The Suite Spot (Beck Sisters #2)(23)
As the minutes tick toward Avery’s yoga class, I start getting cold feet. All I can picture is a room filled with agile, slender women dressed in expensive workout wear, while I’m wearing a pair of old gray leggings that are pilled where my thighs rub together. Throw in a black sports bra that might be a size too small and my only “sporty” tank top—pink, with the words YES WAY ROSÉ printed on the front—and I’m ready to change into my pajamas and curl up with a book.
Maisie and I reach the kitchen as Mason comes in through the side door. He pauses in the doorway, giving me a quick once-over before his eyes meet mine. “Oh, um—hi. You look—”
“Like a wine mom,” I say, filling my water bottle at the sink. “I know.”
He scratches behind his ear, a crinkle of confusion forming between his brows. “A wine mom?”
“You know, the stereotypical woman who drinks a lot of wine and wears clothes with cutesy sayings like…” I point to my shirt and as his gaze drops, I realize I’ve guided his attention straight to my boobs.
Mason’s eyes meander back to my face slowly, his cheeks coloring. “I was going to say you look ready to take on warrior pose.”
“Oh.” I smile bigger than I should, pleased at the compliment and maybe also a little pleased that he was checking me out. “Thanks.”
He glances at Maisie, who is trying to tie her own sneaker even though she has no idea how. “She’s going with you?”
I can’t read his tone, so I don’t know how to take the question. “Yeah. You don’t have to worry about her being underfoot.”
“I wasn’t—I’m not—” He opens the fridge and dips his head in to survey the contents, his face hidden behind the door. “I didn’t know the wellness center offered childcare.”
I forgot to ask Avery about babysitting, so I’m flying on a wing and a prayer to keep Maisie out of Mason’s way. “I think they do.”
“Huh. Okay.”
Except when I get to the wellness center, there are no other children. No babysitting. There are women of all ages and a variety of sizes. That part is a huge relief, but without a sitter, I won’t be able to join.
“I’m so sorry,” Avery says. “Maybe Daniel could come get her and—”
“It’s really not a problem,” I say. “I should have asked. I’ll figure out something for next time.”
Tori, the cashier from the general store, comes out of the bathroom wearing yoga pants that match her brightly colored hair and a Hello Kitty tank top. She’s younger than I initially thought. Maybe a high school senior or a freshman in college. “What’s going on?”
“Rachel needs a babysitter,” Avery says.
Tori shrugs. “I only came to pad your numbers in case no one showed up.” She turns to me. “You should stay. I’ll hang out with Maisie.”
“Are you sure?”
“Never give a babysitter a chance to have second thoughts.”
I laugh. “In that case, yes, and I’ll pay for your time.”
“Now you’re speaking my language,” she says, looking down at Maisie, whose eyes are practically heart shaped as she stares up at the hot-pink girl. Tori resembles Maisie’s favorite Barbie doll. “Hey, kiddo, let’s go do some kids-only yoga.”
“What’s that?” Maisie asks as she leaves the lobby holding hands with a stranger. I feel a little guilty, but as we head into the yoga room, Avery assures me Tori can be trusted.
“She was enrolled in an early childhood education program at vocational school and has already earned college credit for the fall,” Avery says. “Tori is basically the official island babysitter, and those of us with kids are going to be up shit creek without a paddle when she leaves for Bowling Green.”
“I’ve never really had to think about childcare because I’ve always relied on my mom,” I say. “And I didn’t feel comfortable asking Mason.”
Avery nods knowingly, and I get the impression she might be one of the few people on the island who knows his secrets.
She assigns me a green yoga mat between Ruth, an elderly woman in a wheelchair, and Walt, a middle-aged man with a bushy beard, wearing a Led Zeppelin T-shirt. He’s the only man in the class, but as we begin, it’s clear he’s a lot more flexible than I am. I use all the accessories available—block, strap, and modified poses that are easier for a beginner to maintain—and yoga still kicks my ass. I thought I was in moderately good shape, but as we finish in relaxation pose, I nearly fall asleep. I’m exhausted and sweaty. But I also feel an internal quiet that I’ve never experienced.
“I’m guessing it’s not a permanent thing; otherwise, everyone would be doing yoga,” I say when I share with Avery after class. “But it makes me want to come back next week.”
“It can be a permanent thing, and everyone should be doing yoga,” she says. “Just give me a heads-up next time and Daniel will take both kids.”
“Are you sure?”
Avery waves me off. “Please. He goes to his parents’ house and watches sports on TV with his dad while his mom spoils Leo rotten. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind adding Maisie to the mix.”
* * *