Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

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      “What are you doing here?” she asked, making sure he knew she wasn’t pleased to see him.

      “Actually, I came in looking for you.” He folded his arms over the top of the chair and leaned toward her.

      “Sure you did.” That was the type of line John fed Laurel. Alix wasn’t going to fall for it.

      “It’s the truth. You can talk to Danny. I went into the store and asked him if he knew where I could find you.” Danny worked part-time during the day shift and was reliable. If she asked him about it, he’d be square with her.

      Ignoring Jordan, she caught the dropped stitch and finished the row before she raised her eyes. “Why were you looking for me?”

      “I thought I’d buy you a cup of coffee. Are you always this difficult?”

      She fixed her gaze on him and refused to blink. “Not really.”

      “So this I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude is for my benefit?”

      She smiled despite her mood. “You could say that.”

      Her lack of welcome apparently didn’t bother him. “Any particular reason?”

      Alix picked up her knitting again. It sounded childish and petty to say she was disappointed because he’d led her to believe he’d be by to take her to coffee. Then … nothing. Rather than tell him all that, she started knitting again, paying close attention to her stitches, concentrating as she completed the action of slipping it onto the next needle. “I haven’t seen you around lately,” she said casually.

      “Are you implying you missed me? I thought a lot about you while I was away, you know.”

      She shrugged, looked up and felt a smile lift one side of her mouth. “I might have.”

      He liked hearing that; Alix could tell by the way he shifted in his chair and leaned closer. He watched her for a moment and then asked, “What are you knitting?”

      “A baby blanket for the Linus Project.”

      Jordan nodded. “I’ve heard of that. There was a notice in the church bulletin about it a couple of months ago.”

      Damn, he went to church, too? She really knew how to pick ‘em. “Don’t think I’m doing this wonderful deed out of the kindness of my heart,” she said gruffly. “I’m not putting this much effort into a baby blanket out of civic duty.”

      “Then why knit it for the Linus Project?”

      She might as well admit the truth, and looked up, wanting to gauge his reaction. “It’s a way to serve the community hours the court assigned me.” If that didn’t scare him off, then nothing would. She believed in being honest, and if this clean-cut guy was still interested in her, great. If not, she was better off knowing that now.

      “Court-ordered community service? Why?”

      “I crossed the law and the law won,” she said, finishing the row and paying less attention to the stitches than she should. “But it was a bogus rap and the judge knew it. I got community service instead of jail time. Does that shock a good boy like you?”

      “No.”

      She wasn’t sure she believed him but let it slide.

      “My mother knits.”

      Alix stopped herself just in time from telling him that her mother was in prison. Enough honesty for today, she decided; no need to overload him with the truth. His interest flattered her, and she rather liked the fact that he’d sought her out. Glancing up, she was tempted to ask what grade school he’d attended, still wondering if he was the Jordan Turner she’d once known. She only half remembered what that boy had looked like, although she recalled he’d worn glasses. Unlike this Jordan. She might have asked, except that he posed a question instead.

      “Are you hungry?” He looked over his shoulder at the display counter in the front. “They’ve got great scones if there are any left. Want one?”

      “I could eat,” she said which wasn’t the most gracious statement she’d ever made.

      He got up and walked to the counter. Alix watched him for a moment and tried to calm her pounding heart. She turned back to her knitting and finished the row, then triumphantly counted exactly one hundred and seventy-one stitches. Jordan returned to her table, a coffee cup in one hand, with a plate and scone balanced on top of it. In the other hand he carried a second plate with a scone.

      “We’re in luck,” he said as he set everything down on the small round table. “They only had two left.”

      She nodded, accepting the scone. “Thanks.”

      Jordan took a sip of his drink. “Danny didn’t actually know where you’d be and I just happened to see you in the window as I walked by.”

      She broke the scone in half and was grateful this had been the only table available when she’d arrived an hour earlier. Normally she wouldn’t have sat in view of the entire street. It depressed her to see what was happening to the neighborhood, mainly because she sensed it was only a matter of time before she and Laurel lost the apartment. If that happened, it wouldn’t be long before she’d be back to sleeping in cheap, rat-infested hotel rooms every night. Getting another apartment would mean taking on a second job and waiting tables for tips in places decent guys like Jordan didn’t frequent.

      “Where’ve you been?” Alix asked, since he hadn’t volunteered the information. He’d said he was away.

      He sipped his coffee, then put it down. “I was running a youth retreat at Warm Beach.”

      Alix didn’t have a clue what that was. “This whole time?”

      “Not entirely, but the church needed help with the organization, so I worked in the Stanwood office for a few weeks.”

      “Oh.” This was the second time he’d mentioned church, and she’d begun to feel a niggling suspicion.

      “It’s nice to know you missed me,” he murmured.

      “I didn’t say that,” she said a bit more defensively than she’d intended.

      He chuckled.

      Alix was relieved to see she hadn’t offended him. “Well, maybe I missed you a little.”

      “I’m glad to hear it.”

      “You got any more youth retreats you need to organize?”

      He sighed. “I don’t know. Frankly, I hope not. When I accepted the job as youth minister, I expected to spend my time with the teenagers here in the Blossom Street neighborhood.”

      Alix felt as if her world had caved in. “You’re … a preacher?”

      “Youth minister,” Jordan corrected. “I’m currently working at the Free Methodist church in the neighborhood, the one right off Blossom.” His mouth twitched; he seemed to be suppressing laughter.

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