Knowledge is the food of the soul.
–Plato
Guy
“What does this woman look like?” I ask Carson, pressing the phone to my ear to hear him over the buzz of traffic as I navigate a busy sidewalk intersection.
Always keep your eye out for the yellow cab: one of the first rules of living in the city.
It’s Thursday. Yoga day. Time to finally have a discussion with the food truck woman.
“She’s petite,” Carson says. “Red hair. Like deep red, unusual. You can’t miss her.”
Red hair? What if it’s….my stomach drops. My ears are on fire, a ringing echoes through my head.
Carson said she had a connection to Crawford and Company. Is it the same woman? My redhead is the cupcake woman?
I knew she seemed slightly familiar and now the truth is hitting me like a ton of bricks, and it all makes perfect sense. The picture I’d seen wasn’t the best and it was black and white so it’s not shocking I didn’t recognize her. No wonder she was so nervous.
And when did I start thinking of her as mine? I shake my head like the motion will shake away the thought along with the shock numbing my brain cells.
The phone beeps in my ear with another incoming call, jarring me from my thoughts. “I gotta go,” I say to Carson and hit my phone to accept the call from Ava.
“Hey. Everything alright?” I ask distractedly.
“Yeah, we’re fine. You’ll be home for dinner, right?”
It takes me a few long moments to register her sentence, my mind still reeling over the fact that the woman I kissed and the food truck owner are one and the same. It has to be her. Doesn’t it? There’s more than one redhead in New York City, but the odds of it being someone else….
“Yes. I’ll be there in about an hour and a half.”
“Good. Emma misses you.”
I smile. Ava likes to use Emma to explain her own feelings on things.
“I’ll make something good,” I say distractedly.
“Can we have ice cream?”
“Maybe after dinner.”
“Can we have pancakes for dinner?”
“Do you ever want to eat anything that isn’t sugar?”
“Ugh, fine.” She hangs up.
Teenagers. I stop in front of the building and click over to my schedule to make sure I’ve remembered the address correctly.
I stare up at the sign and then back at my phone at the address in my schedule, 46 Hester Street. Yep. This is the right place. But this isn’t like Sonic Yoga or the Om Factory.
It’s the Meow Palace. Cat yoga?
An image flashes in my mind of Carson grinning when I agreed to take this yoga class. I’m going to kill him.
I want to turn around and run, but I can’t. I know she’s in there and I have to get this resolved. If I don’t, Oliver might pull out and I need him. I’ve already sunk too much into this venture myself and if Oliver doesn’t invest, it will fail and failure is not an option. And also, a much larger part of me wants to see her again. Wants to see her reaction when she realizes that I know the truth.
I step in the direction of the building right as a redhead in black pants and dark blue, fitted sweater walks in front of me, opening the door and disappearing inside. Her hair was pulled back but….
The door shuts on a whisper and my heart rate accelerates like mixer set on high.
I’m a statue on the sidewalk, the sight I just witnessed replaying in my mind like a video on a loop. Dark red hair, pulled up in a messy bun of the same shade.
It is her.
Even though the last thing I want to do is enter the Meow Palace, knowing that my redhead is inside compels my feet to move of their own accord and a few seconds later, I’m through the door.
There’s a “Beware of Cat” mat at my feet. The floor is all hard grey, but it’s contrasted with soft pillows strewn about, along with colorful shelves, cat houses, and a smiling receptionist.
“Welcome to the Meow Palace,” the chipper teenage behind the desk welcomes me. “Are you here for the yoga class?”
“Yes.”
She sets some forms in front of me with a pen. She’s talking, explaining the rules and what to expect. But I’m only half listening while she tells me the rules, how to sanitize my hands, and where to put my shoes and coat.
I sign the waiver, wondering if I’ve lost my mind. First, I kiss some woman without even knowing her name, and now I’m stalking her into a cat thing. I don’t even like cats.
She points out where to go and I make my way in the direction indicated.
I enter at the back of the room, my eyes immediately lasering to the only person with red hair in the entire place. She’s setting up her mat near the front, her back to me.
People meander between us, settling in on brightly colored mats, talking to each other and stretching out. Cats circle the space, some laying around cleaning themselves, others playing with cat toys like a string on a stick.
The redhead turns, her profile exposed, and my stomach flips in awareness. My heart lurches and sets up a riotous rhythm.
There isn’t even a sliver of doubt now. It’s most definitely her.
She’s sitting cross-legged on a purple mat, petting an orange tabby while it rubs a head on her knee.
I put my mat down in the back of the room next to an elderly gentleman. There are at least a dozen more people sitting or loitering around the space, but my focus is entirely on the woman in the front.
Scarlett Jackson. My redhead is the cupcake woman who has been avoiding me for weeks. I mull over our interaction through a new lens. How she saw me and immediately almost choked to death. I thought it was embarrassment from being caught in such a weird situation, but she must have known who I was.
A blonde enters from a side door, someone else I recognize—Bethany Connell, from the charity event. She waves at Scarlett and sets up her mat next to her.
Mildred. I shake my head.
I’m an idiot.
Bethany is clearly the connection between Scarlett and Crawford and Company.
The instructor comes in, a short, thin man with messy dark hair and enough energy to power Upper Manhattan vibrating off him. “Hello friends!”
The room erupts into cheers while the instructor bounces around offering greetings and air kisses at random.
A small gray cat paws at my knee, and I surreptitiously push it away. The older gentleman next to me frowns in my direction.
“Alright cat lovers, let’s get warmed up. Now remember, be careful of the fur-babies roaming the room! Be aware of your surroundings and use gentle movements. If you need to stretch or kick behind you, make sure one of our paw-some friends isn’t in the way. You can follow along as I go through the routine, but at any time feel free to rest and pet our cat family. Now let’s get it started!”
I follow the instructions and guidance of the teacher and try not to stare at Scarlett too much. While I’m downward facing dogging, the small gray cat traces its tail around my leg and then collapses underneath me, rolling back and exposing its furry belly without any fear, like nothing in the world could hurt him.
I should be angry. All her blushing and fumbling and choking was because she expected me to recognize her. But instead she…she was interesting. And she kissed me.
“This all about joy and love and feeling purr-ific!”
Normally, I would find a way to use this to my advantage. Make her uncomfortable or find a way to use it against her to achieve my own ends.
But I’m not angry. When I stop to analyze the feelings making my heart race and my stomach flip, I’m more intrigued than anything else.
But still, I can’t let her ruin my plans. There is too much riding on it. I need to nip all this in the bud and get her truck away from my space. I can’t afford for Oliver to see another roadblock and use it as an excuse to kill our deal.
The gray cat rolls away just in time for me to follow along, moving from downward dog to cobra. I watch Scarlett going through the same motions, neatly avoiding the orange tabby lounging near her elbow.
Her body glides through the poses with ease and fluid movements and I want to run my hands along those same curves. I know what her body feels like, pressed against mine. The memory makes my temperature rise, and it isn’t the yoga getting me hot.
The rest of the class is interminable for me, but everyone else is having fun.
“Okay friends, it’s time to cool down with some light petting.” His grin is just on the other side of maniacal.
I clear my throat. Surely, he could have come up with a better turn of phrase.
“Follow my lead and stretch in place or pet a furry friend nearby. Scientific studies have shown petting our animal brethren can reduce blood pressure, release relaxation hormones, and cut your stress. Pet the pussies!”
I wince.
The gray tabby still lingering around my feet swats at my ankle.
The instructor bends over and hands him to me. “This little guy really likes you!” His smiling face meets mine and then falters only slightly at my expression. I must appear less intimidating than normal.
“His name is Spike and he’s one of our newest babies. Here.” He thrusts him at me.
I have no choice. I take the cat, holding him awkwardly in front of me. His body curls around my hand, hind legs latching onto my forearm while he ferociously attacks my fingers with little nubby teeth.
The instructor laughs. “Aw. I think he’s teething. Here. Hold him close.” He pushes him against my chest and then moves on to the person next to me.
I watch the kitten nibble on my finger for a moment before glancing up to see where Scarlett is.
Our gazes lock across the room. Recognition rolls over her like a bleaching wave, her mouth drops, and her features whiten, eyes wide. Her gaze makes a sharp dart toward the door.
Already planning to flee, are we? Not this time.
I press my lips together when they threaten to curve up.
Before she can bolt, I stalk in her direction, stopping at the edge of her mat, blocking any possible escape. “Scarlett.”
Her mouth pops open. She’s not wearing lipstick this time.
Not that she needs it, her lips are soft pink and I wonder if that color appears anywhere else on her body. Fighting the desire tightening my stomach, I step a little closer.
“We need to talk.”