Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
“Well, this is great. I’m losing my appetite as we speak,” I half joked.
He laughed quietly. “I’ll shut up. Otherwise, I can drone on for hours about everything I think is wrong with how we try to get healthy.”
“No, you’re good. And I appreciate your take on things,” I said. “It’s just tiring sometimes to fight so hard and not always get the results.”
“I understand. But you’re seeing them now, yeah? And please remember, your body goes through changes all the damn time. Hormones have their say, your menstrual cycle, moods, stress levels—it all impacts those results.”
Right again.
“I hear you, Coach.”
“Attagirl.”
Fuck me.
The shrimp went down like a lead balloon, and a rush of desire tightened my stomach. If he could change that to good girl, I could totally picture him saying that when he was in the middle of fuck—
“So, how did it go today?” he asked.
Ugh.
Washington gave me a rainy welcome on Tuesday afternoon.
And yet, I was so happy to be home.
Home.
Camassia Cove really did feel like home now.
I loved it here.
I made it home right before it got dark, and I pushed my luggage into my apartment. Crashing on the couch—after showering and getting dry—should be at the top of my list. Hell, I should be downright exhausted by now. Instead, I had a bunch of longings and frustrations building up within me, so I just changed into clean leggings and a hoodie, and I replaced my flats with sneakers. Then I guzzled some water and headed out the door again.
I didn’t wanna sit in my quiet apartment just yet.
I strode up the cobblestone street and made a turn toward the busy areas of Cedar Valley. Of course, since I was still new in town, I had to rely on my phone’s GPS. But I simply had to see my studio.
The rain was coming down harder, clearing the streets of people.
The warm glow from the old streetlamps shone brightly on the wet cobblestones, and I drew a big breath, inhaling my favorite season of all.
Fall.
The season of warm blankets, hot cider, and trees burning in orange and red.
Part of me wanted to run back to see if Ethan was at the gym, but if he was, he’d likely be busy. He’d given me a heads-up on Sunday that he had a packed week. Not only was he helping Darius with something, but he was welcoming a group of special needs students for classes that shut down half the gym while they were there. Apparently, he’d worked closely with gym teachers to construct a program for those who needed extra help training their motor skills.
Like, how was I supposed to hear stuff like that and remain unfazed?
He had the easy-to-love crap down. And frankly, he hadn’t said anything lately that made him difficult to like, so I was becoming increasingly screwed each day. And not in the good way.
I did have a session with him tomorrow, though, since I’d missed my Monday appointment.
Checking the map on the screen, I veered right and then left. The storefronts became fewer and farther between, but it was still part of the heart of the Valley—and there.
Cascadia Street. Number fourteen was mine. Or would be, when I got the keys.
I stopped in front of the store and looked up at it. I wanted to keep the wood exterior and simply paint it. I loved that older style, a bit rugged and quaint. Maybe light blue? Or sienna?
Design by Nolan.
It was a tiny little store. The main draw was the studio in the back, where I would create and design and store all my work. No more working from home. Ethan was clear on how bad stress was, and if possible, I should limit stress factors in my own home.
“Home is where you relax. From an early age, we start managing stress—and we’re great at it when we’re young, so we often take on more and more of it, because what’s the big deal? Then boom, you’re forty years old and having chest pains, tingling in your hands, and can’t figure out why those last ten pounds won’t burn off.”
Did he know that a big part of his magic was the warmth of his voice? I could listen to him recite the phone book.
I wiped raindrops off my face and squinted at the door. The rain kept pouring down, but I wasn’t ready to return home.
In my head, managing stress was about optimizing my work surface as well. I wanted an office I loved. I wanted my equipment organized and set up on white-painted workbenches. I wanted paintings on the walls in faded watercolors. Fresh flowers and comfortable lighting, bright when I needed it bright, dim when I needed it dim. And a comfortable couch for naps. Perhaps a new wooden countertop in the kitchenette.