Page 26 of Wild Card

It all feels like something bigger is at play, so I settle on a quiet “No”, ignore the lingering silence, and allow the conversation to flow in another direction.

The truth is, I knew Bash would be around at some point, but I didn’t know when we’d run into each other.

When I came into Rose Hill Reach tonight, my plan was to sit at the bar, have a drink, and enjoy a little people-watching. But that was before I met Doris, the shrewd, overly direct bartender who owns this place. She talked to me for a while and then marched me over here to team up with Tabitha, Skylar, and Rosie. Like she justknewwe’d hit it off.

And we did. We were a good trivia team. They were welcoming, fun, and down-to-earth. Rosie, outgoing. Tabitha, more sardonic. And Skylar—a country pop star known all over the world—quiet and completely grounded.

It was everything I love most about starting fresh. Meeting new people, trying new things. Yeah, so far, Rose Hill has been pretty damn perfect.

Cool women.

A stable job.

Mind-blowing mountain views.

The guy I met a year ago.

The one I haven’t been able to forget. The one who stillhasn’t reached out to me, even with the correct number. The one who probably hates me now for having dated his son.

And that all stings just a little more than it should.

The small charm above the studio’s front door jingles, pulling my attention from the computer screen. A short man with scraggly, white facial hair, a cap perched on his head, and a cane clutched in his hand, enters the room. Knobby knees peek out between loose shorts and clunky snow boots, an odd choice considering snow hasn’t fallen in the valley yet. My brows furrow, curiosity piqued.

“Hi. Welcome to Bliss Yoga.”

He mumbles something indistinguishable under his breath.

“Can I help you?”

The man eyes the space carefully, taking in the pale-pink walls, wicker cabinetry, and neutral fabric draped artfully across the windows almost critically.

“Are you Gwen?”

My head tilts. “I am.”

“Are you a yoga teacher?”

“I am.”

He stomps his boots, nods, and points his cane toward me. “Good. You’re the one I’ve heard about, then. I want to take a yoga class with you.”

I hold my head high, careful not to preen too obviously. Stepping into someone else’s established studio always comes with added pressure. I need to keep regulars happy while offering classes that feel both fresh and familiar. And his wording makes me feel like there has been some good word of mouth happening in recent weeks

“Well, I’d love to have you in a class, but the next one on the schedule isn’t until four p.m. Would you be willing to come back then?”

He waves me off with a little scoff. “No. I’ll take a private lesson.”

I blink. He knows what he wants, and he wants it now. “Okay. Do you want to look at our price list?”

His cheeks pinch like I’ve offended him. “Can’t put a price on quality.”

A small chuckle escapes me. “That’s fair.” I pull out a waiver. “Can I get you to fill this out for me? Just so we have some of your information on file.”

The man steps forward, grumbling something that sounds an awful likethat motherfucker is going to owe meas he reaches a shaky hand for the pen on the counter.

I watch as he scratches in all caps, skipping entire sections, marking other ones withNONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS.

Woof. I can tell he’s quite the character. And tense from head to toe.