Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Raffa

I'm not exactly surprised that Meadow's canceled our evening session twice in a row. Festival prep hasn't come to a halt or anything—she's still sending me texts with random instructions, who to call, what to handle—but it's clear she's avoiding me. Probably still hung up on that whole "you can have sex but don't forget the condoms" fiasco.

Honestly, I don't blame her. I'd be embarrassed too. But I've already talked to my doctor and—guess what? She was right. I'm cleared for sex, as long as I stick to missionary or let my partner take control. Low effort. Doctor's orders.

I even ordered a few boxes of condoms, just in case . . . not sure who am I going to fuck, my hand? I shouldn't be worrying about it.

That's why today I'm trying something new. Yoga class. Yeah, you heard me right—yoga. McKay helped me buy a mat and basically shoved me into this, saying it'll help me "relax."

I walk into the studio, feeling out of place with the mat tucked under my arm. I settle into a spot near the back, rolling out the mat and trying to breathe. Calm down. It's just yoga, right? A bunch of deep breaths and stretching. I can handle that.

And then I see her.

Meadow walks in, wearing leggings that cling to every curve and a gym bra that leaves little to the imagination. Fuck. I try to focus on anything but the way her body moves as she finds a spot almost in front of me. But my brain isn't having it.

She sets her mat, does some neck stretches, arm stretches and all is well until it's not. The moment she bends over into a Downward Dog, my thoughts go to places they really shouldn't. Like what it would be like to take her from behind, my hands gripping her hips, fingers slipping down to stroke her clit while I thrust in and out of her pussy. The way her ass would bounce with every move. Best part? It's low-effort, like the doctor suggested.

My cock throbs just thinking about it, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself in check. This is ridiculous. I'm in a fucking yoga class, for God's sake. Getting hard here would be humiliating on a level I don't even want to imagine.

I try to breathe—in through the nose, out through the mouth—but every time I glance over, I catch a glimpse of her body stretching, and it's driving me insane. My dick is straining against my shorts, and I can feel the sweat beading on the back of my neck. Worst part, the class hasn't even started yet.

Focus, Raffa. Focus.

But the idea of her bent over in front of me, moaning my name while I move inside her, is just too fucking strong. My entire body is pulsing with need, and I'm trying—really trying—to calm the fuck down, but it's not happening. Not with her in that tight gym bra and those leggings, stretching like she's made to be touched.

I shift on the mat, willing my erection to go away, but nothing's working. The image of her, those curves, those lips . . . fuck. It's too much. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping for some kind of miracle to stop this insanity, because the last thing I need is a full-blown hard-on in the middle of a yoga class. Not exactly the kind of relaxation I signed up for.

I open my eyes again, and nope, it's still there—she's still there, bending and stretching like it's her personal mission to drive me out of my goddamn mind. I can feel the sweat beading on my forehead, and suddenly, it's too much.

This isn't going to help me relax. Not one fucking bit.

Without thinking, I grab my mat, roll it up as fast as I can, and get the fuck out without giving anyone a second glance. I don't care what the town will be saying by mid-morning. I don't care if I look like an idiot. I just know that staying in that room with her is a bad fucking idea.

As I push open the door and step outside, I take a deep breath, trying to regain control of myself. My heart's still racing, and my dick is still hard, but at least out here, there's no chance of Meadow bending over and making things worse.

Yoga? Yeah, not happening again.

This has been a long day, and it's only nine o'clock. With nothing much to do, I head to my grandmother's bakery.

"Well, if it isn't one of my six favorite grandchildren," Grandma says the moment I walk in.

"You only have six grandchildren," I reply, smiling as I kiss her cheek. She hands me a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie in return. "How are you this morning, Grandma?" I ask, taking a nibble of the cookie. It's warm and perfect, just like always.

"I'm doing just fine. How about you? Enjoying your stay? I know you haven't exactly been resting as much as you probably need to," she says, giving me that look—like she already knows I've been up to no good.

"Well, maybe you should take me off this whole co-chairing pumpkin fiasco," I joke, rolling my eyes. God knows it's becoming more of a distraction than I'd anticipated.

The thing is, I have no issues with pumpkins anymore. What I do have an issue with is the fact that every time I'm near Meadow, I'm tempted to kiss her—and that's not the worst of it. One of these days, I'll probably end up begging her to let me fuck her, and I'm pretty sure that's not what anyone had in mind for the festival. Great form, Raffa. Real classy.

Grandma laughs, knowing exactly what I'm hinting at. "Is that so? Maybe it's because Paul caught you sneaking around going on your computer again."

I groan. "Yeah, he confiscated it. Took my phone, too—right in the middle of a very important call." I pull out the ancient flip phone he gave me. "This is what I get until he ‘trusts' me again."

"You need to learn how to relax," she says, giving me the once-over like I'm a naughty child.

"Oh, I'm trying," I grumble, resisting the urge to mention just how hard it is—literally—when I've been walking around town with a semi because of my co-chair.

"Make more friends," she suggests, with that grandmotherly twinkle in her eye. "Maybe ask Meadow to give you one of those therapeutic classes she teaches at the knitting club."

I nearly choke on the last bite of my cookie. "Speaking of her . . . I've been wondering something," I say as I sit on a stool by the counter.

"What is it? You can ask me anything," she says with a grin, clearly enjoying herself.

"What's Meadow's story? We've been working together for a while now, and I don't really know much about her. She's friendly but doesn't really open up."

Grandma's smile softens. "It's not my story to tell, Raffa. If she wants you to know, she'll tell you herself. But she's been through some things and doesn't trust easily."

I nod, taking in her words. I know what it's like to not be able to trust people. That rush of sympathy hits me, but I know I won't be getting much more out of Grandma. I give her a hug and head out of the bakery, walking down the street toward the Bed and Breakfast.

I spot Paul standing outside and decide to stop. Not to say hello, though. "When are you giving me back my computer?" I grumble. It's more of a I-need-to-get-to-work-fucker greeting than anything.

Paul scoffs. "Never. But I'm glad to see you're getting more comfortable with the town . . . or is it just Grandma's cookies?" He smirks, like my frustration is a joke to him.

"Grandma's cookies are pretty good," I admit, holding up the bag she gave me. "Stopped in to say hi, and she handed me these. Does she do that for everyone?"

"Yep. It's tradition," Paul laughs, shaking his head.

"Hey," I ask, lowering my voice a little, "do you know anything about Meadow?"

Paul raises an eyebrow, amused. "Why?"

"I've been trying to get to know her while working on the festival, but it's like she doesn't want to talk about herself," I say, crossing my arms, trying to sound casual, even though I'm clearly more invested in this than I should be.

Paul bites his lip, eyes narrowing with that glint that says I know something you don't. His smile spreads slowly, and I already know what's coming.

"Don't even start, Paul. It's not like that. I'm just curious about her story."

"Sure," Paul says with a chuckle, "that's what everyone says, and then I end up helping organize a proposal or some shit. You remember what I told you about this town, right? No one's immune."

I glare at him, but he just grins wider. "I don't know too much, honestly," he adds. "But I do know she's working on opening a new gallery downtown. She's been renovating the building for months."

"An art gallery?" That catches my attention. I vaguely remember Grandma mentioning something about it, along with the fact that Meadow's a teacher. "She's opening an art gallery while teaching and taking care of her grandma?"

Paul nods. "Yeah. She's got her hands full, that's for sure."

"She's talented enough to pull it off," I say, impressed, handing him one of Grandma's cookies. And now I can't help but wonder—what else is there to Meadow that I haven't seen yet?