Page 109 of Pets in Space 10

Okay, Round Two. Balance and Breath. Or, as I was thinking of it, the epicenter of my awkward romantic past and potentially painful future.

I ignored Demi’s dark muttering about “danger zones” and “inevitable heartbreak,” shoved Dad’s pronouncements about “priorities” to the back of my mind, and somehow convinced myself that showing up here again was a rational decision.

For my knee, of course. Strictly for the knee.

As I pull the door open to the yoga studio, a man and a woman in business attire are on their way out, smiling and laughing. I watch them go. They look put together after a yoga class.

“This place still smells like optimistic denial and lavender,” Raimei observes from the depths of my bag as I push open the door. “Are you sure this is therapeutic?”

“Hana seems to think so,” I mutter, scanning the room.

More people tonight. Good. Easier to hide.

I head for my preferred spot in the corner, unrolling the obnoxious pink mat with a sigh.

My knee gives a dull throb, a reminder of why I’m here.

It’s a tiny bit better today, less angry, more… resigned.

Progress? Maybe.

I start some tentative stretches, mimicking the woman next to me, who looks like she was born in the lotus position. My muscles protest, tight and unfamiliar with this kind of gentle persuasion. Give me sprints and sharp pivots any day.

The door opens, and he walks in. My stomach executes a neat little flip-turn. He’s carrying a stack of folded blankets, his focus on getting the room ready. He glances up, his eyes scanning the students, and then they land on me.

A pause. Not surprise this time, but something else. Recognition. A flicker of warmth? He offers a small nod, a silent acknowledgment, before turning back to his setup.

Okay. Okay. We can do this. Professional. Calm. Detached. I am here for therapeutic stretching. Nothing more.

The class begins. Rhys’s voice washes over the room, his same smooth, resonant timbre that simultaneously soothes and sets my nerves on edge. “Find your breath,” he instructs. “Connect with the ground beneath you.”

I try. I really do. But my mind keeps wandering. To the argument with Demi. To Dad’s disapproving frown. To the whispers about I.A. layoffs. To the undeniable fact that the instructor is the guy who ghosted me, and he looks amazing in yoga shorts.

We move through the poses. Downward-facing dog, my hamstrings scream in protest. Warrior two, my knee sends a sharp signal of displeasure. Triangle pose, I wobble, convinced I’m about to face-plant onto the pink mat.

Then Rhys is beside me. Not hovering, just… present. “Ease up slightly on your front knee, Rosa,” he murmurs, his voice low, for my ears only. “Find the length through your side.” His hand hovers near my waist, not touching, but the warmth radiating from him heats my skin.

My breath hitches. He didn’t ignore me this time.

I find myself hoping he’ll close the distance, that his hands will make contact with my skin.

The thought sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the stretch.

What would his touch be like? Warm? Firm?

Gentle? Would his fingers linger a second too long, betraying the same electricity I’m feeling?

God, I’m pathetic. One explanation over coffee and I’m already fantasizing about his hands on me.

I’m annoyed at myself for wanting his touch, for the way my skin seems to be waiting, anticipating.

This is yoga, not a romance novel. I’m here for my knee, not to melt under the attention of a man who ghosted me.

Maybe I need to stop thinking of him as that. “The man who ghosted me.”

Sigh.

He moves on, adjusting someone else, his movements fluid and assured. I adjust my pose, following his instruction, and the strain lessens. The sharp pain softens to a dull ache.

Huh.

Later, as we’re attempting a seated forward fold, a pose designed, I’m convinced, for human pretzels, he’s nearby again.

“Gentle bend in the knees if you need it,” he says, his gaze soft. “It’s about the stretch in the hamstrings, not forcing your nose to your shins. Remember to communicate. With your body.”

A reluctant chuckle escapes me. Communication. Right. The joke is not lost on me. I meet his eyes, and there’s a hint of amusement there, a shared understanding of the subtext. The tension between us shifts, softens, becomes… lighter.

The class winds down with Savasana, the final resting pose.

Corpse pose. Lying here, eyes closed, I try to let go of the swirling anxieties.

The I.A., my knee, Demi, Dad… Rhys. It’s a tangled mess.

But for a few fleeting moments, listening to Rhys’s calming guidance, feeling the gentle stretch in my muscles, I almost manage it.

Almost.

As people begin to stir, rolling onto their sides, Rhys’s voice comes again, soft and low, coaxing us back to the class.

I sit up, and my eyes find his across the room. He’s looking directly at me, a tentative question in his expression. My first instinct is to bolt. Run for the hills. Ice my knee and my feelings.

But… the knee does feel better.

As people gather their mats and belongings, I linger, uncertain. Should I hurry out like last time? Make small talk? Pretend this is all perfectly normal?

Rhys approaches, his movements unhurried, deliberate. He’s carrying a small ceramic teapot, steam curling from its spout.

“Tea?” he asks, his voice casual but his eyes searching mine. “If you have the time. It helps with recovery.”

There’s a pause, a weight to his words suggesting he’s talking about more than muscles.

“No pressure,” he adds, reading my hesitation. “Just tea.”

Tea. Such a simple thing. A warm beverage in a quiet space. Nothing complicated.

“Okay,” I hear myself say. “Tea sounds good.”

He leads me to a quiet corner at the rear of the studio, where someone has arranged a few floor cushions around a low table. He disappears for a moment and returns with two steaming mugs.

“Chamomile,” he says, handing one to me. “Good for calming the nervous system.”

“Mine could use some calming,” I admit, taking a careful sip. Raimei hops out of the bag and settles onto a cushion nearby, eyeing Rhys with suspicion.

“So,” Rhys begins, settling onto a cushion opposite me, “how’s the knee feeling?”

“Better,” I say, surprised to find it’s true. “Less like it’s plotting my demise.”

“Good. Yoga can help. Slowly.” He takes a sip of his tea, his gaze thoughtful. “And everything else? Family? The job stress?”

I hesitate. How much do I share? “Still dramatic. Still stressful. There are… rumors. Budget cuts at the I.A. No one talked about it today, so I have my concerns.”

He nods, his expression sympathetic. “That’s tough. Uncertainty is hard.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the only sounds the soft clinking of mugs and Raimei’s gentle snoring. It’s surprisingly comfortable.

“Look,” Rhys says suddenly, leaning forward. “I know things are… complicated. With us. With everything else going on for you. But would you want to do something? Something fun? Take your mind off things for a bit?”

My guard goes up. “Fun?”

“Yeah. Like… I don’t know… Stars Above? The theme park? Myra’s place, right? I assume you’ve been there.”

Stars Above. Myra had dragged us all there for the opening. It was loud, chaotic, space-themed… intriguing. But also… a date? Is that what this is?

“I…” My mind flashes to Demi’s warnings. Dad’s disapproval. The potential layoff notice hanging over my head.

“No pressure,” Rhys adds, seeing my hesitation. “Just an idea. A distraction. You said you needed one.”

He remembered.

I look at him, really look at him. The sincerity in his eyes, the faint lines around them when he smiles, the way he seems interested in how my knee is doing. A distraction wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“Okay. Stars Above. Sure. I can do a few hours at a theme park if I rest between rides.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, reaching his eyes, and my insides do the ridiculous somersaulting thing again. “Great. I’ll make sure you don’t overtax your knee. How about Saturday?”

“Saturday works.”

We finish our tea, the conversation drifting to lighter topics, getting-to-know-you topics, terrible transport experiences, the best place for ramen in the neighborhood, Raimei’s questionable sleeping habits.

By the time we stand up to leave, the earlier tension has dissipated, replaced by a tentative curiosity.

We walk out of the studio together, the evening air cool against my skin. The other students left an hour ago, leaving us alone on the quiet sidewalk.

“So,” I say, shifting my bag on my shoulder. “Saturday.”

“Saturday,” he confirms, turning towards me. The streetlight catches the curve of his jaw, the intensity in his gaze. The air crackles. That spark, the one from our first date, the one I felt across the café table, ignites again, brighter this time.

He takes a step closer. My breath catches. Is he going to…?

Yes. He is.

He leans in, his hand coming up to hold my cheek, his thumb brushing against my skin.

My eyes flutter shut. His lips meet mine, hesitant at first, then firmer, a jolt of electricity shooting through me.

The warmth of his mouth sends shivers down my spine as his lips move against mine, soft yet insistent.

A small, involuntary sound escapes from the back of his throat — half groan, half sigh — and his fingers thread into my hair, cradling the back of my head.

My body responds instantly, leaning into him, craving more of this connection that feels both new and achingly familiar.

It’s brief, maybe only a second or two, but it’s packed with a year’s worth of unspoken questions and unresolved chemistry.

Heat flares low in my belly, sharp and insistent.

Hold on to those feelings, Rosa!

He pulls away, his eyes searching mine. My heart is a runaway train. My mind is screaming a combination of ’Yes!’ and ’Danger!’ I’m thrilled, terrified, confused, and undeniably alive.

Before I can process any of it, before I can utter a single coherent word, my mini tablet pings from my bag. We both take a step back.

“Sorry,” I say, pulling it out from under Raimei.

An urgent notification flashes across the small screen.

From: Kenji Tanaka

Subject: Heads up

Message: Hearing strong rumors that the layoff lists are finalized. Announcements could be early next week. Brace yourself.

The warmth from the kiss evaporates in a flash, replaced by a chilling dread. Layoffs. Next week? My job. My future.

Rhys sees the shift in my expression, the sudden panic in my eyes. “Rosa? What is it?”

“I… I have to go,” I stammer, taking another step away from him. “Work stuff. Sorry.”

He nods. “Yeah? Are you sure?”

I nod, trying to seem put together when I’m not.

Fake it, Rosa.

He shrugs. “Okay. I understand unexpected career complications. All too well. Night, Rosa.”

“Night.” I lift a hand. Ugh. I’m lame. I should have at least thanked him for the kiss.

But instead, I turn and flee down the sidewalk, leaving Rhys standing there under the streetlight, a bewildered expression on his face. The weight of the potential layoff crashes down on me, eclipsing the lingering tingle on my lips.

I was beginning to hope things were getting better for me. That this distraction was worth the effort of changing my life.

Distraction? Maybe. But reality, cold and hard, has just delivered a brutal check.