Gathered Up. Annabeth Albert

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      “And what business is it of yours?” Oh, Miss Fair Isle was pissed and she was turning it all on me and the other knitter.

      “Brady! Can we order?” someone called from the line at the counter.

      “Did you forget to sweeten this one?” Green cardigan triplet was apparently still not happy, but I ignored her to set the fallen two-top to rights. As I straightened, I noticed a pair of expensive-looking desert boots: the brown leather staples of all Portland hipster men. And as my gaze traveled upward, I took in the handsome stranger who had somehow managed to find his way right into the middle of the Knit Night chaos.

      “Is this always so…boisterous?” he said with a faint curl to his gorgeous full mouth.

      “’Fraid so. Welcome to Knit Night.” I finally gave in to that heavy sigh I’d been holding in for the last hour.

      “It is not so bad.” His lips curled as his gaze latched onto mine, not breaking away.

      He didn’t move, and I didn’t scurry back to the counter like I should have. The air felt charged—

      “Debbie. You ruined my Fair Isle! Two hundred dollars’ worth of yarn! Ruined!” Anger. That’s what the air was charged with. Fair Isle lady wasn’t letting it go and was all up in the roller derby girl’s personal space again.

      Buzz. My leg vibrated yet again, this time the steady pulse of a missed call. This just wasn’t my night. I had no idea when I’d get a chance to breathe, let alone check the latest message. A solo Knit Night was proving to be a special kind of hell. And, of course, the most attractive man I’d seen in weeks had to be dropped right into the middle of it. I gave him five more minutes before he scurried out to the chain place down the street. They were stealing enough of our business, why not him, too?

      “Ladies. May I see?” Instead of fleeing, the man stepped closer to the arguing women.

      To my surprise, the angry knitter handed over the soggy garment. “Evren! I thought I saw you over in the corner. You should have joined us! Is Mira with you?”

      “I wouldn’t miss it.” One of my favorite customers stepped out of the line for coffee. The owner of Iplik, the yarn store, she was a neighborhood institution unto herself. And she’d been sorely missed the last few Knit Nights. I’d heard a rumor about some health problems, and I was very glad to see her, even if she did look thinner and frailer, with an elegant knit turban on her head. She was one of the very few people who knew my situation with the kids, and I still got all warm at the memory of the little knit ornaments she’d given me for them at the holidays.

      “And what is all this fuss?” she asked.

      I loved her lilting Turkish accent, and I realized that was what I’d heard in the man’s voice—New York with just a hint of Turkish.

      “There’s no fuss,” Miss Fair Isle said, flipping her long blond hair. She was too busy making goo-goo eyes at Evren. Not that I blamed her. He was handling her soggy yarn balls with such deftness and care that it made certain parts of me take notice. He had long, elegant fingers with blunt tips. Capable grace.

      “I think this can be fixed,” Evren pronounced, and the whole group exhaled. “Now, why don’t we let the man get back to his coffee?”

      “Evren, this is Brady, my favorite barista,” Mira introduced me with a flourish, emerald tunic top rippling. “Brady, this is my nephew. He’s come to…help with the store.”

      “That’s great.” I forced my voice to be bright and cheery, just like hers. But I knew his arrival couldn’t be a good thing—her health must have been even worse than the rumors. “You must be the famous nephew she’s always raving about.”

      Truthfully, I’d pictured someone younger from Mira’s stories about her favorite relative. Evren was probably a bit older than me, perhaps in his late twenties. And if I was honest, I’d imagined someone diminutive and round, like Mira was before her illness, not tall, confident, and composed. And hot as hell.

      “Perhaps Hala Mira exaggerates.” He patted her arm before turning his attention to the bickering knitters. By the time I was back behind the counter, he had the two women sitting next to each other again, laughing, and he’d stowed the soggy mess of knitting in a shopping bag to “fix later.” That pronouncement had drawn much awe from the Knit Night crowd.

      There had been the odd dude at a Knit Night before, hipster types with scraggly-looking bits of scarf and an eye on a girlfriend or potential girlfriend, but I was still impressed when Evren opened his bag and pulled out a half-knit sock on the needles and a completed sock, which was passed around and oohed and aahed over by the ladies. It was indeed a nice piece of work—at least three colors that I could see, and some sort of complicated pattern that had him pulling out charts and diagrams.

      His hands were so sexy that I kept spying on him as I finished the rest of the initial Knit Night rush. I liked watching his long, elegant fingers move rapidly with the teeny needles, liked how he gestured as he passed his scarf around, and really liked when he flipped his ridiculously thick, straight hair off his forehead with a flick of his hand. Wonder what else he’s good at with those hands…

      With the scarf on the table, his long neck was exposed, and he had the sort of prominent Adam’s apple and faint scruff that never failed to turn me on. Maybe after Knit Night, I could say a few words—

      Buzz. Hell. Finally, I had enough breathing space at the counter that I could check the texts, keeping the phone hidden behind the counter.

      I discovered a series of texts from Renee, each more dire than the last.

      Madison’s stomach is upset. Should she eat dinner?

      She’s puking! All over the rug! Help!

      Fever’s 102!!!! Brady!!! What do I dooooooo? :( :( :(

      I could hear Renee’s wail just from the text. Yeah, eighteen wasn’t a baby anymore and we could all do with fewer hysterics from her, but she was still munchkin-size, with a sweet voice and a sensitive attitude. It was hard to get those memories of us as little kids out of my head. I’d been five when she was born and I’d been the type of older brother who fell hard for the family’s new addition—the tiny blond-haired toddler I’d begged my mom to let me push on the baby swing. The too-damn-cheerful kindergartner who’d held my hand so tight on the way home from school every day.

      Renee and I had both grown up a lot faster than we’d wanted to when our mother and her second husband died last year, and now we were doing our best to raise our younger half siblings together.

      Trying to keep the phone low and discreet, I frantically typed back.

      Calm down. Children’s fever reducer in the medicine cabinet. Top shelf. I circled the dose on the box for the twins. Give that. Home soon. Promise.

      Cough. A throat clearing made me look up. Fuck. Evren loomed over me, and he was staring right at my phone.

      “Sorry.” I pocketed it, shaking my hand off like it was burning. “I don’t usually…”

      “Do not worry about it.” Evren made a sweeping gesture. I was already a serious fan of his accent and the little bits of formality that crept into his speech just added to the appeal of that melodic voice. “You looked so serious and concerned. You СКАЧАТЬ