19. The Fine Print

Briar

My heart rate quickens as I open the email. It's from my ex's website announcing a contest they're running.

I thought I'd unsubscribed to Steven's A Man's Man emails. But, shockingly, in the midst of getting kicked out of my home while I wasn't looking, I forgot that little detail. As I pass a pink house with an antique weather vane on the roof, I brace myself. Sneakers smacking the sidewalk, I read through the details of the contest. It's a slap in the face.

I squeeze my phone like I can shake the life out of him through this mobile device. I clench my jaw, breathe hard through my nostrils. He's such a thief. The cat, my sexual dignity, and now my ideas.

This contest he's launching was my idea.

My chest burns from the kindling he constantly throws on the ex fire, but I have to let my anger go. I have to snuff these flames. I need to manifest mindfulness, positivity, and calm.

I try some affirmations the rest of the way to the town square. I am leading the life I want.

As I pass a bookshop with a display of chilling thrillers, Donut looks up with her trusting brown eyes. She tilts her head, as if asking what's going on with me and my funk.

My heart squeezes with affection for my pup. She was abandoned once. That's why she wound up at Little Friends and with me. I know the feeling of someone leaving all too well. I'll never do that to her.

After my mom's two visits, she sent me birthday letters, and Christmas cards, and pointless gifts, like paintings she'd made of places she'd visited, like I wanted them. I almost wish I never heard from her again.

I tell my dog what's got me in a funk. "It's an email from Steven's site and yes, you always knew best about him, you brilliant doggess," I say to Donut, since maybe voicing that will help me let go of my anger some more.

She trots along, tail wagging. A saucy little thing who never liked the jerk. Yep. I'll keep putting Steven behind me. Like Donut's done.

The streets around us bustle with the hum of a fair just beginning. While the Sunburst Summit Festival features music, wine, and outdoor activities, there are crafts and street food everywhere too. In the town square, the air is filled with the savory aroma of grilled veggies, small-batch waffles, and homemade crepes. Booths are peddling tasty treats while vendors sell handmade crafts, vintage jewelry, and chai lattes that make me thirsty.

The sound of laughter and music floats on the breeze as families and friends gather around a large free-standing stage where two women in bohemian skirts tune their guitars—a duo ready to usher in an afternoon of sunshine, wine, and song. I pass them then set up in a gazebo past the town square, laying down my mat, then setting another one next to it. "Lie down, girl," I tell Donut.

With a beleaguered sigh—oh, the frustration of a freeloading dog who must behave during class—she complies. "Good girl," I say as she shifts into her favorite pose—dog ball.

I do a few sun salutations to calm my frayed nerves, and they work. They almost always work. Devoting energy to my body helps settle my overactive mind.

Except, well, when I'm in bed.

But best not to think about bed now either as attendees filter in. I say hi to the eager students, ask about their days, find out how they're feeling.

My dad always said business was reliable. But romance? Relationships? Trust?

That stuff is best avoided.

An hour later, I walk quietly amidst the class, checking the warrior poses, the eagle arms, the triangles and offering a tweak here, a suggestion there before I lead them into a final affirmation in the warm air.

"Take a deep breath," I say in my calm voice meant to soothe. "Repeat your affirmation once more. I am leading the life I want."

I repeat it in my mind. Believing it. Needing to believe it.

The twenty-five or so attendees, including Nova from the Sea Dogs, and Aubrey, smile, breathe out, and say the affirmation one more time.

My father was right. My career fulfills me. My career doesn't stab me in the back. My career doesn't steal my ideas.

"Thank you all for coming. Be sure to subscribe to my videos on YouTube," I say, and this is always the hardest part of a class—the sale. But a necessary one. "I'll be launching my app soon, and I hope you'll all check out Flow and Flex Fitness."

There are quiet thank yous, and I'll be sure to check it outs as students pack up and leave. When most are gone, Nova comes up to me. The strength and conditioning coach is strong and muscular, the picture of health, and has a body that says she works hard for it. She also seems to enjoy her body too, judging from the plethora of piercings glinting along her ears and nose, and the intricate tattoos that coast up and down her brown skin. "Good to see you here, Briar," she says. "I'm glad you got this slot."

"Thank you for helping me with the connections," I say, since she recommended me for the festival.

"Just make sure our strength and conditioning program looks the best." Her tone is light but her eyes say she means it seriously. Innovation is important for her.

"Definitely." It's a good and necessary reminder. My job here is to represent me, yes. But also the Sea Dogs. It's not to lust after not one, not two, but three players on the rival hockey team.

As she tucks her mat under her arm, she says, "I was thinking, too, of adding an afternoon yoga and stretching class for the players. For stress relief. It's something we think about a lot with our athletes. What can they do to manage stress?"

"I'd love to help. I have a whole video series on yoga for stress relief. We could tailor it to When you stress about winning the cup," I say.

"I like it," she says, then tells me we'll talk more in the coming days.

When she leaves, Aubrey waves, then nods toward a picnic table in the vineyard. Time for my own stress relief—girlfriend time. Aubrey's here with Ivy and Trina, who have just joined her. They're all good friends, and I've gotten to know them better recently. They enlisted me to join Trina's book club. And we all volunteer at the dog rescue together.

We also run in the same circles with the same friends. Like Hollis, and now Gavin and Rhys. An image of the three of them surrounding me on the porch flashes before my eyes. Heat flickers down my body.

I try once more to shake off the lusty thoughts.

After I straighten up the gazebo, Donut and I join them at the picnic table. The second I sit down, I whip out my phone and show them the email. Oops, I guess I haven't put Steven's contest in the past after all.

"So yesterday he ran a piece on five ways to know your relationship is in trouble. Want to know what the ex-hole is up to now?" I ask, irritated all over again.

Aubrey winces. "I do but I don't."

Trina raises a hand enthusiastically. "I do. Tell us what Captain Prick did."

"Remember how I was encouraging him to get more input from women for his site? To seek out a woman's POV? To hire some female columnists?"

"Yes," Ivy says, and I can hear the mama growl in her voice.

"Now he's running a contest for essays from a woman on…wait for it…what makes a great boyfriend."

Ivy's lips twist into a sneer and she smacks the table. "That was your idea!"

I tap my nose. "Exactly. But he said it's not what the audience wants, but thanks so much for your input," I say, imitating his patronizing tone. "But now he's taken my idea. The irony. I loved to help him and share ideas so he could move beyond just being a dude-bro advice site. I suggested he hire more woman-owned firms, like marketing firms and such. Then, I suggested this contest."

"Are you kidding me?" Aubrey asks, incredulous because of course that is shocking to her. Her two men are wildly supportive of her career, her hopes, her dreams.

"I wish I were joking," I say, feeling stupid all over again. "Another red flag I missed. And sure, he never offered ideas for my business, but I just thought yoga wasn't his thing. And I told myself I was fine with it even as I tried to help him."

Trina lifts a glass of wine, knocks some back then sets it down with panache. "So, you're going to enter, right?"

I scoff. Shake my head. "One, I know nothing about what makes a great boyfriend. Two, I don't want to be associated with him."

Ivy grabs my phone and peers at the email, studying it intensely. Then grinning wickedly. She spins the phone around and points to some text on the screen. "Does this change your mind?"

I read the fine print. Holy shit. That absolutely does.