“You ready to be wowed?” I ask, padding on bare feet to the bed where he lies.

“I will rescind my initial statement about your apartment. Your bed is fucking fantastic. What am I lying on?” He shifts his legs and wiggles his bum.

“Four inches of high-quality memory foam. Kind of like a Tempur-Pedic only a boatload cheaper.”

He pushes his fingers into the bed and watches them sink. “It’s freakin’ amazing. Seriously, I need to get this for my bed at home.”

I grin. “I’ll make sure to send you a link to what I purchased online. Now lift your upper body and scoot a bit farther down the bed.”

“Why?” He frowns.

“Just do what I say. For once in your life, allow yourself to give up control,” I snip smartly but still playfully.

He gives an exaggerated sigh but lifts up and scoots lower on the bed. I slip in behind him with my bottle of oil in hand and cross my legs.

“Lie back and put your head in my lap.”

“Kinky.” He smirks.

I roll my eyes and grip his head, putting him where I want him. “Now relax.” I remove the cap, pour some oil into my hands, and rub them together. The scent floats in the air around us, and I can see his chest rising as he inhales the soothing fragrance.

“Smells good,” he murmurs, fluttering his eyes closed.

“Thank you.” I press my finger just above his upper lip and under his nostrils, wiping a drop of oil there so he can smell it directly. “Breathe in long and deep, letting the air fill your lungs completely. When you get to the top of the breath, hold it in for a few seconds and then slowly let the air out your mouth. Continue to do this until I tell you to stop.”

Grant breathes in, doing exactly what I said. Such a good student. Apparently he can listen to someone other than himself.

I run my oil-covered hands around Grant’s neck, working the muscles with my thumbs. His breath falters as I find a sizable knot and massage it out. “Keep breathing in fully and then out at the top of the breath,” I remind him, and he follows along.

Once the knot is out, I turn his head to the left and work the length of his neck, running my fingers through the sides of his hair, to the crown of his head, and back down. I circle my thumbs around the occipital lobes at the base of skull where his head and neck meet, removing any tension I find there.

Grant sighs and grunts a little when I press my thumbs into the tightness at his trapezoids, easing the muscles, loosening the grip stress has on his body. Turning his head to the right, I repeat the process on the other side before massaging his whole head.

“Your hands work miracles,” Grant compliments. He flickers his eyes open, looking hazy and tired.

I smile, lean down, and kiss his forehead. “I’m not done. Close your eyes and relax. Don’t allow the tension to creep back in. Just enjoy.”

I slide my fingers through his thick, silky hair and run the pads of my fingers lightly down the lines of his scalp. I can tell when a person is super tense because there is no give in their scalp. Right now, he has no give, so I work my fingers in long lines, giving more pressure than I would during Savasana at the end of one of my yoga classes because this is more personal, private. A woman relaxing her man at the end of a hard day.

Those thoughts of him being my man start to swirl in my mind again as I circle my fingers around his hairline and back through his hair in long strokes. His breathing is deepening, so I move the tips of my fingers along his forehead and apply pressure down the bridge of his nose, around his eye sockets, and along the side of his cheeks until I get to his temples. Sometimes when I touch the temples first, they are too tender. Usually after I’ve relaxed the rest of the person’s head or body, the temples aren’t so sensitive.

His lips puff open as I massage his face and head. He’s truly a striking man, though I worry about the dark circles under his eyes. He needs rest. Real sleep, free of worry and stress. As I touch him soothingly, I imagine what it would be like to have this man in my life every day and not just for six months.

He’d come home from a long day at the office, I’d make him dinner, listen to him talk about his day, and then set about creating a home where he wouldn’t have to feel stress. Everything around him would be uniquely crafted to ease his tension. Soothing scents, healthy homemade food, my personal affection and care.

It seems so easy, yet I’m twenty-eight and haven’t found it yet. I think a lot of men I’ve dated in the past think what I do is unnecessary and frivolous, but I know with my whole heart I’m providing a much-needed service to people. Helping bodies and minds feel whole.

I love what I do and have never wanted to do anything else. Maybe my mother ingrained this trait in me during the years of watching her run the studio, but she’s one of the happiest and healthiest people I know. My father, on the other hand, was a businessman who worked himself to the bone. He always joked that my mother was his reward after a hard day’s work. He loved that she was always happy, down to earth, and excited when he came home. Until cancer took him away a few years ago, way too early at only fifty-five. They were beyond happy together. Now she’s committed to traveling the world with her best friend. She misses my father terribly, as do I, but she’s moving on and living her life.

Healthy and happy.

My father would want that for her and me. It’s what I want to find. A man who is willing to take on the brunt of the financial responsibility for our home and needs, have a family, and know when he ends his day he’ll have a wife waiting with open arms to greet, feed, and sprinkle love all over him. It may sound old-fashioned, but there isn’t any other life I could imagine being better.

My problem now is Lotus House. The more time I spend with Grant, the more I like him, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to convince him not to destroy my family’s legacy, my livelihood and those of my friends, not to mention my apartment. The smart thing to do would be to renew my hunt for a new facility I can rent. Consider securing a new location for Lotus House. After a cursory look at the available buildings in the area, the possibility of renting a place big enough to offer four open rooms, two locker rooms, a reception area, and private yoga rooms for a decent rate is slim to none. It also has to be on one level or have an elevator. We insist on being ADA compliant, which means wheelchair access is mandatory.

I sigh and look down at the man who has the power to ruin my life and find he’s asleep. His mouth is open, and little snores are coming from his nose, the same way they were when he fell asleep in yoga class a few days ago. He was not kidding when he said he was wiped out. I imagine running a bazillion-dollar company is very stressful. It proves he needs a woman like me in his life to ease the tension. Relieve him of his stress and teach him how to relax.

Enjoying the time I can just look at him without his mouth getting in the way, I trace his features, running my finger down his long, straight nose. His cheekbones are high and cut. There’s a tiny bit of scruff coming in on his square jaw. As my hand floats over his cheek, he turns his head, rubbing against my palm the way a cat would. This tiny, effortless moment of affection rips through my chest and fills my heart with light.

I could so easily fall in love with this man.

Bracing his head straight, I lift it up enough that I can ease out and place his head on my pillow. I survey him. He’s resting so comfortably I make a split-second decision. I grab the comforter, pull it over his body, and tuck him in. Then I go to the other side of the bed, pull back the comforter, and slide in next to him. Feeling cold being a foot away, I snuggle up to his form, wrap an arm around his waist, and rest my head on his chest. His arm comes down and locks around me immediately, but he doesn’t wake. No, he instinctually curls around me in his sleep and unconsciously locks me to his side.

I smile and close my eyes, wondering what kind of shenanigans tomorrow will bring. All I know is, I hope they include Grant.

* * *

Juggling two steaming lattes and a bag of fresh warm pastries, I open the door to my apartment. Grant is sitting on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his mussed hair.

“Jesus Christ, I slept here all night?” he says, his tone not only surprised but edgy.

“Yeah.” I maneuver over to my small kitchenette and set the bag and coffees down on the table.

“What time is it?” He looks around my apartment for a clock.

“Just after eight.”

His eyes seem to bulge as he stands up abruptly. “Eight a.m.! Fucking hell!” He groans and looks around the room, my guess, trying to spot his stuff. I placed his shoes next to his dress shirt and jacket.

“Right there over by the couch. Your shoes are sitting there as well. I’ve got a latte and a pastry for you.”

Grant runs his hands down his face and grunts. “I can’t believe I overslept. I’m usually in the office by seven thirty and no later.”

I move into the kitchen and pull out a couple small plates and then take out the treats I selected. “Sounds like you needed the sleep.”

He nods. “Yeah, I guess I did. Haven’t slept that well in ages. And it’s been forever since I had a full eight hours sleep.”

This time my eyes widen as I take a seat at the table. “Really? Grant, your body needs the time to recuperate. Eight hours sleep is ideal for the human body to rest, and the mind needs the time to function properly. It’s probably why you conked out so quickly.”

He grabs his dress shirt, pulls it on, leaves it open, and walks over to me.

I hold out a latte toward him. “Here. Beauty in a cup.”

He caresses my fingers as he takes the latte. “Beauty holding a cup is more like it.” His eyes are smiling, but his mouth is still tight. I’ll take what I can get.

Grant scans my body. “You’re already dressed in your work attire?”

“Because I already taught a class this morning, big man.” I sip the vanilla goodness, lifting my feet up onto the chair’s edge.

His eyebrows rise up to his hairline and he sits. “You’ve already been up and taught a class?”

“Yep. First thing every Monday.”

He sips the drink and hums. “And you think my job sucks?” He laughs.

I nod. “Yeah, because at least everyone is happy to see me when they show up. They are ready to start their week off in a healthy frame of mind. They don’t spend a million meetings planning what company they are going to buy or bulldoze to make a buck.”

Grant’s jaw firms, and his face hardens into an emotionless mask. “That’s what you think I do all day? Bulldoze buildings.”

I purse my lips and decide to lay it out there. “All I know is you’re planning to bulldoze my building and my friends’ buildings in order to build luxury homes for a bunch of high-powered executives who really don’t need the space.”

“Yes…creating new buildings.” He stresses the creation part.

“Then why must you destroy before you build? Can you not think of a workaround? A compromise of sorts?”

He sighs and leans back heavily in the chair. “What you’re suggesting would cost millions or, worse, the loss of millions.”

I put my feet down and sit up straight in my chair. “What you’re suggesting would cost many their livelihoods and their jobs. I have four classes running almost every hour of the day, throughout most of the week. I employ almost twenty yoga teachers, all of whom would lose their jobs if I cannot find another location for my studio. Most of those teachers are struggling college students, single mothers, or people like me who teach yoga as their calling. Are their livelihoods not worth those millions?”

And that really is the question.

Grant stands up so fast the wooden chair falls to the floor with a crash.

“I gotta get out of here.” He tugs at his hair, turns, lifts the chair, and grabs his coat.

I nod and look down at my chocolate éclair, no longer hungry, when a warm palm curls around my neck.

Grant uses his thumb to lift my chin up. “Thank you for last night and for breakfast. I’m going to take it to go, if you don’t mind. I need to get to work…and think. Think about all of this.”

Hope springs eternal as I stare at his handsome face. “Thank you for showing me a great time.”

He leans down and kisses me so softly I don’t even have the chance to taste the latte on his lips before he’s pulling away.

“Text me later and tell me what’s on for this week. It’s your turn, but leave the weekend open. I’m taking you out this weekend.”

I smile wide, the idea of going on another date with Grant making me ridiculously happy. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I nod.

Grant kisses my forehead and releases me to grab his shoes. He slips them on and ties them lightning fast. While he does this, I put the two treats I got him back into the bakery bag so he can take them to go.

I hold up the bag and open the door. “I’ll walk you out since the bakery is going to be busy and you’ll feel strange walking through the kitchen alone.”

He grins and follows me down the stairs.

Once we make it to the kitchen, I run into Mama Jackson. Oh no, this is not going to be good. Mama Jackson is Dara’s mother and the original owner of Sunflower Bakery. She still works the store whenever she feels like it, even though her daughter now owns it, and Mama Jackson does what Mama Jackson wants.

“Moonbeam!” Mama Jackson tugs me into her arms for a big, cuddly hug. Vanessa Jackson is not a small woman by any means, but she holds her weight well and uses it to make her hugs the best ever.

“Child, how you doin’?” She pulls me back and cups my face. Her dark skin looks stark against my super white tone.

“I’m good, Mama Jackson. Uh, this is my friend, Grant.” I hook a finger behind me.

Her pitch-black eyes go over my shoulder to the man behind me. “Spent the night, I see. Hmm, didn’t know you were dating, Moonbeam.” She assesses Grant from top to toe. “Good-looking man. Hope you plan on calling my girl back later on once you’ve had a chance to relive the goodness you had with my Moonbeam here.”

Grant’s eyes widen, and he smiles. “I was a perfect gentleman last night, ma’am. I assure you.”

Her eyes narrow, and she looks at him and then at me. “You playin’ hard to get, child? Mama Jackson likes that. Good for you, sugar.” She squeezes my cheek. “Go on, walk yo’ man out, but don’t be surprised when you get the third degree from Dara.”

I grab Grant’s hand and tug him along, whispering in his ear. “We just dodged a serious bullet. If she knew who you were, you would be flatter than a pancake on her floor. Seriously, you do not want to mess with Mama Jackson.” Chills ripple along my arms as I try to escape through the main area of the bakery, ignoring Dara, who’s at the register, chatting away.

Just as we make it to the wooden door, Dara’s voice rings out.

“Oh hell no! Luna…guuuurl, you have some ’splainin’ to do,” I hear over my shoulder.

Moving fast, I open the wood door and push Grant out. “Go! Save yourself!” I push at his solid form.

He stops and laughs. “Lamb, what are you doing?”

“No, no, you gotta go.” I glance to the side and see Dara putting change in someone’s hand. “Just go, I’ll see you later,” I attempt.

Grant holds his place. “I want my goodbye kiss.”

My eyes go wide, and I feel her before I hear her. She rests an arm around my waist and tucks me to her side. Her sugary scent tickles my nose, and I drop my head.

Darn it.

“Grant, so nice to see you again, looking all disheveled and well-rested. I see you are wearing a wrinkled suit, and you just came from the kitchen, which tells me you’ve been enjoying the loft with my best friend and traitor, Luna, here.” She shakes me a bit, her tone pleasant, but I can hear the accusation underneath. I’m going to have to have a very big heart-to-heart with her and soon.

My guy props one of his hands on his hip, his eyes going hard, his expression turning into steel businessman. The same man I met the first time I visited his office. “What is with the third degree in this bakery? First your mother and now you? Luna is a grown woman who can date any man she wants.”

Dara’s pretty face twists with an expression of barely concealed contempt. Each of her words is a poison-dipped knife ready to kill. “Not when that man is going to single-handedly ruin her life. I don’t know how you sleep at night…”

Grant cuts her off. “Very well, since I was in her bed right next to her warm body.”

“You have a lotta nerve.”

Grant lifts a finger and points it at Dara. “No, you do. Luna can take care of herself.”

Dara swings her body around, cocks a hip, and places a hand on it, attitude flag flying. “Because you know her so well. She’s sweet. Innocent. Helps the world every day by shining her bright light on it. And you”—she points her finger at him in return—“are going to burn out that light by taking away what she loves most. That studio!” She points at the wall shared with Lotus House.

“Guys, come on. We don’t need to talk about this or do this here. Everyone is watching.”

Dara waves her hand. “Let them watch. Let this entire store see the man who is going to bring a big ol’ wrecking ball and flatten the first ever Sunflower Bakery. The store I was going to leave to my babies! And their babies! And so on. My parents started this bakery from the ground up. Built their business and have given it to me to pass on to Destiny and Jackson. I may have more stores, but this is the first. The flagship. It’s where I work every day. It’s where I bring my children on the weekends so they can bake with their mama and grandmama.”

I hear the pain in her words. She’s losing her legacy too.

Tears fill Dara’s eyes, and she stares at Grant, who hasn’t spoken a single word.

“Now I can see from your aura that you are upset. The black shrouding your natural energy is a good indication you heard me. And I hope you did, because you need to hear exactly what you’re taking away when you flatten my bakery.”

Dara’s tears fall down her cheeks.

“What in the ever-loving fuck is going on here?” The deep voice comes from the front of the bakery. “Lil’ mama, why are you cryin’?” He looks from Dara, to me, and then to Grant. “Heads are about to roll if someone doesn’t answer me,” Silas announces, his hands turning into fists.

I maneuver around Dara, through the wooden door, and next to Grant. “Silas McKnight, this is Grant Winters, and we were just having a little bit of a heated chat about the situation—”

Si cuts through. “You’re the man responsible for the tears my wife has shed every night since you sent us that eviction notice? Twenty plus years of on-time rent, repeatedly refusing to sell the land to the Jacksons, and you have the balls to come in here and show your face? Bro, you must be out of your fuckin’ mind.”

Grant’s body tightens. “I’m sorry the eviction notice upset your wife. It’s an unfortunate effect of the business decision my company, investors, and board of directors have made. This is business, not personal.”

Silas scowls. “Man, I run Knight & Day Productions. I know what the cost of doing business is, and I know there are always alternatives to those decisions. I suggest you find one.” He growls and pushes past Grant by knocking his shoulder roughly.

Grant stands strong and doesn’t respond, although I can tell from the tension in his body that the verbal daggers Dara and Silas threw hit their target.

Slowly, Grant eases his body away from mine, turns, and heads out the door.

I spin on a heel, my anger flaming hot. “You did not need to be so harsh! He’s working through this decision, and I’m trying to get him to see why he should keep these businesses alive, not give him more reasons to destroy them. You should look at things from his side too. He’s doing his job. What everyone is telling him to do. It’s business to them, nothing more. I’m doing everything I can to show him it’s not just about business, and you just damaged that!” My words are so low and filled with frustration I don’t even know what more to say. So I don’t. Instead, I chase after Grant.

He’s just getting to his car when I fly out of the bakery, my hair flapping around my face as the wind hits it.

“Grant!”

He stops at his car, hand on the handle.

“I don’t fucking need this, Luna. None of this.” His tone is flat. Dead. “I have a job to do, and I’m going to do it.” He opens the door and rests his hand on the top of the window. He shakes his head, and his dark-blue gaze meets mine.

Remorse.

Anger.

Hurt.

Resolution.

All of those things are in his eyes until he lands his final blow. “Move on with your life, Luna. I’m no good for you, and I’m over it. All of this. Deal’s off.”

With the last parting dagger to my heart, he gets into his car and peels away. I’m not sure if I’m more upset that he blew off our deal or that he set me free from what was building between us.

No, that’s not true. I do know. As does my mind, body, and heart, which are crumbling internally.

I’ve lost him, and I have no idea how to get him back.