Chapter Twenty-Four
IF EVER THERE was a time Emery needed clarity, it was now. Dean had distracted her with his intense lovemaking last night, and she’d even managed to fall asleep afterward. But she’d woken up to pee, and her mind hadn’t settled down since. Unable to lie still a second longer, she climbed out of bed before sunrise Saturday morning, found one of Dean’s sweatshirts hanging in his closet, and pulled it over her head. It hung down to her knees. She glanced at Dean, sleeping soundly on his stomach with Tango and Cash curled up beside him. The sheet was bunched up around his hips. One muscular leg was bent at the knee, his arms tucked beneath the pillow. God, she loved him so much. She never would have imagined that she could fall in love, much less with the man who had become one of her best friends. She had to be the luckiest woman on earth. And the unluckiest, she thought sadly. If she’d been like Ethan and gone to college, studied hard, and become a businessperson, would Dean’s father have respected her more? Or did he only respect women who were seen and not heard? She still couldn’t make sense of the man she’d met last night being Rose’s son or Sherry’s husband. She didn’t know how either of them put up with him.
That was something she might never understand, but there were things she could understand, like the realization that it was more than being surrounded by death that had turned Dean away from medicine. It was clear that he needed to be surrounded by life. He was a nurturer at heart, and he’d tried to use that to heal, which Emery thought must have been ten times harder than he’d ever let on. But after meeting his father, she knew Dean’s decision to leave medicine also had to do with not wanting to end up like his father.
He’d made the right choice, but she doubted Dean could ever turn his back on those he loved. And that was why she needed to get her mind centered, so she could wrap her head around what had happened with his father last night and put it into perspective. Maybe even figure out a way to make it better.
She gathered her dress and heels and searched high and low for her underwear, but she couldn’t find it anywhere. His house really was turning into the Bermuda Triangle. As she headed out of the bedroom, Dean’s voice whispered through her mind, and she stopped short. You are not going out there without underwear.
She reached into his underwear drawer and pulled on a pair of his boxer briefs. For you, big guy. Something red caught her eye in the back of the drawer. She reached in and pulled it out. Like a magician with his never-ending handkerchief, a long, wide, four-foot piece of red ribbon spooled out of the drawer. She couldn’t stop smiling as she reached the end of the ribbon she’d had tied around her body the night they’d met, and saw that the heart she’d drawn for him, and her phone number, were still legible. Her heart beat to a happier rhythm, knowing he’d kept it for all those months. She walked over to the side of the bed where he slept soundly, worn out from loving her so thoroughly all night long.
She didn’t want to wake him, so she blew him a kiss, and as she hoisted up his briefs to keep them from falling off, she corrected her earlier thought. She didn’t put them on for him after all. It was for us.
She carefully rolled up the ribbon and put it back where she found it, and tiptoed out of the bedroom. She saw two unmatched flip-flops from pairs she’d left there and searched the living room for their companions. She finally gave up and slipped her feet into them, and quietly left the house. She ran the whole way to the inn, determined to figure things out before Dean got up.
When she reached the inn, her lungs stung from the brisk air, and her dew-drenched feet were mucky with sand. She sat on the back porch and brushed them off. Back home, the grass was as thick and plush as a carpet. Here, grass and sand came hand in hand, but she didn’t mind. It was part of the bayside town’s charm. She tipped her chin up toward the sky, watching the sun’s glow edging the dim predawn haze out over the bay. The peacefulness was completely at odds with her inner turmoil. She closed her eyes, soaking in the serenity of the morning, concentrating on the air filling her lungs as she inhaled, and tried to visualize the anxiety and heartache leaving her body with a long exhalation. She did this two, three, four times, and still she felt as if she were drowning in a sea of something she couldn’t break through or push away.
She carried her things inside and went through the motions of washing her face and brushing her teeth, but she was too distracted and brushed well past the time the toothbrush stopped talking. It was time to pull out the big guns.
Donning her favorite yoga outfit and gathering her supplies, she headed back to Dean’s house. He was still sleeping, which didn’t surprise her, since they’d been up until nearly three o’clock in the morning fooling around. A shiver rippled through her with the memory of the way he’d taken control.
Okay, Emery. Stop thinking about sex. That isn’t going to fix your problems.
She grabbed a pot from beneath the sink and headed outside hoping for a miracle. Because while she might be able to clear her mind, the sea she was drowning in, the thing she couldn’t escape, which Dean’s father was using to pull them down, was herself.
DEAN AWOKE TO an empty bed and the smell of…pot? What the fuck? He bolted upright. “Emery?” he called out.
Answered with silence, he threw himself from the bed and pulled on a pair of briefs, noticing Emery’s clothes from last night were gone. Christ. If his father scared her off, he’d never forgive him. He stormed into the living room, wincing at the stench of marijuana…or skunk. He couldn’t be sure which.
There was a big black pot on the stove, and the doors to the patio were wide open. He walked around the counter and peered into the pot, which was empty save for a few inches of water. Whatever had been in it smelled a hell of a lot better than the rest of the house. He headed out to the patio, following the scent around the side of the house. He stopped short at the sight of Emery standing in the front yard with her back to him. She wore a pair of gray yoga pants with a thick blue and white tie-dyed waistband and a pink exercise bra. Her feet were bare, and her yoga mat was spread out in a patch of sunlight beside the gardens. She looked angelic standing there in the sun’s ray.
She bent over and waved something around her feet, trailing smoke as she waved whatever it was around her legs and torso. She waved it around in a circle over her head, and the scent he’d smelled in the house filled his nostrils. Curious, but not wanting to interrupt her, he stepped behind the bushes and peered around them as she continued what looked like some sort of ritual. She waved the smoking bundle behind her leg, and then behind her back as best she could. Smoke chased her every move. He didn’t know how long he stood there, but guessed it to be at least five or ten minutes before she held the bundle between both hands. From the back, it appeared she was holding it in a prayer position. Loopy smoke wafted above her shoulders.
From there she waved the bundle toward the porch and front door, making wide sweeping movements. Eventually she set the smoking bundle down beside her mat on what looked like a clay bowl, and she stood in the middle of her mat. He’d seen her move through her morning yoga routine enough times to recognize some of the positions. One of his favorites was the triangle pose. He loved the way her body seemed to lengthen and open up during that pose. But the thing he noticed most was the way her face relaxed, even though the rest of her body seemed almost to be in motion—her fingers reaching for the ground and sky, her legs stabilizing her core, toes pointed, and the muscles in her belly taut. He imagined her with a round belly, carrying their child, and felt himself smiling. The thought came unbidden, and yet it felt natural. He’d never imagined any woman carrying his child, but with Emery, he wanted everything.
She moved fluidly from one position to the next. Suddenly she sank down to the mat, her face in her hands. Was she crying? He stepped from behind the bushes at the same moment she pushed to her feet and threw her hands up toward the sky. He slipped behind the bushes again.
“What do I have to do to clear my head?” she said angrily. “Challenge myself?”
With a huff, she knelt on the mat and stretched her arms over her head, parallel to the ground. He knew this was child’s pose. And he also knew it was what she called her go-to pose for quieting her mind and centering her attention before moving into more difficult poses. When he’d first seen her doing more complicated poses, he had made the mistake of rushing over to spot her, which not only threw her off-balance, but she explained that it defeated the purpose of mindfulness.
She repositioned into a squat, then splayed her hands on the mat, seamlessly aligning her shoulders and elbows. Dean’s fingers flexed, as if by doing so he could help hold her up. She was a vision of control and grace as she leaned forward, her back rounding slightly, and drew her knees up, balancing with her legs on the outer edges of her upper arms. She remained there, holding herself up with only her hands, her feet together, heels pointed up.
Dean held his breath, his every muscle flexing in support of her. The upper-body strength and concentration it took to achieve such a pose was more than he could grasp. His legs carried him toward her without any cognitive thought. When he realized what he was doing, he stilled, fearing he might startle her. Her eyes were closed, and he was mesmerized watching this incredible woman defy gravity.
As she returned her feet to the ground and moved into child’s pose once again, his breath rushed from his lungs, and he closed the distance between them. He knelt on the edge of the mat, and she lifted her head, a loving smile on her face.
“That was incredible. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Your grace and strength were so powerful, I could feel it in my own body.”
“Thank you. Crow is a really hard pose, and it takes full concentration of my mind and my body. I was having such a hard time clearing my head, I needed to dig deeper.” She sat up and took his hands in hers, her expression turning serious. “I’m sorry I left you sleeping, but I had to get rid of the bad mojo from last night. The house might smell a little funny.”
“Just a little.” He winked.
“It’s white sage. I was ridding the house and everything around us from conflict and bad feelings. The sage smoke absorbs the bad energy and cleanses our energy fields. It’s like a deep, metaphysical cleansing.” She glanced at the sage, which was no longer lit. “We’ll have to relight it, but whatever you do, never blow. Like ever.”
“Now you’ve lost me. I like when you blow.”
She swatted his arm. “Not that kind of blow! Breath is for life, not for extinguishing it, and fire is seen as life. Oh! I need to do you, too.”
He arched a brow. “I’m liking this…”
She rolled her eyes. “I mean cleansing you from bad energy. Oh, and I picked some of your lavender. I hope you don’t mind, but I made tea.” She pointed to a mug on the front porch. “I can make you some if you’d like. It helps calm me down. Well, usually it does.”
“I can’t get over how complex you are. Seriously, doll. You talk about the five layers of being? You have so many layers I’ll be learning them forever. And the fact that you did all of this for us? It means the world to me.” For the millionth time since they’d come together, his chest felt full. He wondered if it were possible for a heart to overflow. He slid a hand to the nape of her neck and drew her closer. “I am so sorry for everything. I’m going to speak to my parents today.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, with your dad, I mean. And I don’t know if the spiritual cleanse will be enough either, because even without the bad mojo, I’ll never be who he wants me to be.”
“But, baby, you are the woman I want you to be, and that’s all that matters.”
She shook her head. “I wish it were, but there will always be a cloud over us. I’m not giving up. I’m going to figure this out. Maybe Rose can help me find a way to get through to him.”
“My grandmother can’t even get along with her own son. I’m not sure her advice will be any help.” He squeezed her hand and said, “We’re a team. You and me. And we’re only going to get stronger. Now, how about we stop thinking about the negative and move on to positive, couple-strengthening activities.”
She laughed. “That was a pretty good segue into sex.”
“You are my dirty girl. I was thinking I’d skip my run today, and you could teach me some yoga moves.”
“Mm-hm. Yoga moves.”
He pushed up to a sitting position. “I want to immerse myself in your world. Tell me what to do.”
“Really?” she asked with disbelief.
“Yes, really. Come on sexpot. Teach me.”
“Well, there is one yoga move I’ve been dying to try. I saw it in your Yoga magazine.”
“Great! Tell me what to do.”
“Okay, you need to lie on your back.” She pushed to her feet and moved off the mat. “Go ahead. Put your head here.”
He lay down with his body half on the mat. “This doesn’t feel very strenuous.”
She moved to the opposite side of the mat and knelt by his head. “Yoga isn’t about strenuous. It’s about the coming together of the mind, body, and soul.”
She pivoted up, resting her knees on the backs of her arms as she’d done before, only this time she moved quicker, and she lowered her lips to his, kissing him through their smiles. When her lips lifted, she beamed down at him and said, “That made concentrating so much easier. I think I’m going to like our joint yoga sessions.”