come in here all wound up and leave feeling like I’m walking six inches off the ground.”
It was tempting to say he’d hit the ceiling if that was the case, but Polly’s nasty little demon needed to be kept in check. What the hell was wrong with her?
Whatever it was, restorative yoga wasn’t the fix she needed.
Carts said, “Why don’t we go for a quick drink at the pub?”
“Won’t that undo all the good?” Judith frowned.
“No way,” Polly said, suddenly feeling much brighter. “I think it would be the perfect end to the evening. I’m happy to OM before I take a sip of gin and tonic.”
“Silly,” Judith said, but she was playing with her messy up-do and glancing sideways at Carts from under her lashes.
“Would you like to?” he asked Judith shyly.
“Oh, all right then. You’ve twisted my arm.”
If that was a twist,thought Polly,I’m a yogi.
Before long they were seated at a table at the Shamrock, yoga mats at their sides, a pint of lager, a glass of mimosa, a gin and tonic, and a dish of peanuts in front of them.
For the first time in a week, Polly actually felt her shoulders relaxing.
Carts settled next to Judith. “I thought we should even up the numbers,” he said. “So I messaged Solo and he’s coming to join us.”
Polly nearly bolted out of her chair. “Oh, you didn’t need to do that. I’m not staying and then there will be three of you again, so all that trouble for nothing.” So awkward. And her showing off her blubber in her Lululemons, too. Though her baggy T-shirt covered the worst of her thighs.
Which was utterly crazy since she didn’t seem to have a problem about her thighs when they were wrapped starkers around Solo’s butt. Maybe he was right, maybe she did have a case of distorted body image.
Carts and Judith both gave her puzzled looks. “But you said you had nothing on this evening.”
“Got to finish planning for Dad’s birthday.”
“Wow, that’s sounding more and more like a military exercise,” Judith said. She turned to Carts. “Polly has made a banner for her Dad’s birthday party. It looks pretty but she’s messier than a three-year-old when she paints.”
Carts smirked indulgently at Polly then gave Judith a moony look. “I’d love to be more artistic. I’m like, colour by numbers. Could you teach me?”
“I’m not really an art teacher, I do art therapy.”
“Like that ink-blot stuff?”
“Rorschach, you mean?”
He nodded and Polly felt like she was in the exclusion zone.
“Not really. That’s more psychologists’ realm, and it’s not used much anymore. No, I use art as a means of helping people to express their emotions, you know—grief, sadness, anger. Getting the feelings out onto paper can really help.”
“Wow.”
“And you’re an accountant, aren’t you?”
Oh, here it went, the sussing out a potential partner game.
“’Fraid so, hence the lack of artistic genius.”
Judith gave a cute shrug. “Doesn’t follow. People don’t slot so neatly into categories. Why shouldn’t you be an artist and an accountant? I bet there’s hidden talent in there.”
