Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
The pressure had dropped, making everything feel crisper. If he listened closely, he could hear the creak of bare limbs in the forest and taste the bitter metallic bite of the coming snow.
Before going inside, he checked the woodshed and restocked the timber rack on the porch. Like most Hideaway residents, he depended heavily on fire for warmth.
Once the rack was loaded up, he kicked the snow off his boots and damp cuffs, then carried a few logs inside. The house was cold because he’d crashed at his dad’s the night before. He twisted up the latest issue of The Almanac, the town’s weekly paper, lit it, and left the woodstove open so the fire could breathe.
While the hearth warmed, he stripped out of his clothes and headed for the bathroom, his body accustomed to the bite of cold that came with living in these parts.
As the heater kicked on, the pipes squealed, water rushing past a few ice chips in the line. Then steam billowed from the showerhead in a welcoming spray. The hot water soothed the tension in his back and loosened his muscles.
Lathering the soap, he washed and mentally reviewed the preparations for the day ahead. Roads would need to be salted. Rivulets of suds spiraled into the drain as his hand drifted lower. His fist tightened around his flesh, washing and tugging through his daily routine.
He should check on Wren before the storm hit to make sure she had enough supplies. He braced his weight against the wall, resting his head on his forearm as he stroked. How long had it been since he’d sharpened Wren’s shovels?
His gut tightened with his fist as he tugged in smooth, gliding strokes. He’d check in on the elderly neighbors to make sure they were stocked up with everything needed to stay warm, then he’d salt a few sidewalks while he was in that area.
His breath quickened with each tug. He should also refill the bird feeders so the wildlife had enough food to weather the storm.
“Fuck,” he growled low, his muscles stiffening as each nerve fired along his spine.
Glimpses of her flickered in his mind, but he never lingered on a single vision long enough to truly feel guilty about it. It could have been any woman’s hair he imagined. Any woman’s eyes. But it wasn’t. It was always her. Always Wren.
“Damn it,” he growled through gritted teeth, trying desperately to picture a brunette or a woman with more curves. But his mind always went to Wren.
Fuck it. With a harsh exhalation, he gave in and trembled through his release. Panting, he let his shame wash down the drain and turned the water to scalding.
Once rinsed off, he dressed for a long, cold day.
CHAPTER 4
“All I want for Christmas is…”
Sharp Shovels?
“Let your breath deepen like snow gently gathering on the earth—slow, steady, quiet.” Wren soundlessly weaved her way around the yoga mats and bodies stretched out across the studio.
Sunlight filtered past the tall pines and warmed the hardwood through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The overcast skies looked as though they would flurry.
The pale sun-bleached white oak floors were warm underfoot despite the cold outside. “Wake up those hands by gently wiggling your fingers.”
Her toe ring caught the light as she wove softly around her students as they rested on their backs in the savasana pose. With every gentle step, her mandala tattoo peeked out from the ankle of her cocoa brown harem pants.
“Now, wiggle your toes.”
A subtle blend of palo santo, cedar, and eucalyptus drifted from the clay diffuser in the corner.
“Invite sensation back into the body. And when you’re ready... roll gently to one side.”
One by one, her students shifted and turned.
Ambient Nordic folk music played softly as the gentle wind chimes trilled outside. Her fingers twirled the delicate moonstone pendant resting on her collarbone.
“Press up slowly, no rush. Find a comfortable seat. Palms together at heart center.”
Wren returned to her mat at the front of the room, where she kept the sound bowls and gong. She sat cross-legged in front of the class, their eyes half-lidded and peaceful as they awaited her guidance.
She matched their poses and took a moment to bask in her gratitude. “Thank you for choosing stillness today. For choosing presence.”
A few relaxed sighs met her ears, and as the class became more alert. She bowed her head slightly. “Namaste.”
“Namaste,” the class responded in unison.
“I hope The Haven gave you something you needed today. The kitchen has warm herbal broth and fresh rye crackers waiting if you want to linger. Don’t forget to grab a flyer on your way out. It has our full holiday schedule and details about next month’s winter solstice flow, which will be by candlelight.”
Pleasant sounds of interest accompanied the rustling of people packing up their mats and slipping into their snow boots. Wren retrieved her water from the shelf and took a long sip.