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“I said no way.” Trent nods.
I can see where Olivia’s going with this now. “Maybe you should’ve said yes,” I say.
“Um… ya think?” Olivia chirps.
Trent gulps down his beer like it’s medicine. “Man, I screwed up. Maybe I should’ve paid more attention. I totally bulldozed over what she wanted to do… she was giving me a chance to do the right thing and I acted like a jerk.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Olivia informs him, before slipping off her barstool.
She didn’t even drink half of the beer I bought her, and beers in this place are crazy expensive. Heck, everything in this hoity-toity tourist town’s getting expensive these days. That’s good for me and Trent, running a recreation business, but it sure jacks the cost of living up.
Her red nails flash as she reaches out to squeeze Trent’s hand again. “We have to get you guys registered for that retreat. I’m going to go home before I fall asleep, but believe me, I’m going to tackle this first thing in the morning. We’re going to fix this, I promise. Everything will be okay. And then you can stop callingme every half-hour and actually shave.” She pokes a finger my way.
“Andyoushould think about shaving, too, you know.”
When she takes off, most of the guys lining the bar glance toward the door to watch her leave.
I run my hands over my beard. “Your sister thinks she knows everything.”
“Yeah,” Trent agrees. “She’s got a knack forbeing helpful. Let’s hope that she’s right about this retreat thing.”
Chapter 3
Olivia
There are perks that come with being a travel blogger.
I get all sorts of things paid for, for one thing. Airplane tickets, cruise vacations, week-long stays at luxury hotels.
Gourmet meals, visits to spas, even an African Safari, once. That particular trip wasn’t that much fun. As in, it was terrible. The Jeep didn’t have windows. Rhinoceros might look interesting and harmless enough on wall calendars, but they’re actually terrifying to see in person.
Lions? Forget about it.
I peed my pants a tiny bit when the tour guide pointed a pair of them out, I was so scared. I had to tie my sweater around my waist and avoid the other guests for hours until I could change. That detail certainly didn’t go in the articles I wrote about the trip.
In addition to all the paid-for trips, I also get to meet amazing people in the industry.
And if I’ve learned one thing about relationships, it’s that everyone on this earth likes a win-win situation. I’m reallyhoping that Skye Solei, the yoga teacher in charge of the Couples in Crisis retreat, will see that if she helps me out, I’ll help her. Big time. This woman’s website is in shambles, and I’m the perfect girl to jazz it up for her with some stellar content.
I prop my fuzzy slippers up on the coffee table and scan her clunky, outdated website, looking for her phone number. I already sent her an email, but I’m worried that’s not enough. Because somewhere between chowing down a bagel this morning and drinking my second cup of coffee, I realized that the couples retreat my brother so stupidly refused to attend is actually startingtomorrow.
Not only that but it’s totally booked up, according to this sparse website.
I sip more hazelnut-laced coffee and listen to her phone ring.
Outside the single window in my studio apartment, I can see down into my grandparent’s backyard. My Grandpa Ray’s out there, kneeling in front of a muddy garden bed. I haven’t even seen him or Grandma Georgia since I got home, and it takes some major self-discipline to stay focused on the phone call I’m making instead of hanging up and running down there to give him a hug.
When Skye finally picks up, I’m mid-sip.
I hurry up and swallow. “I’m so glad to get in touch with you!” I gush, after introducing myself. “I’m a writer in the travel industry niche. I have a question for you about your upcoming retreat.”
I flick my eyes to the photo of steep, reddish canyon walls on her website. “The one in Desolation Valley…?”
“Of course. Heart-centered yoga for couples in—”
“In crisis. Right.” I didn’t mean to cut her off, but here we are.
I blame my nerves.
