43
The morning air was cool and clean, scented faintly with dew-soaked grass and eucalyptus from the grove behind the cabins. A soft breeze swept through the camp, stirring tree branches and tugging gently at the hem of Katherine’s hoodie as she stepped outside.
Her tea was warm in her hands, but her thoughts still lingered on the conversation from the night before.
Kingsley’s voice echoed faintly in her memory—“I just want to help you get that woman back…”
She exhaled slowly.
The sound of a distant bell rang through the air. Not the urgent clang of the scavenger hunt siren, but a gentler chime—soft and slow. It was the camp’s way of signaling the start of morning yoga.
“Please no,” came Carolina’s sleepy voice from behind as she dragged herself out of their cabin in oversized sweats. “Tell me that bell doesn’t mean yoga. Tell me it means breakfast in bed.”
Katherine chuckled. “It means downward dog in the field.”
Carolina groaned dramatically, already stretching her arms over her head. “Why is camp making me work for inner peace?”
They walked together toward the open grassy clearing where yoga mats had been laid out in neat rows. The sun was just beginning to rise fully above the treetops, bathing everything in a soft golden glow.
Campers were already arriving—some cheerful, some still rubbing sleep from their eyes. At the far side of the field, Devon waved when he saw Carolina, patting the empty space next to his mat.
Carolina blushed slightly, then whispered, “I’ll catch you after class,” and jogged off in his direction.
Katherine smiled after her, then turned and found an empty mat near the middle. She was settling into a seated pose when someone lowered themselves onto the mat beside her.
Kingsley.
Of course.
He didn’t say anything right away. Just nodded in greeting, breath even, expression calm. Katherine nodded back, then focused her gaze ahead, determined to stay in her own space.
The instructor stood at the front, a lithe woman with a peaceful voice that carried across the field like a lullaby.
“Welcome,” she said gently. “This morning, we begin with the breath. Inhale… through the nose. Hold. And exhale… let go.”
Katherine closed her eyes.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
The tension in her shoulders started to ease.
They moved through stretches slowly. The world was still quiet enough to hear birdsong and the wind threading through the trees. Katherine fell into the rhythm—cat-cow, warrior, tree pose—letting her thoughts drift.
At some point during the child’s pose, her hand brushed lightly against Kingsley’s. Neither of them moved. It wasn’t intentional. Just… accidental closeness.
She kept her eyes closed.
By the time the instructor guided them to lie on their backs for the final stretch—Shavasana—Katherine felt a strange clarity settle over her.
Not everything needed to be solved. Not today.
Some moments were just meant to be breathed through.
The instructor’s voice floated over the field like wind through tall grass.
“Now,” she said gently, “we’re going to shift into a supported backbend. Please turn to the person next to you. One of you will stand tall, and grounded, and the other will lean back slowly, allowing your partner to catch you. Trust, balance, and breath.”
A few campers laughed nervously. Some immediately paired off, turning to their neighbors. Katherine hesitated, unsure whether to move or wait—but then Kingsley turned to her and gave a small nod, asking without words.
She gave a tight, almost reluctant shrug. Fine.
She stood upright, spine straight, arms loose at her sides. Kingsley stepped behind her, his posture relaxed but attentive. His hands hovered for a moment, unsure of how to approach her body. Then gently—carefully—he placed them at her waist.
Katherine stiffened for a split second. His touch wasn’t invasive. It wasn’t suggestive. But it was familiar. Painfully familiar.
“Now lean back slowly,” the instructor coached. “Let yourself trust.”
Katherine inhaled through her nose and began to lean. Kingsley’s grip adjusted subtly—one hand splayed against her lower back, the other steady at her waist. She felt the firm pressure of his fingers through the fabric of her shirt. It was grounding… and disarming.
Her eyes closed.
And then it hit her—like a scent that pulled you backward into a memory. His touch brought it all back. Lazy Sunday mornings when his arms wrapped around her in bed. His hands were at her waist when they danced in the kitchen, barefoot on the cold tile. That quiet way he used to steady her when she reached for something high in the pantry.
For a moment, it wasn’t camp. It wasn’t now. It was then. It was them.
A rush of heat moved through her body, bittersweet and unwanted. Her breath caught, but she didn’t pull away. She couldn’t. Not yet.
She realized how much her body remembered—even if her mind had been trying to forget.
The instructor’s voice brought her back. “And now slowly rise… thank your partner.”
Katherine straightened carefully as if waking from a dream. Kingsley’s hands dropped away. She didn’t look at him.
The instructor smiled warmly as the sun climbed higher over the field.
“Alright,” she said, her voice silky and composed, “next we’ll move into Double Forward Fold with Shoulder Bind. This pose requires deep breath, communication, and connection with your partner. Sit back-to-back with your person. Cross your arms behind you, reaching for each other’s hands.”
Katherine and Kingsley shifted. She hesitated again before sitting, but she did. Their backs pressed against each other. The heat of his body was immediate. Solid. Alive. She felt every ridge of his spine through the thin fabric of his shirt. When they reached behind them, his fingers found hers—warm, slow, intentional.
“Now one partner will lean forward while the other leans back, allowing the chest to open. Take turns, holding the connection.”
Katherine folded forward. As she did, Kingsley leaned back, pulling her arms with him. His chest expanded against her back. She felt his breath—long, steady like he was savoring the moment. His hands were still wrapped in hers, but his thumbs moved, tracing slow circles over her knuckles. It was barely noticeable, but her body noticed. Everything in her lit up like a wire charged with heat.
Then it was her turn to lean back.
She let herself go slowly, spine stretching, chest open, as Kingsley leaned forward behind her. His hands gripped hers tighter now, firm but not rough. His body curved over her, his breath near her ear. She could feel the warmth of him behind her neck, the air between them growing thin.
The sensation sent a pulse straight to her center. It was hot. Electric. Maddening.
She tried to focus on breathing. On posture. On anything else.
But all she could feel was him.
His hands.
His breath.
His presence.
It had been so long since someone touched her like that—not in a sexual way, but with awareness, and intention, like her body mattered. Like she mattered.
When the session ended, Katherine stood quickly. Her heart was thudding. Her skin was flushed. She wouldn’t meet Kingsley’s eyes as they walked off the field.
Carolina caught up with her. “So,” she grinned, sliding on her sunglasses. “How did that feel? You and Kingsley doing all that body-to-body yoga?”
Katherine scoffed, maybe too fast. “It was just yoga.”
Carolina arched a brow. “Uh-huh. That kind of yoga got you walking like your spine forgot how to behave.”
Katherine laughed and shoved her lightly. “There’s nothing to it. Really.”
They reached the cabin. Carolina peeled off to grab her journal, but Katherine headed into the bathroom alone. She needed to cool down. Think. Breathe.
She pulled her shirt over her head. Slid out of her leggings. Then paused.
Her eyes dropped between her thighs.
She was soaked.
She blinked, stunned, frozen there for a moment. She hadn’t even realized. Hadn’t even touched herself. All that from a few yoga poses? From his hands on her? From his body behind hers?
She stepped into the shower, her breath shaky as the cold water rushed down.
What does this mean?
Did she still want him?
Had she really moved on?
Did she miss him?
She didn’t have the answers.
Not yet.
But her body, it seemed, was telling the truth her mind refused to say out loud.
Meanwhile, in cabin F Kingsley shut the cabin door behind him and leaned against it for a second, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath since yoga ended. His heart was still pounding, and every part of his body felt too hot.
He peeled off his shirt and ran a hand down his face, trying to shake it off—trying to shake her off. But his skin still buzzed with the memory of Katherine’s back pressed to his chest. Her scent still lingered—soft and familiar, like something he’d once called home.
When he stepped into the bedroom and pushed down the compression boxer briefs he wore, his body betrayed him completely.
His erection sprang forward, thick and achingly hard like it had been waiting to breathe. It throbbed with a pulse of its own, the kind of hardness that stung, like pins running under the skin.
“Shit,” he muttered, gripping the edge of the dresser as he stared down at himself, overwhelmed.
It wasn’t just the touch. It was her.
The curve of her waist in his hands. The way her breath had hitched—just slightly—when he pulled her back against him. The way her fingers had tightened around his. He felt every ounce of restraint it had taken not to pull her closer. Not to breathe her in. Not to whisper her name the way he used to, at night, between kisses.
He dropped down onto the bed, still painfully hard, running a hand through his hair. His body was on fire. Everything in him wanted release—but more than that, he wanted her. Not just for sex. Not just to ease the ache.
He wanted her to want him again.
He wanted to undo the damage.
He wanted to go back.
But she didn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Still, his body remembered. And this morning, hers had too—he could feel it.
Kingsley lay back, trying to breathe through it, slow and steady. But even in the silence of the room, Katherine lingered—on his skin, in his blood, in the ache he couldn’t shake.