attached to your ankle by a leash. Find that, and you’ve found your floatation device. And whatever you do,” Carson says, still looking directly at me, “Don’t panic.”
It’s hard to imagine panicking about anything as I’m pulled into the green undertow of his eyes.
WE BREAK FOR lunch back at the beautiful veranda at the main house. The instructors sit with us at the communal table, and thankfully we’re not talking about weddings anymore; we’ve moved on to work. In our group, we have an accountant, a computer technician, a speech therapist, and a few stay-at-home moms. Brigitte and I steal a glance at each other and smile, grateful that we came up with our cover stories ahead of time.
Carson listens attentively to each person, asking questions about their jobs and how they like them. He’s so polite, but he seems genuinely interested. I admit I’m a little excited at the prospect of that genuine interest being directed toward me as we go around the dining table. Finally, the male model masquerading as a surf instructor turns to me. “How about you, Kate?” Carson asks. “What do you do?”
When he says the name Kate , I try to conjure that confident woman who spoke with him at the beach. Besides, this bit of fiction isn’t such a stretch for me as a longtime yoga student, so I sound very casual when I say, “I’m a yoga instructor.”
Suddenly, Carson, Randy, and Evan are all looking at me intently. Then Randy says, “It’s fate!” Fate? Whoa, what’s he talking about?
“Kismet, dude,” Evan agrees as he and Randy grin and high-five each other.
“What?” I ask, confused. I look at Brigitte, who gives me a small, bewildered shrug, and then back at Carson. “What did I say?”
“We have a regular yoga teacher here at Emerald Cove, but she had a family emergency and won’t be here for the rest of the week, maybe longer,” he explains. “The manager’s been freaking out trying to find a replacement.”
“And here she is,” Randy says, indicating me. “Told you, the beach gods deliver!”
“Randy, Kate’s here on vacation,” Carson admonishes gently. “She came here to relax and learn how to surf, not to work.” He looks back to me. “I mean, it is kind of an interesting coincidence. We don’t have a yoga teacher for the week, and a yoga teacher magically lands on our beach.” He smiles, which is itself an entirely magical experience. “Like a goddess stepping out of a seashell.”
Oh my beach gods, did he just make an Aphrodite reference about me?
“You’re freakin’ kidding,” one of the bridal party girls intones in an accent so nasal it could bend a spoon. “There’s no yoga this week?”
“No teacher,” says Randy, who then looks at me plaintively. “No teacher, no yoga.”
“OMG,” Allegra, the bride-to-be, groans. “I’m so stressed out about this wedding! I need to do yoga.”
Jamie, one of the honeymooners, looks at me and says, “Maybe you could teach us just one class?”
The bridal party chimes in with a twangy chorus of “Please!”
Randy starts a chant of “Kate! Kate! Kate!” that won’t let up until I say, “Okay, okay! I’ll teach a yoga class.”
They all applaud and cheer. I bask in the attention until I look at Brigitte, whose eyes are wide with questions. Probably Can you teach a yoga class? And maybe Are you insane?
I give her a tiny shrug. I got caught up in the moment. And I don’t regret it for a minute after Carson turns that magical smile on me again and says, “That’s really generous of you, Kate.”
“Well, that’s what yoga teachers are all about,” I say. “Being of service.”
The rest of the table goes back to chattering about various things that I don’t really hear or care about because Carson is talking to me. “Do you teach at one particular yoga studio or wherever you want?” he asks.
Not expecting specific questions, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Mountain Yoga, in Manhattan.”
It’s hard to imagine panicking about anything as I’m pulled into the green undertow of his eyes.
WE BREAK FOR lunch back at the beautiful veranda at the main house. The instructors sit with us at the communal table, and thankfully we’re not talking about weddings anymore; we’ve moved on to work. In our group, we have an accountant, a computer technician, a speech therapist, and a few stay-at-home moms. Brigitte and I steal a glance at each other and smile, grateful that we came up with our cover stories ahead of time.
Carson listens attentively to each person, asking questions about their jobs and how they like them. He’s so polite, but he seems genuinely interested. I admit I’m a little excited at the prospect of that genuine interest being directed toward me as we go around the dining table. Finally, the male model masquerading as a surf instructor turns to me. “How about you, Kate?” Carson asks. “What do you do?”
When he says the name Kate , I try to conjure that confident woman who spoke with him at the beach. Besides, this bit of fiction isn’t such a stretch for me as a longtime yoga student, so I sound very casual when I say, “I’m a yoga instructor.”
Suddenly, Carson, Randy, and Evan are all looking at me intently. Then Randy says, “It’s fate!” Fate? Whoa, what’s he talking about?
“Kismet, dude,” Evan agrees as he and Randy grin and high-five each other.
“What?” I ask, confused. I look at Brigitte, who gives me a small, bewildered shrug, and then back at Carson. “What did I say?”
“We have a regular yoga teacher here at Emerald Cove, but she had a family emergency and won’t be here for the rest of the week, maybe longer,” he explains. “The manager’s been freaking out trying to find a replacement.”
“And here she is,” Randy says, indicating me. “Told you, the beach gods deliver!”
“Randy, Kate’s here on vacation,” Carson admonishes gently. “She came here to relax and learn how to surf, not to work.” He looks back to me. “I mean, it is kind of an interesting coincidence. We don’t have a yoga teacher for the week, and a yoga teacher magically lands on our beach.” He smiles, which is itself an entirely magical experience. “Like a goddess stepping out of a seashell.”
Oh my beach gods, did he just make an Aphrodite reference about me?
“You’re freakin’ kidding,” one of the bridal party girls intones in an accent so nasal it could bend a spoon. “There’s no yoga this week?”
“No teacher,” says Randy, who then looks at me plaintively. “No teacher, no yoga.”
“OMG,” Allegra, the bride-to-be, groans. “I’m so stressed out about this wedding! I need to do yoga.”
Jamie, one of the honeymooners, looks at me and says, “Maybe you could teach us just one class?”
The bridal party chimes in with a twangy chorus of “Please!”
Randy starts a chant of “Kate! Kate! Kate!” that won’t let up until I say, “Okay, okay! I’ll teach a yoga class.”
They all applaud and cheer. I bask in the attention until I look at Brigitte, whose eyes are wide with questions. Probably Can you teach a yoga class? And maybe Are you insane?
I give her a tiny shrug. I got caught up in the moment. And I don’t regret it for a minute after Carson turns that magical smile on me again and says, “That’s really generous of you, Kate.”
“Well, that’s what yoga teachers are all about,” I say. “Being of service.”
The rest of the table goes back to chattering about various things that I don’t really hear or care about because Carson is talking to me. “Do you teach at one particular yoga studio or wherever you want?” he asks.
Not expecting specific questions, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Mountain Yoga, in Manhattan.”
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