Page 52 of Marry Me Tomorrow
When we get back to Chessie Valley, the rhythm of daily life picks back up as if we never left. We unload the car, and then Jenny gives me a distracted smile before heading toward the marina shop. “Don’t wait for me after work,” she says, “I’ll be in in my studio. I need some time to paint.”
I nod, then add, “Take all the time you need.”
A few weeks pass with Jenny and I keeping each other at arm’s length. We’re both busy at the marina, and in the evenings, she heads to her art cabin. Not wanting to go home to an empty house that reminds me of my empty marriage, I stay late at the marina, finding more to do. Tonight is no exception. I prep cabins for a wave of renters coming tomorrow, fix rudders on two rental boats, and replace slats of wood on the docks. In the evening, I trim back bushes and prep for sunset yoga.
We started the yoga back in the fall. Guests loved the serene setting with the gazebo perched by the lake and framed by wildflowers. I would have to agree, even more so now that I proposed to Jenny there. It makes for a beautiful stage for yoga. And while I don’t normally stick around for sunset yoga, tonight I decide that it would do me some good.
The soft hum of music drifts through the air as the yoga instructor adjusts the speaker system. The gazebo lights blink on, casting a warm glow over the water. The scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the floral perfume of the nearby wildflower blooms.
I’m just starting to stretch when a familiar voice catches my attention. “Hey there, hubby,” Jenny says.
I turn to see Jenny approaching, yoga mat in hand, her cheeks flushed from the cool evening air. She looks radiant, her yoga attire hugging her in all the right places. Who am I kidding, she’d look radiant in a potato sack.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I say.
“I wasn’t sure if I would make it tonight, but sometimes when I get lost in a painting and my mind starts to think too much, I’ll do a bit of yoga to settle it. Helps me get back in the right headspace.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say.
She smiles back at me.
“Were you wanting some space?” I ask. “I can head out if you were planning on doing yoga alone.”
“No,” she says, “please, stay.”
I unroll my mat and lay it on the grass. “Isn’t this the perfect backdrop for an outdoor yoga session?” I say, gesturing to the gazebo and the view behind it.
“I’d have to agree with you there,” Jenny says, a smile fluttering across her face. “I have a soft spot for this gazebo.”
Damn if my heart doesn’t stop short at those words and the sight of her. She’s a vision. I thought she looked good in her hiking outfit on our honeymoon, but this yoga look is even better. I turn my face from hers and grab my water, gulping it down right before the instructor starts.
Today's session of yoga is especially difficult. It’s not just physically demanding—it is mentally challenging too. My mind keeps drifting, especially with Jenny next to me. It’s been so long since we’ve spent an evening together. Jenny effortlessly flows through each pose. She makes it look easy, her movements graceful and controlled, her breathing steady.
I’m sweaty and exhausted by the time the session is over. I run my hand through my damp hair. I must look like a mess. I catch Jenny watching me out of the corner of her eye. “Like what you see, wifey?” I tease.
She rolls her eyes, a hint of pink dusting her cheeks. She stays that way for a minute before responding. “I’ve just never seen you work up such a sweat before, and you’ve worked on boats and mended cabins. Didn’t think yoga would be the thing to take you down.”
“Don’t let it fool you. This was next-level yoga.” I grin, about to give her a retort that she’s sweaty too, but looking her over closely, I see that she’s serene, barely even glistening. “And how is it that you’re not even sweating?”
“Probably because I do yoga just about every day. Plus, none of these poses were especially difficult so it was more like a movement meditation for me.”
She does yoga daily? I guess it’s not easy to miss that when we’re not spending much time together. But you think I would’ve noticed it at the cabin in Gatlinburg.
“You didn’t do yoga on our honeymoon,” I say flatly.
She chuckles softly and whispers, “If you recall, that place barely had enough space for two people to walk around. But I did do some sun salutations when you were in the bathroom in the mornings.”
“Damn, and I missed it.”
“What?” she eyes me curiously.
Oh shit, did I say that out loud? “Oh um, nothing. I’m just going to miss that cabin.”
“Right.” She full on laughs now, eyes crinkling as she wipes away tears.
Man have I missed that laugh. I lean in close to her. “What? When else will I have the chance to share a bed with my wife?”
Her laughter comes to a screeching halt, and she freezes. For a split second, I think I’ve gone too far. Maybe she’s not ready to joke about our not-honeymoon. But then she shakes her head and swats me on the arm. “You’re so bad,” she says.
