Sienna lifted an eyebrow. “Only if you stop crowing.”
My mouth twitched, but I caught my smile before it could spread. “Next you’re going to call me cocky.”
“I wasn’t. I was going to call you a chick magnet.”
I gave in to a laugh and shook my head at Jethro’s fiancée. She was good at puns, and I liked this about her. She always put me in a better mood.
Sienna flashed a smile and her trademark dimples made an appearance. “Did you enjoy that one?”
“It’s better than being called a motherclucker.”
Now she laughed, tossing her head back. “Oh, that’s funny. I’m using that for one of my movies.”
“Go right ahead. I ain’t using it for anything profitable.” Readjusting myself on my mat, I closed my eyes, breathed in and out—clearing my mind—and tried the pose again.
It was Monday morning, and happened to be Halloween, one week after my last and final lesson with Jennifer Sylvester.
I was . . . unhappy. And that’s all I have to say about that.
Sienna and I were outside on the back deck of the homestead, facing the national park where it backed up to our land. It was mid-morning, chilly but not too cold, and the sun was just peeking above the Smokies. Mist still clung to the wildflower field since our place was deep in the Valley; this time of year, the sun didn’t touch the house until after 9:30 AM.
Sienna and I had done yoga together a few times before she and Jethro had left to film her last movie in Washington State. Since she’d returned, we’d been meeting for yoga three mornings a week. I didn’t want her doing any positions that might hurt the baby, so I’d drafted a pregnancy-safe routine. She told me I was ridiculous and a hovering uncle, but she did them anyway.
“So,” Sienna interrupted the quiet, “about Jethro’s bachelor party . . .” She ended the sentence on a leading high note, as though I was expected to fill in the blank.
I shook my head, refusing to look at her. I knew what she was after.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And you can tell Jethro to stop asking his woman do his dirty work.”
“What if I’m curious?”
“I’ll share the pictures after the fact.”
I felt her eyeballs on me, considering. “Is it true you’ve hired a stripper?” I heard the smile in her voice. “Because I’m fairly certain Jessica has for mine. My sister Marta is going to be horrified.”
“Your sister is always horrified.”
Sienna released a surprised laugh. “You are tense.” I heard her switch poses. “And you’ve been grumpy.”
“I’m always grumpy.”
I was grumpy.
Duane and Jess hadn’t been upset when we didn’t show at Big Todd’s. But I’d been upset and still was upset.
I hadn’t seen Jennifer in a week. Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. Whoever said that was a damn fool. Absence makes the heart suicidal. Take my heart for example. It hadn’t stopped hurling itself against my ribs—at odd times, day or night—for a week.
Clearly, my heart was a danger to itself and to me because Jennifer Sylvester and I were not suited, not at all.
If I’d pursued her, assuming she even desired my attentions, things would be complicated between us. I couldn’t abide complicated. Her parents would not approve, and I would not seek their approval. I wanted predictable, and she’d never ceased to surprise me. Together we would not be perfectly pragmatic. We would be impressively impractical.
Furthermore, the intensity of my attraction was distracting and I didn’t want a partner who distracted me. The last month had proved definitively that I couldn’t see clearly with thoughts of Jennifer Sylvester clouding my vision.
“No, you’re not always grumpy.” Sienna tugged on my beard. “You’d like to think you are, but you’re not. Is this because I didn’t make you my maid of honor?”
“Yes. I wanted that orange dress.”
“It’s not orange, it’s burnt umber.”
“It’s orange and your bridesmaids look like pumpkins.”
She laughed again. “Stop making me laugh. I can’t do yoga if I’m laughing.”
“We do not look like pumpkins,” a familiar and welcome voice behind us challenged.
I opened my eyes and turned. My sister Ashley was climbing the steps of the deck, a bakery box in her hands. I squinted to read the lettering on the side, confirming my suspicions. Donner Bakery. I grimaced.
“We’re not pumpkins. We’re stunning autumn gourds. Good morning, Sienna. How are you feeling?” Ashley crossed to Sienna and bent to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I brought you lemon custard cakes.”
“You’re a saint.” Sienna shot to her feet and accepted the box from Ash.
I followed the two women with my eyes as they moved to one of the picnic tables, opened the box, and began digging in.