What’s wrong with him? “I started to, and then the waiter came and we changed the subject. Why is this a problem?”
Micah stood up, still stark naked. “Because my best customers—people who’ve worked for months and years to perfect their diets and improve their health—are coming into my classes carrying cupcakes. Your cupcakes. It’s like watching them swallow poison.”
Well, hell’s bells! “Poison? We use the best ingredients. My grandmother’s recipes aren’t poison.”
“Of course they are. Do you know what white sugar and flour do to the liver, the DNA? It’s worse than poison.”
Quentin stuck his hands on his hips. “And do you know what going through life without benefit of any food that’s truly pleasurable does to you? It kills you a whole lot faster than poison.”
Micah stared at him, breathing hard. “I guess we just don’t have that much in common after all.”
A rolling pin in his heart couldn’t have hurt more. “I guess not.”
“Glad we found out now instead of—later.”
Later, as in when Quentin’s heart could break in one hundred pieces instead of only ninety-nine? “If you say so.”
He grabbed his purse, ran to the living room, picked up his shoes and shawl, and tore out the door. On the landing, he stared at the three-inch heels. He wasn’t putting them on. He hurt enough for one night.
OUCH. QUENTIN hobbled into his living room. That theory about the shoes had lasted halfway across Micah’s lawn, when Quentin stepped on a rock and used many words inappropriate for a lady.
He threw the shoes into the hall closet and hurried to the bedroom. Mary Beth would be worried. He stopped. Tears trickled out of both eyes and ran down his face like some damned leaky faucet over which he had no control. Micah. Why had he let himself get involved with the man? But Micah had seemed so sincere. So sweet.
Oh, face it, Queen, you thought with your cock. You didn’t really know the man. One date and a couple of great fucks do not a relationship make.
He flipped on the shower, ripped off his clothes, and tossed them in the back hamper. Maybe he should burn them. He stepped under the water and let it pour out on the top of his head. Could he drown in the shower? Somebody should have drowned him at birth.
He soaped, scrubbed his face, rinsed, and jumped out. Don’t think. Mary Beth is waiting. He passed some cotton soaked in nail polish remover over his manicure, then threw on some sweats and a T-shirt—more casual than his usual attire, but all he could manage right now. Some flip-flops and his back-door jacket and he padded across the connecting lawn to Mary Beth’s place. Deep breath time. Do not worry her or let her know you’re upset.
He fixed a smile and opened the back door with his key. “Halllooo the house.”
Her voice came from the living room as he expected. “In here, dear.”
Still plastering a smile, he walked into the living room. Okay, this wasn’t what he expected. Mary Beth had somehow pushed back the coffee table and had a yoga mat spread in front of her couch. A talk show chattered on the TV while Mary Beth lay on her stomach and raised her upper body into a cobra on the mat. Not half bad either. That eighty-three-year-old back did some good bending. “Quite impressive.”
“Thank you, sir. The postures really help me relax and get rid of my infernal back pain.” She lowered herself until her forehead touched the mat. Her voice came out muffled. “Be right with you.” She took a deep breath, then pushed up to a kneeling position. “So, how was your get-together?”
Smile, dammit. “Oh, fine. So you’re really getting benefit from your classes?”
“Yes, even though that teacher is a piece of work, he does know his postures.”
Of course, that made him think of Dharmaram, which made him think of Micah, which made him want to bawl. “Good, that’s really good.”
“So where did you go?” She sat with one leg out and dropped her head toward her knee.
Shoot. So he had to talk about it. “To a place called Dizzy’s. They have a nice bar.”
She held her pose. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. George says he likes that place.”
“George?”
“My friend from yoga class.” With a big exhale, she sat back up.
“Oh right.”
She smiled. “Did you have a good time with your new friend?”
“It was okay. Tell me about George.”
She frowned. “Quentin, what’s wrong?”
He shook his head and tried to smile. “Nothing. We just didn’t have that much in common after all.” His voice broke just a little, so he cleared his throat to cover it. “But I enjoyed the place. I’ll have to take you there.”
She gazed at him. Didn’t miss much, that lady. “I’m so very sorry that this person didn’t turn out to be a good friend for you.”
He breathed out slowly. No tears. They could come later. “Friends are hard to make.”
“Yes, they are.”
“So, you have class tomorrow, right? I’ll drive you. I have some errands to do in the morning before I go to the store.”
“How is that new girl working out?” She started to get up, and he stood and helped her.
“Quite well. She has a perfect grasp of the taste and texture of the cupcakes. I feel very comfortable leaving the store when she’s around.”
She picked up her mat, and he pulled the coffee table back to its usual location. After she clicked the TV off, she walked toward the stairs, and he followed.
She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll come to the store after my class. I want to see everyone and make sure all the recipes are working well.”
“The coconut lemon is a huge hit.”
“I thought it would be. But we need some new flavors to keep our customers coming to try new things.”
Micah’s voice rang in his ears. My customers work so
