Hilary Fields - Bliss

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Silver. His name is Silver.”

The smile Asher gave her was pure gold.

Serafina blinked. In the time she’d been inside Lyric Jewelry, it appeared the courtyard had acquired a new statue. To her sun-dazzled eyes, the figure, vaguely humanoid, looked as though some strange-humored god had yanked it free from its gravitational moorings, dragging it skyward and elongating it past all reason. I knew Santa Fe had a flourishing art scene, she thought, but this is a bit… sudden. I’m sure this wasn’t here before. Perhaps she was still dizzy from her encounter with Asher and his unwelcoming minion. She blinked again, and the strange new sculpture resolved itself into something she recognized.

Ah. Nothing to be alarmed about. It’s just a New Age spiritualist. I better get used to them out here.

Flanking—or possibly mocking—the generous curves of the earth mother fountain, a slender young woman in wide-legged yoga pants and a fairly unnecessary sports bra was poised on one bare foot, the other magically protruding from the clasp of her two hands behind her head, her back leg nearly parallel to her torso. She looked to be double or perhaps triple jointed, with a fluid, taffy-like muscle structure that made her pose seem like the most natural thing in the world, despite Sera’s certainty that a professional ballerina would be hard-pressed to duplicate it.

She watched as the girl unwound slowly and flowed into yet another improbable posture, and then another. Just as she was wondering if she should announce herself or simply sneak past to get back to her rental car (she had planned to hit the chamber of commerce and pick up some forms before heading back to Pauline’s), the impossibly lithe young woman pressed her hands together, murmured “Jai Bhagwan,” added in a “Namaste” for good measure, then bounced on the balls of her feet as if she couldn’t contain herself. She opened sparkling brown eyes and sang out, “Hey, girl! You must be Bliss. I’ve been dying to meet you!”

The yogini bounded over to the porch, oblivious to Sera’s flummoxed expression, and stuck out her hand for Sera to shake. “I’m Aruni. Aruni Sharon Lipschitz, but I just stick with Aruni,” she said, pumping Serafina’s hand enthusiastically. “Please, for the love of the Buddha, don’t call me by my given name, or I’ll never forgive you.” She dimpled, a woman clearly used to charming others right out of their ten-toed socks.

Aruni wasn’t precisely pretty, Sera observed; possessed of a nose that was slightly bulbous at the tip and a chin that didn’t quite overcome her otherwise adorable overbite. Her shoulder-length hair, Sera guessed, would require all sorts of abstruse products to tame its woolly curls. Still, her vitality made the overall picture one of delicious, vibrant attractiveness. As Sera watched, the woman twisted a rubber band through her massive mane and secured it atop her head in a ponytail that would have done a shih tzu proud. “I run the yoga studio across the courtyard,” Aruni said helpfully.

Of course she did. Sera followed the graceful line of her arm as the woman pointed to indicate a storefront at the front of the placita. The wooden double doors of the studio were painted a pale pink that managed—barely—not to clash with the mellow brown adobe walls. On the generously sized plate glass front window, swirly lotus flower and ohm symbols were painted in a purple she supposed was very spiritual. Perhaps Aruni and Pauline had shared a bucket of Benjamin Moore, Sera thought, for P-HOP’s sign, she now realized, was exactly the same shade. Sera had noticed the yoga studio in passing on previous reconnaissance missions to her new venture, but only in a “Hey, I really ought to sign up for a class one of these days… ha, ha, yeah right,” sort of way.

I’ve got neighbors, she thought to herself with equal parts pleasure and foreboding. And I bet out here they expect you to, like, talk to them and stuff. Another new experience. Hmm. Well, I could probably get used to being sociable. After all, I did say I wanted to try new things.

“Oh, ah, yes,” she murmured, fumbling for something appropriately neighborly to say. “Tantrastic, right?”

Aruni nodded happily. “That’s the place!”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, ah…”

“Aruni,” Aruni reminded. “Like the sage.” Her eyes searched Serafina’s face, expecting recognition.

Right. The sage. The only sage Sera was intimately familiar with came in the fresh produce aisle, and made a great addition to turkey stuffing. Aruni? Could she seriously call her that out loud? Then again, with a name like Serafina Bliss Wilde, who was she to take issue with unusual monikers?

“Most people call me Serafina or Sera, not Bliss,” Serafina said, hitching up Pauline’s patchwork skirt and wrapping the scarf Asher had so recently touched closer about her neck. “I’m still not used to Pauline introducing me to folks the other way.” And I’m getting to like Asher being the only one, besides her, who calls me Bliss.

“Sera, then. I’m a big believer in calling people by the names they choose. For obvious reasons.” Aruni pulled a rueful face. “I’m so excited you’re here, Sera,” she rattled on. “Pauline stopped by and told me all about you the other day. She said you’d come to take over the store, and, I quote, ‘I was to give you all aid and succor’ in an effort to convince you you’ve made the right choice. Well,” Aruni said brightly, “she didn’t have to ask me twice. I’m, like, totally over the moon that you’re here. Finally, some new blood in Placita de Suerte y Sueños! With you here, we’re going to lower the average age of the merchants in this little shopping center by half, and make it twice as rockin’ cool.”

“We are?” Sera asked faintly.

“Mos’ def, girl!” Aruni slung a muscle-banded arm across Sera’s shoulders. “I’m no energy reader, but I definitely get a vibe that you and I are going to be great pals. C’mon, let’s go grab a burger and seal the deal.”

“Ah… a burger?” Sera hesitated.

“Well, yeah—a veggie burger for me, obviously, but I won’t pass judgment if you haven’t made the shift to a meatless lifestyle yet.” Shrugging on a sky blue hoodie, she linked arms with Sera and urged her forward.

Sera stepped down from the porch in Aruni’s wake, feeling the sun warm the otherwise chilly late-morning air. Her inner voice was telling her, “Go ahead, make a friend,” while her native New Yorker was shaking its head and asking her what ulterior motives her new “pal” might have. A lifetime of scanning for subway pervs and pickpockets warned her she should be checking the other woman over for concealed weapons and/or cult propaganda. But the Santa Fe sunlight and the cool September breeze were clearing away those suspicions, making room for new possibilities.

“Um, sure, I could eat,” she found herself saying.

“Great! I know the perfect place, and my assistant’s minding the studio for the next couple hours—we’ve got a beginner’s class in there practicing their durga breathing right now—so I can sneak away for a bit. Let’s walk—it’s so nice out, and it’s not too far from here.”

And ten minutes later, after a stroll down narrow streets lined with exquisite, screamingly expensive boutiques and galleries Sera promised herself she’d take the time to investigate soon, they were sliding into a booth at the Sunshine Diner.

“Was that who I think it was?” Sera whispered out of the corner of her mouth as they unfolded their napkins and settled in at the historic-coal-warehouse-turned-chrome-finished diner, shedding scarves and handbags on the seats beside them. Her gaze cut over to the left, over Aruni’s shoulder, to the gentleman who had just paid his tab and was now ambling toward the front entrance with a peculiarly bowlegged gait. “The one who was in all the Western movies?”