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No.
It had all been for show anyway. There were no feelings involved. Just acting.
So, she had nothing to worry about, and she needed to focus.
Piper cleared her throat, sat back up, and refreshed the society page in the local paper again, looking to see who was dating, who had recently become engaged, who she might be able to secure as a client for her firm.
But she couldn’t focus.
Dammit.
She shoved back from the desk and stood up. She was freaking out, and she didn't have time for that. She needed to calm down. Her yoga mat was upstairs, and she was afraid if she went up there, she'd just crawl into her bed.
She didn't have time to crawl into her bed and hide from life. She'd allow five minutes of meditation on the kitchen floor, which was just uncomfortable enough that she wouldn't fall asleep for hours and wake up at four in the morning, stiff, cranky, and unproductive.
Yes, she'd done that. Many times. Meditation was helpful, but it led to a long nap more often than she liked, so she'd learned to manage her meditation challenges.
She grabbed a dishtowel as a pillow for her head, stretched out on the unforgiving, hard floor, and closed her eyes.
The tile was cool, but the night was warm enough that it felt good.
She took a deep breath, then wiggled herself more comfortably onto the tile.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
She focused on her breath, and her hands fell to her side limply. Her belly began to loosen, and she pictured herself sinking into the tile, her body so relaxed?—
The front door slammed open, and she bolted upright as Declan came racing in, panic in his face. "Piper!" he shouted.
"What? Holy crap! What?" She jumped to her feet, grabbed a wooden spoon, and held it up, ready to fight. "What's going on? Who's after us? Serial killer? What?"
Declan skidded to a stop, staring at her as his breath heaved in his chest. "What the fuck?"
"What? What is it?" She spun around, her heart hammering. "Watch out!" she shouted to the unseen danger. "I'm armed!"
Declan put his hands on his knees, staring at her, disbelief on his face.
She was starting to freak out. "What is it!" She grabbed the electric can opener from the counter and held it up. "I swear, Declan, if you don't tell me?—"
"I thought you were dead."
"What?" The can opener still above her shoulder, she stared at him. "Who was dead?"
"You!" He started laughing. "Hell, Piper. Why were you lying on the floor like that?"
"I was meditating." She lowered the can opener. "Wait a sec. Nothing's wrong?"
"No. Because you're not dead. Hell. Don't do that again."
"Lie on my own floor?" She was still trying to recover from the panic he'd thrust her into. "Why were you spying on me?"
"I wasn't spying." He sat down on a bar stool, still laughing. Or crying. It was unclear through her subsiding freak-out. "I came over to talk to you, and then I saw your feet sticking out from behind the island. I thought you were dead. Fucking meditation? Hell, Piper, on the tile floor? You haven't heard of a yoga mat?"
She set down the can opener. "I have my reasons." She held up her hands, which were now shaking. "I was meditating to relieve stress, and you just sent it through the roof."
"Well, you freaked me out, so we're even."
