Page 8 of Wild Card

She peeks at me. “I know what you need.”

I flush, feeling like a kid caught gawking.I sure hope not.

“You need a pick-me-up before we go on our adventure.”

“I think all the coffee shops are closed.”

She just laughs and leads me toward a stretch of darkened windows that faces out into the snowy night. I watch as she kicks off her shoes, sits down cross-legged, and lays her palms over her knees.

She doesn’t call me over, but I go all the same, intrigued by the woman and her zest for life. I could use a little of that zest, and I know it—I just don’t know how to find it. Not when it feels like the last several years of my life have been one big cosmic joke.

“What are you doing?”

“Meditating.” I can hear the smile in her smooth voice.

“Why?”

“Because it can be just as restorative as sleep. And I don’t want to waste my night sleeping.” She pats the space beside her, a silent invite for me to join.

“I’m not really a meditator,” I grumble, though I still fold myself down beside her while wondering what the fuck I’m doing. My knee brushes the tips of her fingers, and I stare at her hand before shifting away to leave a few inches of space between us. I’m stiff as hell and must look like a busted-up pretzel trying to match her position. I don’t think I’ve sat cross-legged since grade school.

“Okay. Well, just sit here for a while then.”

I sneak a glance in her direction to see that her eyes are now closed and her lips are tipped up in a soft smile. “And do what?”

Her smile widens, but her lashes stay down, casting shadows over her apple cheeks. “Nothing.”

“Donothing?” Doing nothing is not my forte. I pride myself on staying busy, on always having a project on the go. Hell, I could take winters off since I quit going overseas to fight fires. I have enough money saved up to spend the season in Mexico, sipping margaritas on the beach. And yet, here I am, building up a contracting business and taking odd jobs over the winter months.

She peeks out of the eye closest to me. “It’s harder than it sounds.”

I bristle at that. “I know it is. It’s impossible.”

Her chin tips up as that one eye draws shut once again. “It’s not impossible. It’s good for you. But it takes practice. See if you can let your mind be blank.”

Blank?I scoff. Not after this week. “That’simpossible.”

She doesn’t respond to my feelings, though. Instead, she says, “Stare at the snow out the window. Watch it fall. Pick a single flake and watch its course. Then pick another one. Do it all over again.”

“What’s the point?” I ask, out of genuine curiosity. The way her brain works is…refreshing. And I want to know more aboutit. I think I’d like to spend some time in her brain just so I can get the hell out of mine.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The snow. Each flake has its own unique shape. That hush of quiet it brings to the world. You have nowhere to be. You’re safe and warm. Peaceful.” She sighs the last word, chest rising and falling.

Peaceful.

I turn and face the window, considering her words.

Peaceful.

It’s the last thing I’ve felt lately. But as I stare at the snow, falling thick and soft, I have to admit I feel a glimmer of it stir within me—a soft corner amid all my rough edges.

My gaze latches on to a single flake, following its gentle descent.

Then another.

And another.

I lose count of how many I watch fall or how much time passes. I wouldn’t say that my mind is blank, but it’s…soothed. And it’s only Gwen moving beside me that draws my attention away from the window. She’s shifted onto her knees and folded forward, her elbows propped on the floor with her hands held up in a prayer position.