funny?”
He looked up, his laughter barely brightening his eyes. “It’s a condiment.”
He looked around the room and discomfort zinged through her. Being judged was a feeling India was familiar enough with. Hippie-dippie? Woo-woo? Mumbo jumbo? They ate labels for lunch in her family. “I am aware,” she said calmly, because snapping at people was not her way. And because she’d show him her emotions again when the netherworld froze over.
“Would you call a dog Mustard or Relish?”
“I’m sure people do.” She sounded every bit as indignant as she felt. Although why she was feeling this indignant, she had no idea.
“But Chutney,” he said, and it made him laugh again, and then grimace.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. It just hurts to laugh.”
“I’m sorry.” It came out automatically, the apology for the fact that he was in pain.
“Why are you sorry?” Was there an edge to his voice? Not that she didn’t understand it. She’d be livid if someone shot her. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. Sorry.” He spun his finger around his head. “Things have been a little weird up here.”
Which explained why he was here.
She spun a finger around her head. “Generally the only reason people seek me out.”
He’d have looked less like she’d kicked him if she’d kicked him.
“Is it okay if I ask you a question about the shooting?”
“Sure.” But he didn’t look at her, just stared at his hands.
“Is your bodyguard okay?”
Now he looked at her, guarded gray eyes not doing a damn thing to hide how he felt about a bodyguard taking a bullet for him. “He’s alive. But no, I would not say he’s okay.”
She was about to say, I’m sorry, again, but the look he threw her stopped her. “You said you needed my help,” she said instead. “How can I help you, Yash?”
Instead of answering, he started pacing. “I’m sorry we barged in on you. I’m sure you were busy.” It was the third apology between them, which was ironic, given their history. Or their lack of history.
“I didn’t have any appointments today, or classes.”
“You teach yoga.”
“Technically it isn’t teaching, it’s leading the practice. It’s a yoga studio. That’s what we do here.”
He looked around the room again. “Looks like you do a lot more here than teach—I mean, lead a yoga practice.”
She’d told him about her dream of running a holistic practice where she helped people with all aspects of wellness. He’d teased her about using the word holistic. How easy all the teasing had felt, how heady the laughter.
Perfect timing for every detail of their conversation from ten years ago to light up her memory. While he, on the other hand, barely seemed to remember that they’d ever even met.
“I believe that to truly heal you have to treat the whole individual. Yoga is one part of that.”
“What’s the other part?”
“Understanding yourself as a human being.”
“You mean therapy.”
“I mean digging into your emotions. Understanding yourself, who you are, how you function. Taking yourself apart like a machine and finding the rusty parts and oiling them.”
“Ashna says you helped her with panic attacks.”
Oh. “Would you like to sit down?”
“On your therapist’s couch?”
“If you’d like.”
He smiled at that, but she couldn’t tell if he was just amused or amused at her. “Psychiatrists really do that.”
“I’m not a psychiatrist.”
“Therapist, then. They really do act as though they’re putting every ball in your court.”
“I practice as a yoga therapist, actually, and a wellness coach.” If he was accusing her of something, she might as well live up to it. She left the ball in his court.
“Ashna thinks I’m having panic attacks and she thinks you can help me deal with them. Quickly.”
“Ashna thinks you’re having panic attacks?”
That seemed to annoy him, which was interesting. He paced the length of her office again. “I’m not sure this is a great idea. I don’t want to waste your time. You seem like a busy person.”
Was he mocking her again? Her office was only empty because she was supposed to be out of the country.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened, and we’ll go from there?”
“The part where someone tried to kill me?”
“We can start there.”
“Let’s.” He looked at her as though she’d thrown him some sort of challenge and he was picking it up. “I was at a rally and some gun-toting asshole thought I’d lived long enough. And, well, when I tried to go out on a stage for another rally it didn’t go so well. And now my family thinks I