Running. I was thinking about running, but Roman is still chatting easily with Azalea as though the prospect of couples yoga doesn’t faze him at all. Meanwhile, the most I’ve done is take a tiny step backward. It’s hardly a full-on sprint.

“—started in a couple minutes, okay? By the way, I love your outfit. You’ll have to tell me where you got it,” Azalea is saying to me. She gives me a casual wink, which I didn’t think was possible until this moment, and blessedly heads back toward the giant sand mat to gather herself before the class. At least I don’t have to say my boss gave me this outfit in a gift basket to get back at me.

“You ready?” Roman says. He has brought along his own mat in a holder, slung over his shoulder just like mine, and it reminds me of a quiver when he stretches his glorious biceps above his head. “Azalea’s one of the best-rated instructors we’ve ever had at Bliss, so that’s probably something you’ll want to include in your social media campaigns.”

“Sure. Of course.” His eyes are so blue. They’re a mix of sunlight and shadow, a mix of dusk and dawn, and I honestly can’t tell what he’s hoping to get out of this. He can’t possibly be getting revenge for yesterday.

No. He absolutely can be doing that.

“I think I’ve time-traveled,” he says. I’m staring at him like he’s a mystery egg about to hatch, though of course Roman is giving no sign of revealing his secrets.

Stand up straight—confident women don’t slouch. I pull myself upright and plaster on the winning smile I practiced so many times in the mirror after my high school exit interview. It took almost two years of college, but I shaped myself into the opposite of what I used to be, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to slip back into those old habits just because we’re about to touch each other’s...hands and waists during couples yoga.

“To when?” I reach up and pat at my bun, the movement designed to show off the best angle of my chin. “Ah—I know. You miss your time in the pool yesterday. Don’t worry too much. We can plan another shoot.” To my immense pride, my voice doesn’t quiver at all.

Roman cracks a broad grin. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a model. But I do miss one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s all gather round and set out our mats,” Azalea calls.

He turns toward the sand mat, with all the other couples, and it’s not until he’s a few steps away that he answers. “The view.”

“Take a deep breath in. Inhale peace. Exhale worry,” Azalea intones.