He played along and dodged the make-believe dildo. “It’s safe to say I will never forget that day.”
She angled her body toward him. “I was supposed to pitch my fitness business concept to a venture capitalist group.”
“The fake meeting? The guys who were doing it for kicks to meet girls, right?”
She’d mentioned it before. And like then, he had the urge to seek out those wankers and throw a few well-placed punches straight to their guts.
She nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one.”
“What made you think of that?”
She played with one of the green beads on her bracelet. “The plan I’d put together was solid but not unique. As crazy as it sounds, Pun-chi yoga is a remarkably effective way to build more strength and cardio into a typical yoga practice. And kids love it. Well, I’m not sure if every kid does, but your son enjoys it.”
He leaned in but didn’t speak, giving her room to continue, which was odd for him. Anytime the topic of Sebastian and boxing came up, he usually bristled. But this time, he didn’t.
“Sebastian likes pairing yoga and boxing moves,” Libby explained. “It happened by chance the first time he asked me to show him how yoga worked.”
“He asked you how to do yoga?” He’d never pictured the lad barefoot on a mat. Then again, he didn’t know the boy that well. Whenever this fact was thrown in his face, he’d close himself off and disengage. But again, like with the boxing comment, he didn’t. Listening to Libby talk about Sebastian didn’t feel like a vice tightening around his heart. It was the opposite reaction. It was as if his heart expanded in his chest with her every word.
A warm, knowing grin bloomed on her lips. “Sebastian’s curious like that, and it’s like he’s built for both yoga and boxing. He’s got extraordinary balance and physical strength for someone his age. I’d bet you were the same way as a kid.”
He was. Athletics had come easily to him.
“It’s funny,” she continued. “I thought the day I confronted you at the gym would go down as one of the worst days of my life. Instead…” she trailed off and peered over her shoulder at the door that led to Sebastian’s third-floor bedroom, and there was no second-guessing what she was thinking about. “He’s a terrific kid, Raz,” she added softly.
A slip of silence sealed them in the safety of the staircase. They sat together, two people pausing on a step. He shifted slightly, and his knee grazed hers, changing the energy. He sensed her tense in response to his touch. She was about to stand and bring their impromptu stair conversation to a close. He could feel it, but he wasn’t ready to leave this perfect purgatory.
“What made you want to be a yoga teacher?” he blurted like a bloody BBC reporter.
She watched him for a beat, then released a slow breath, her shoulders lowering and her body relaxing again as she settled in on her half of the step. She gave him the saddest smile. “My mom.”
“Was she a yoga teacher?”
He’d used the past tense, remembering the other tidbit Briggs had rattled off.
Libby’s mum, Aurora Lamb, was deceased.
“No, she was a librarian. She stopped working after my brothers were born. She passed away from cancer when I was thirteen.”
“I’m sorry.” Death was another topic he avoided, but the power of this place softened the blow. Usually, the mention of death brought him face-to-face with the ghosts of his past. But tonight, he wasn’t as burdened by his, and more than anything, he wanted to learn more about hers.
Libby’s eyes shined, and she blinked away the emotion.
“Did your mum like taking yoga classes?” he prodded gently.
“The funny thing is, I don’t think she ever took an actual yoga class. She did take a meditation and stretching class for women going through chemotherapy at one of the community centers in Denver. I used to babysit my brothers at the park right outside while she took the class. And while she didn’t practice yoga, she was a spiritual person—quite intuitive.”
“How so?”
A warmth radiated from Libby, lighting her up in a comforting golden glow. “Like me, my mom knew things about people—like when the twins were about to wake up from a nap or if I’d had a rough day at school and could use a hot fudge sundae. She’d give these feelings colors, and I could see them, too. I didn’t think much of them until I began studying yoga and learned that we were reading people’s energy and perceiving their auras.”
“Like how there was all that blue and purply-violet around us in the police car?” he asked.
“I was surprised when you told me you noticed the colors.”
She wasn’t the only one.
He sat back, recalling the intensity of the night and the powerful yearning to kiss her. “I think me seeing colors has to do with you and me. It happens when I’m around you. And it’s usually the same hue—violet and—”
“Blue,” she finished. “It’s violet and blue when it comes to us.”
“Yeah, do you know what it means?”
He’d never believed in auras, visions, or vibrations controlling people’s fate, but that assertion had been more than challenged since Libby entered his life.
“It could mean a lot of things,” she considered. “Blue signifies intuition and peace. Blue could also represent having the blues and feeling down, but I don’t get that with us. Sadness isn’t the driving force. Yes, it’s there, but the blue I see reads more like healing.”
“And the violet?” he rasped.
Mischief sparkled in her amber eyes. “Power.”
“Well, that makes sense for me,” he joked as the mood lightened.
“It can also be a sign of becoming one, a kind of coming together to heal and grow spiritually,” she added, and her words stopped him right in his tracks.
Was that even possible for someone like him? Could he heal? Did he want to heal?
He ignored the questions. “Does seeing auras run in your family? Can your dad see them?” he asked, and the offhand comment fell from his lips like a grenade.
And bollocks!
Why did he mention her father?
Then again, maybe it wasn’t such a sore topic.
Nope, it was.
Libby’s serene expression dissolved as her features hardened, and his gut churned. If at that very moment a genie had offered him one wish, he’d ask to erase his careless words. He’d felt her energy shift when the cops had asked if she’d known of Connolly Lamb. Even then, in the insanity of that situation, he’d perceived her disdain for the man.
“The only thing my father can see,” she seethed, “is the direction that points toward selfish, self-serving choices.”
Double bollocks!
The last thing he wanted to do was upset her and throw off this beautiful equilibrium they’d created on the step.
He had to fix this.
And the only way to do it was to come clean.
Nineteen
Erasmus
“Your dad’s name is Connolly, right?” he asked, knowing damn well that was her father’s name.
He’d had a feeling the man was bad news the night the officers asked her if she knew a Connolly Lamb, and she’d said no. He’d known she was lying. He didn’t understand why…until now.