“So I figure today is something of an anniversary for us.”
“Us, is it?” she asked, loving every second of this banter between them.
“You are my girlfriend, aren’t you?”
“And your chef.”
“That, too.”
She shrugged as if it was of little consequence. “I guess.”
“In that case, you might want to check out the little box in my glove compartment.”
All at once it felt as if they were flying instead of driving. “A box in the glove compartment for me?”
“Take a look.”
Her hand trembled as she opened the compartment. Sure enough, a small black jeweler’s case with a bright red bow was nestled in among the owner’s manual and the car registration papers. She pulled it out and held it in the palm of her hand.
“What’s inside?” she asked. She couldn’t help it; she sounded breathless.
“Go ahead and see,” Jordan said.
The banter was gone, and the car seemed to grow suddenly warm and airless.
When she didn’t immediately comply, he prodded her. “Well? What’s holding you back? Open the box!”
“It’s a very pretty box.”
“Thank you, but what’s inside is even prettier.”
Alix removed the bow and then with exaggerated care lifted the lid. Inside was a lovely ring with a ruby and two small diamonds, one on either side.
“Jordan.” She said his name on a single lengthy breath. “It’s beautiful.”
“I thought so, too.”
“But … why?”
“Didn’t I just remind you it’s been a year since we linked up?”
“Yes, I know, but …” If he made her cry Alix didn’t think she’d forgive him.
“Try it on.”
She slipped it out and placed it on her finger. The fit was perfect.
“It’s official now,” Jordan said.
“What is?”
“You and me.”
She wanted to tell him she didn’t need a ring—however lovely—to prove that. But she only smiled.
“Next year for our anniversary,” he continued, “after you’ve graduated from cooking school, I’d like to replace that with a diamond engagement ring. What would you think?”
The tears did come then. “I think that’d be just fine,” she whispered. “Now would you stop this car so I can show you how damn much I love you?”
“That,” said Jordan, “can be arranged.”
51
CHAPTER
“To learn to knit you need beginner’s hands and a beginner’s mind. Knitting is a hobby. Breathe, relax and have fun.”
—Donna Druchunas, SheeptoShawl.com
LYDIA HOFFMAN
It’s hard to believe that A Good Yarn’s been open for a year. I’ve decided to hold my first—and, I hope, annual—yarn sale. Margaret, who works part-time for me now, created the flyers and the signs. My sister has an artistic bent, although she’s quick to deny it.
This has certainly been an eventful year. My business has prospered and I’ve achieved every goal I set for my first year, plus some. My class list has grown. My original three class members are still with me and we share a deep bond. We’re friends. Our Friday afternoon sessions are an ongoing social event—with knitting. I’m holding other classes, too. My inventory doubled in the last twelve months and continues to grow, although space is becoming a problem. Brad has been wonderful and together with Matt, my brother-in-law, has constructed shelves to hold the newer yarns I’ve made available to my customers.
One morning this week, I was sitting at my desk, dealing with long-overdue paperwork. I glanced into the shop where Margaret was busy tending an early customer; just seeing her made me treasure my business all the more. I’m so grateful I took this giant step in faith. A Good Yarn is everything I dreamed it would be. I hardly think of it as coming to work because it’s such a joy to do what I love and to be able to share my passion for knitting with others.
My father is the one I thank for giving me the courage to move forward with my life. His death taught me such valuable lessons. I suppose the irony is that his death taught me about life. I’d come to depend on him, but in this last year I’ve learned to draw upon the inner strength he instilled in me. I suppose it’s fanciful to think he’s smiling down on me, but I do.
That smile of my father’s would include Margaret. My sister and I have come a long way in repairing our relationship. We’ve grown steadily closer, first as sisters and then as friends. A year ago, if anyone had told me that my sister and I would be working side by side in my yarn store, I would’ve keeled over in a dead faint. Margaret and me—oh, hardly. And yet that’s exactly what we’re doing.
Margaret started filling in for me while I was going through my most recent scare with cancer last year. Dr. Wilson wasn’t giving the cancer a chance to recur, and while the treatment wasn’t as aggressive as the chemotherapy and radiation I’d endured in the past, it was aggressive enough. It was often necessary for me to take a day off, so Margaret, with her limited experience, helped me out. How grateful I am to my sister. She was more familiar with crocheting than knitting when she started, but in recent months, she’s mastered knitting, too. Now she’s as much a part of the store as I am, and the customers have warmed to her. Margaret will never be a spontaneous sort of person, but she’s excellent at sales and I’m proud to have her as an employee. Mom is pleased with our new relationship, too.
Perhaps the biggest change in my life, however, is Brad and Cody. We’re together as much as our schedules will allow, and I’ve fallen deeply in love with this special man and with his son.
“The flyers are back from the printer,” Margaret said, stepping into my tiny office and interrupting my thoughts. “When would you like me to get them to the mailing service?”
I looked up from my desk. “Today if possible.”
She nodded. “I can do that.”
“Thanks.” I wanted her to know how much I appreciated everything she did for me. “I owe you so much, Margaret.”
She shook off my praise, as I knew she would. My gratitude seemed to embarrass her. “Are you sure you’re up to the Mariners game tonight?” At times, although they were increasingly rare, Margaret fell into that protective older-sister mode.
“I’m perfectly fine,” I said, letting her know I was capable of judging my own limits. In any case, I had no intention of disappointing Brad and Cody. We’d had tickets for this game against the San Diego Padres for weeks.
“Good.”
“What about you, Matt, Mom and the girls? You’ll be there, too, won’t you?”
“Of course!” Margaret’s eyes widened. “We wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
“As long as you’re up to it,” I teased.
She ignored that and craned her neck to look out the front windows. “Our favorite UPS delivery man just pulled up.”
Five