Blossom Street (Books 1-10). Debbie Macomber

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СКАЧАТЬ the clang and racket of construction, Carol ventured down the street. A video store and a depressing brick apartment building sat at the far end of the block and a restaurant called Annie’s Café was across the street. The contrast between the old and the new was striking. The unrenovated portion of the street resembled a quaint small town with friendly merchants straight out of a 1960s television series. Granted, some of the buildings were a bit shabby, but they seemed welcoming nonetheless. It was hard to tell that Blossom Street was less than a mile from the heart of downtown Seattle with its high-rises and congested streets.

      Next to the florist was another surprise: a yarn store. The shop was new, judging by the computer-lettered “Grand Opening” sign. A woman, probably close to her own age, sat in a rocking chair inside, her hands busy with a pair of needles. A large ball of lime-green yarn rested on her lap.

      Because she had nothing better to do, Carol walked through the door, setting off a pleasant chime. “Hello,” she said, doing her best to sound cheerful and interested. She wasn’t sure what drew her into the shop, since she didn’t knit and had never been particularly keen on crafts.

      The petite woman greeted her with a shy smile. “Hello and welcome to A Good Yarn.”

      “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

      The proprietor nodded. “I opened yesterday, and you’re my first customer this afternoon.” She laughed softly. “First customer today,” she corrected.

      “What are you knitting?” Carol asked, feeling slightly guilty because she wasn’t a customer at all.

      “A sweater for my niece.” She reached for her project and held it up for Carol to examine.

      The colors, lime-green, orange and turquoise, immediately brought a smile to Carol’s face. “That’s so cute.”

      “Do you knit?”

      The question was inevitable. “No, but I’d like to learn someday.”

      “Then you’ve come to the right place. I have a beginners’ class starting next Friday. If you register for the class you get a twenty-percent discount on your yarn purchases.”

      “Sorry. I don’t think I’d be any good at knitting.” Carol felt genuinely regretful, but she wasn’t the sort of woman who was comfortable doing things with her hands. Calculating compound interest and figuring annuities, investments and mutual funds—that was where her skills lay.

      “You won’t know if you don’t try. I’m Lydia, by the way.”

      “Carol.” She offered her hand, and Lydia put down her knitting to clasp it warmly. Lydia was petite and small-boned, her dark hair worn short. Her brown eyes shone with intelligence, and Carol liked her right away.

      “I’m starting the class with a simple project,” Lydia continued.

      “It would have to be really simple if I were to take up knitting.”

      “I thought I’d have everyone work on a baby blanket.”

      Carol froze and tears sprang instantly to her eyes. She turned away before Lydia noticed. Under normal circumstances she wasn’t a volatile person, but with the hormone shots, her emotions seemed out of control. This was too weird, though, too much of a coincidence.

      “Perhaps I will sign up for the class, after all,” she said, fingering a ball of bright yellow yarn.

      “That would be wonderful.” Lydia walked over to the counter and brought out a clipboard.

      These days, Carol looked everywhere for signs and portents, and she had frequent conversations with God. Without a doubt she knew she’d been sent to this shop. It was His way of letting her know He was about to answer her prayers. When she went in for the fertilization process this third and final time, she would be successful. In the not-too-distant future she was going to need a baby blanket for her child.

      4

      CHAPTER

       ALIX TOWNSEND

      Alix Townsend smashed her cigarette butt into the cracked concrete sidewalk with the toe of her knee-high black combat boots. The manager of Blossom Street Video frowned on employees smoking in the break room and rather than put up with his snide comments, she chose to smoke outside. The man was a prick, anyway, constantly complaining about the staff, the economy and life in general.

      Lloyd Fund was right about one thing, though—all this construction was killing business. Alix figured it was only a matter of time before she got her RIF notice, followed by word that her apartment building had been sold. It was inevitable with all the changes taking place in the neighborhood. Either that or she was in for a big rent hike. Thanks a lot, Mr. Mayor.

      She burrowed her hands in her black leather jacket and glared down the street at the dust and debris. She wore the leather coat rain or shine, summer or winter. This jacket had cost her big time, and she wasn’t taking it off so someone could conveniently walk away with it. Someone like her roommate, the overweight Laurel, although it was doubtful anything Alix owned would fit her. Leaning against the building, knee bent, one foot braced against the wall, she concentrated on the other side of the street.

      All the storefronts were newly painted. The new florist shop had already opened, as well as a beauty parlor. Those were a real boon to the neighborhood—as if she had use for either one. The shop situated between them remained something of a mystery. A Good Yarn. Either it was a bookstore or a knitting shop. In this neighborhood neither would last long, she suspected. On closer inspection she decided it was a yarn store. The people who lived in her building weren’t exactly the type who got off on a ball of yarn.

      A knitting shop did bring up an interesting prospect, though. With another five minutes left of her break, Alix crossed the street. She peered through the window and saw a handmade sign offering knitting classes. If she started knitting, it would get the court off her back. Maybe she could do something about those community-service hours Judge Roper had thrown at her.

      “Hi,” Alix said, letting her voice boom when she walked in the front door. She liked making an entrance.

      “Hello.”

      The proprietor was a dainty woman, fragile-looking with large brown eyes and a ready smile.

      “You own this shop?” Alix asked, giving the other woman a cool glance. She couldn’t be much older than Alix.

      “This is my shop.” She rose from her rocking chair. “How can I help you?”

      “I want to know about that knitting class.” Her case worker had once suggested knitting as a means of anger management. Maybe it would work. And if it allowed her to meet her community-service obligations at the same time …

      “What can I tell you?”

      Slowly Alix walked around the shop, her hands shoved inside her pockets. She’d bet this knitting lady didn’t get many customers like her. Recently a notice in the courthouse had caught Alix’s attention—all about homemade quilts and blankets for kids who’d suffered domestic violence. “You ever heard of the Linus Project?” she asked, thinking this yarn lady probably hadn’t stepped inside a courtroom in her lifetime.

      “Of СКАЧАТЬ