Page 39 of ReTreat Yourself

My lungs are billowing from my chest as his joke hangs in the air between us, me over by the window, and him standing rigidly by the door. His eyes are wide with shock.

It takes me only a split second more to regain my posture. A quick few taps on my wrists, three taps to my third eye and I’m composed, although my mind’s a complete blank.

He continues to stare at me bug-eyed, his eyebrows up near his hairline. He takes a step forward before obviously thinking better of it. This is not going to go well. I see a myriad of emotions cross his face as he opens and closes his mouth, lost for words.

Hardly a great surprise.

I take in his rakish good looks and his fashionable shorts. Not too long. Not too short. And wait for further comments on my demonstrative display of mental collapse.

He shakes his head as he lazily takes in my insane, dishevelled appearance. He notices I am only wearing one shoe. The other having been flung off during the rolling about. I can feel something stuck to my face. I slowly reach up and peel off a bright yellow Post-it note from my cheek. It’s a reminder from Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen that the International Coaching Federation called about my certificate. I look wild-eyed at him as I take in his bamboozled expression.

‘Sorry, Nell,’ he says. ‘For interrupting your… um… yoga?’

Yoga? Yoga? Like I’d have the fecking patience for yoga at a time like this!

‘I was clearing a blockage. My, erm… root chakra. It’s blocked.’

‘Blockage. Right, right, of course. You’re clearing a blockage. Is it some kind of build up?’ He’s making it sound like a plumbing issue.

‘Well, it’s more of a…’

How to describe it? Complete and utter breakdown? Monumental collapse of one’s sanity?

‘…an advanced form of throat singing.’

As our eyes meet, I detect a dangerous, playful confidence.

‘You have some sort of tiny fishing net sticking out of your hair.’ He has clamped his lips together. His shoulders are beginning to shake.

‘It’s a Native American amulet,’ I say sharply, yanking the portable dream catcher from my tangled hair. Why does Nidi have so many bloody trinkets? She’s like some insane hoarder of spiritual knick-knacks.

‘Of course it is.’

I remain unmoved. I’m not going to nurture his behaviour one little bit. I suppose he has had a bit of a shock catching me unawares like that. And shock can manifest itself in inappropriate ways, such as the need to chortle.

I wait two minutes.

His shoulders are still shaking, his cheeks red from suppressing his desire to laugh rudely in my face.

And another two.

Finally, he composes himself, but his eyes are glassy. This is bloody ridiculous. I am a professional woman for goodness’ sake. I let out an elaborate sigh. ‘Why are you here?’ I snap impatiently. ‘I specifically said I didn’t want to see you.’

Christ, but he’s got me rattled.

‘Why have you come back?’ I repeat crossly.

‘My phone. It must have dropped out of my pocket when you were strong-arming me out the door. I came straight back but you were with a client.’

I follow his gaze to the seat where he’d been sitting during the session just over an hour ago. There is a flat object on it.

‘Anyway, I wanted to apologise for the misunderstanding earlier. I realise now how what I said could’ve been misconstrued.’ Oliver strides over to retrieve his phone. He turns it over to inspect it before tucking it in his pocket. I am entranced by how fluidly he moves for such a beefcake. ‘I know you’re focused on your career but I came to ask you out on a date.’

Oh.

16

A date? We take a moment to stare at each other.