The Solid Grounds Coffee Company

by Carla Laureano

  Ana sighed and leaned her head back against her seat. “I’m beginning to think there’s no way around being a hypocrite unless you live in a cave.”

  “You don’t have a hypocritical bone in your body.”

  “Then I effectively have you fooled.” She threw him a smile so he’d think it was just banter, but inwardly, the words stung with barbs of truth.

  The flight attendants shut the door and began their safety spiel, which Ana pretended to pay attention to, even though she was still thinking over what he’d said. Bryan could be extremely successful and wealthy if he would just get over his squeamishness and go into the family business. Instead, he’d followed his own path, first as a climber, then as a coffee farmer and roaster—two things he’d only gotten into because of his desire to help people.

  Meanwhile Ana was making massive amounts of money helping people she neither liked nor believed in, simply because they paid her to do it. No wonder her parents thought there was something unsavory about her job.

  And soon, she’d be back to work. Back to long hours spinning stories around people who probably did deserve their downfalls, back to living in her office and only coming home to work out or sleep. Back to a life that had no time for Bryan.

  She glanced at him, but he was looking over the safety card, apparently taking the flight attendants’ instructions seriously. No, just because they wouldn’t be working together every day didn’t mean they couldn’t still have a relationship. They’d carve out whatever time they could manage together, even if it was just at the gym. If she could convince him to teach her to climb, that would even be something they could do together.

  She lifted her thumbnail to her teeth, then dropped her hand before she could mess up her manicure.

  Bryan didn’t miss the aborted gesture, capturing her hand again. “Relax,” he whispered. “It’s all going to be okay.”

  And for a short period of time, she actually believed it.

  * * *

  It was dark when Bryan and Ana’s plane touched down at Ontario International Airport. The “Inland Empire” spread out beneath them in a gleaming patchwork, neighborhoods and streets marked out in grids by the streetlights, the freeways like parallel ropes of white and red. He’d spent a fair amount of time in Southern California, given that Pakka Mountaineering was headquartered there, but from the air, it became clear that it was as far removed from Denver as from his small Colombian town.

  They hadn’t checked any baggage, so they deplaned and went straight to the ground transportation area of the aging airport. “Are we renting a car or taking an Uber to your parents’?” he asked as they breached the airport’s air-conditioning for the still-warm, slightly moist night.

  “Uber, but we’re not going to my parents’ house tonight.” Ana pulled out her phone and pulled up her ride-share app, requesting a ride from the airport to some location she apparently knew by heart. “I got us a hotel.” At his raised eyebrows, she amended, “I got us two rooms at the same hotel.”

  “Is there a reason why we’re not staying with them? Not enough room?”

  “Oh, there’s room. Everyone except my brother and youngest sister have moved out. But trust me, you’ll be much more comfortable at a hotel for the weekend.”

  A niggling feeling of disquiet began. “Are you worried that they’re not going to like me?”

  She laughed. “They’re going to love you. Don’t worry about that. They’re just a bit . . . much . . . even for me.” She flushed. “That sounds terrible.”

  “It’s not terrible. You just don’t want two full days of their opinions on your life choices.” Bryan got it. He’d been afraid of the same thing when moving home, but in practice he barely saw his parents. They had their own lives; his dad had long work hours, his mom had her charity work, and both of them had their friends and acquaintances. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that his parents had a better social life than he did. Well, than he’d had. The time spent with Ana upped the quality of his own considerably.

  “It’s your weekend, so we can do whatever you want. I just didn’t want you going to a lot of trouble for me. I’m used to camping for months straight with the clothes I have on my back. I don’t mind couch surfing at your parents’ house should the situation call for it.”

  Ana’s expression lightened and she moved closer to him, slipping an arm around his waist. “Thank you. I’m just happy you’re here with me. This could be a long weekend otherwise.”

  There it went, that degree of concern that seemed to go deeper than uncomfortable questions from her parents. What was she so worried about?

  The Uber arrived, a lowered white late-model Civic with tinted windows and a ground effects kit that sprayed blue light beneath the chassis. Bryan exchanged a glance with Ana that clearly said, You’re kidding me, right? and then opened the back door for her.

  Ana climbed in and introduced herself, but Bryan bent down to talk to the driver, who couldn’t be more than the minimum driver age of twenty-one. “Hey, man, can I put the luggage in your trunk?”

  Wordlessly, the driver released the latch. I guess that’s a yes. He hoisted first Ana’s case then his own into the trunk and slid into the space that Ana had made for him in the back of the car.

  Still without a word, the driver pulled away from the curb. Bryan studied him from the side, thinking maybe he didn’t speak English, but he seemed thoroughly American. Just not talkative apparently. Or maybe he was too busy listening to the throbbing techno music that poured from the speakers. Ana was watching their progress against the map on her app, however, and it seemed like the driver knew where he was going, so Bryan just sat back and watched the Southern California cityscape slide by outside his window.

  Hard to see much of anything in the dark, but pockets of streetlights illuminated newer-looking strip malls and clusters of palm trees, not so unlike Denver’s suburbs. Well, minus the palm trees. Even knowing they were significantly inland, it made him think they were going to get a glimpse of the ocean at any minute.

  The driver, still bobbing his head to the beat, silently merged onto a freeway, which was somehow still congested at this time of night. As time stretched, it became clear they were still a fair distance from the city in which Ana had grown up, freeway exit after exit passing without any sign that they’d ever get off. And then finally the driver exited and navigated streets that looked strikingly similar to Ontario’s to finally stop in front of a multistory business hotel.

  “Thank you,” Ana said, immediately climbing out. This time the guy pulled their luggage out of the trunk, still without a word, climbed in, and drove off.

  “So that was interesting,” Bryan said.

  “Stuck in the nineties.” Ana smirked as she watched the blue glow of the Civic disappear down the street. “I know this place is kind of generic, but it’s close to my parents’ house. Close enough to walk if it’s not too hot, even.”

  “It’s just fine.” He followed her into the hotel, where she went straight to the counter to check them in.

  “I’ve got this, Ana,” he said, but she shook her head, that familiar stubborn look coming over her face.

  “You’re doing me a favor; therefore, I pay. And you’re not going to convince me otherwise, so you might as well save us both some time.”

  He held up his hands. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The desk clerk looked between them with amusement, though she was trying hard to keep a straight face. “Ms. Sanchez, you are in room 302, and Mr. Shaw, you are in room 205.” She pushed their room keys across the desk. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “No, thank you.” Ana took her suitcase and strode toward the elevators without having to look where they were.

  “I take it you’ve been here before,” he said.

  “I always stay here when I visit. I don’t like to be a bother to my parents. My mom feels like she has to cook for me and pick up after me anytime I’m staying in their house.”

  “
Isn’t that what moms do when their grown kids come home?”

  Ana shot him an unreadable look and said nothing.

  There was definitely something weird going on.

  The elevator took no time to go up one floor to Bryan’s room, but he stuck his foot out to keep the doors open. “What time do you want me ready in the morning?”

  “We don’t have to be there until eleven, so feel free to sleep in if you want.”

  He was beginning to learn Ana’s cues; this clearly meant she had other plans in mind. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to a yoga class in the morning. There’s a 7 a.m. at the studio down the street.”

  “Let me guess: that’s the other reason you stay here.”

  Now amusement lit her eyes. “I can’t get out of the house early enough and without a full breakfast if I’m at home. And if I tell my mom I can’t work out on a full stomach, she’ll have tocino going on the stove at five.”

  That didn’t sound so bad to him, but there was obviously a lot he didn’t understand about her family.

  The door started to make a dinging noise, indicating its irritation that they were still blocking it from closing. “Okay. What time do you want to leave?”

  Her eyebrows went up. “You’re going with me?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing, I didn’t think you did yoga. And this is hot vinyasa, too . . . it’s pretty demanding.”

  He shrugged. “I’m game if you are. What time should I be ready?”

  He could tell she still didn’t know what to do about his willingness. “I want to leave here by 6:25. It’ll take a few minutes to walk there and then we’ll have to fill out waivers and things.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll meet you in the lobby at 6:25.” He leaned forward to give her a quick, chaste good-night kiss, then let the door slide closed. Just before she disappeared from view, he gave her a little wink and saw her answering smile.

  Good. Let her think he didn’t know what he was in for.

  She didn’t know everything about him. In fact, he’d venture to say she knew very little.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ANA WOKE BEFORE her alarm went off, thanks to a body clock that was set an hour ahead of local time, with a feeling in her stomach that could either be dread or anticipation. Maybe both. Dread over the forthcoming family reunion, anticipation for the yoga class that would also serve as her entertainment for the morning. She dressed quickly in her yoga clothes, then pulled on a sweatshirt and flowy pants over top, knowing the overnight temperatures had cooled just enough to be nippy when they ventured out on foot. Her hair went back into a tight ponytail, face splashed with water, teeth quickly brushed. She never wore makeup to the gym; in this case, she’d sweat it off before she even got a quarter of the way through the class.

  She’d half-expected Bryan to change his mind, but he was waiting for her in the lobby when she arrived, dressed in athletic shorts, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt of his own. “Ready?” he asked, even more awake and raring to go than she was.

  She chuckled. “There’s still time to back out, you know.”

  “Why would I want to back out?”

  “I don’t know. Just saying you don’t have to impress me.”

  He put up his hands. “I’m just trying to get a workout. That’s all.”

  Well, if that’s what he was after, he’d definitely get one.

  They pocketed their room keys and left the hotel, Ana leading the way down the street. Fog covered the city, shrouding it in dim blue light even though the sun should already be up. She readjusted the strap that held her yoga mat on her shoulder, drawing Bryan’s attention to it for the first time.

  “You travel with a yoga mat?”

  “Yep. You have no idea how many mats I had to go through before I found one that would fold up compactly enough for a carry-on. I hate studio mats.”

  “What about me, then?”

  “Studio mat.”

  “Oh, okay, I see how this is going to be.” He bumped her with his shoulder and then took her hand. She barely repressed a sigh at the warmth of his hand wrapped around hers. Who would have thought holding hands with a man would become one of her greatest, simplest pleasures? And why had it taken her so long to realize it?

  Because she hadn’t been friends with any of the men she’d dated, she realized. Most of them hadn’t reached that stage for obvious reasons, but even the ones who lasted more than a handful of dates seemed to want to bypass the sweet courtship stage of holding hands in public and go straight to bed. She would never in a million years have pegged Bryan as the hand-holding type.

  Despite the early hour on a Saturday, the studio was already packed, the parking lot filled with cars. Ana led the way into the small reception area, where people in various states of dress milled around. For a hot class, most people wore as little clothing as possible. As she passed a beautiful twentysomething in an outfit with barely more coverage than a bikini, she questioned the wisdom of bringing Bryan here in the first place. She wasn’t normally self-conscious about her body, but next to Yoga Barbie, she looked like Soccer Skipper.

  “Drop-ins for the seven o’clock,” she told the girl behind the desk. She had blonde dreadlocks and tattoos down both arms; her own skimpy outfit made Ana think she was probably the instructor and not the receptionist.

  She gave Ana a bright smile. “Drop-ins are twenty dollars. If you’ll fill out these releases, I’ll check you in.” She pushed two clipboards, each with a sheet of paper and a pen clipped to it, toward them.

  Bryan took his and glanced at it, his eyebrows lifting. “Death or dismemberment? What, are we going to be juggling chain saws?”

  Ana shot him a look to hush him up as curious glances came their way. “It’s just boilerplate.” She scribbled her signature at the bottom with the date, dug in her pocket for cash, and headed back to the desk. Bryan beat her to the punch and handed over two twenties before she could.

  “Thanks,” the girl said. “Studio A. You can go in and warm up if you like.”

  They dropped their stuff in the cubbies in the hallway, and then Ana began to strip off her outerwear. Bryan was looking at her with something of a stunned expression.

  “What? They heat the room to 95 degrees. Trust me, you’re going to want to wear as little as possible.” She adjusted her top to make sure it covered everything it needed to cover and tugged down the hem of her boy shorts, suddenly feeling exposed and uncomfortable.

  “Okay, then.” He pulled off his shoes and socks and then whipped off his shirt, giving her her own moment to blink in appreciation. With the hair and beard and lean body that most yogis worked years for, he’d fit right in. Until, of course, it came time to twist himself into a pretzel. Didn’t matter how strong or fit you were; yoga tended to make you feel like a hopelessly uncoordinated oaf until you got the hang of it.

  “Oh, I forgot to ask for a mat. Be right back.” Bryan wove his way among the bodies back to the desk, and this time Ana didn’t miss the passing glances of appreciation from the women and more than one of the men. She looked away.

  He came back with a mat—pink floral—which he held up with a rueful glance. “Am I going to have to turn over my man card if I use this?”

  “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about,” she said without thinking and then flushed.

  A slow smile spread over his face. “You ready?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  He shrugged. Poor sap didn’t know what was going to happen to him. She grabbed her mat and followed him to studio A, the whole time repeating to herself that this was an athletic endeavor and she really shouldn’t want to reach out and touch the muscles that rippled across his back with every movement.

  Heat hit them the second they walked into the studio, the wooden floor of which was already littered with the yoga mats of people saving their spaces. A few students stretched or contorted into various positions, eviden
tly taking advantage of the heat’s effect on their muscles. Ana and Bryan picked a spot in the corner with enough room for two mats, unrolled them, and settled onto the floor to stretch out.

  Bryan looked completely unperturbed, but Ana was now feeling a little shaky and insecure. About what, she couldn’t say. Letting him watch her contort into difficult positions while scantily clothed? That was part of it. But more than anything, she was letting him into her private world. She’d counted on doing this alone, as she always did, and now he was here beside her.

  The dreadlocked girl—she’d been right—glided into the room and attached her cell phone to the speaker in the corner. “Welcome to hot vinyasa,” she said smoothly, smiling at all of them with that glowing sort of friendliness all yoga teachers seemed to have. “I’m your instructor, Miranda. Welcome to our members and guests this morning. I’ll be giving modifications for the more difficult asanas, so please feel free to work to your level.”

  Ana glanced at Bryan, but he was just sitting cross-legged, placidly watching Miranda talk.

  “Now we’re going to begin with a little meditation . . .”

  Normally Ana used this time to breathe and pray, but she was too aware of Bryan sitting next to her to focus her attention on anything but him. She’d thought that maybe he was just going along with this to be with her, but he seemed to be taking it seriously, breathing in and out with calm concentration. And then Miranda started them into the flow, the first simple sequence moving through forward bends and plank position, then back to downward-facing dog.

  Now we’ll see, Ana thought, watching Bryan from the corner of her eye.

  He flowed through the sequence as naturally as if he’d done it hundreds of times, perfectly in control.

  Well, he was a climber, so he had strength and flexibility. And this was just the first vinyasa. She knew from experience that newcomers dropped like flies at the quarter mark of the class.