Part 5 (2/2)

Mildly embarra.s.sed, he started to step back, to back away, when he realized the group was following Abra's lead.

She held her position, her ma.s.s of hair pulled back in a tail. The deep purple top showed off long, sculpted arms; the stone-gray pants clung to narrow hips, slid down long legs to long, narrow feet with toenails painted the same purple as the top.

It fascinated him, tugged at him as she-then the others-bowed back, front arm curved over her head, torso turning, head lifting.

Then she straightened her front leg, c.o.c.ked forward, leaning down, down until her hand rested on the floor by her front foot, and her other arm reached for the ceiling. Again her torso turned. Before he could step back, her head turned as well. As her gaze swept up, her eyes met his.

She smiled. As if he'd been expected, as if he hadn't been-inadvertently-playing Peeping Tom.

He stepped back now, making a gesture he hoped communicated apology, but she was already straightening up. He saw her motion to one of the women as she wove through the mats and bodies.

What should he do now?

The front door opened, and she smiled at him again. ”Eli, hi.”

”I'm sorry. I didn't realize ... until I did.”

”G.o.d, it's freezing! Come on inside.”

”No, you're busy. I was just walking, then I-”

”Well, walk in here before I freeze to death.” She stepped out on those long bare feet, took his hand.

”Your hand's like ice.” She gave it a tug, insistent. ”I don't want the cold air to chill the cla.s.s.”

Left without a choice, he stepped in so she could close the door. New Agey music murmured like water in a stream from the solarium. He could see the woman at the rear of the cla.s.s come back up to that lunging position.

”I'm sorry,” he said again. ”I'm interrupting.”

”It's all right. Maureen can guide them through. We're nearly finished. Why don't you go on back to the kitchen? Have a gla.s.s of wine while I finish up?”

”No. No, thanks.” He wished, almost desperately, he hadn't taken the impulsive detour. ”I just- I was out for a walk, and I just stopped by on the way back because I realized I didn't pay you for the groceries.”

”Hester took care of it.”

”Oh. I should've figured that. I'll talk to her.”

The framed pencil sketch in the entry distracted him for a moment. He recognized his grandmother's work even without the H. H. Landon in the bottom corner.

He recognized Abra as well, standing slim and straight as a lance in Tree position, her arms overhead, and her face caught on a laugh.

”Hester gave it to me last year,” Abra said.

”What?”

”The sketch. I talked her into coming to cla.s.s to sketch-a gateway to persuading her to practice. So she gave this to me as a thank-you after she fell in love with yoga.”

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