Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

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СКАЧАТЬ not what I do. I leave the salvation up to God. He saves, I just point the way.” He took another fry, dipping it into a small pool of ketchup he’d squirted onto his plate.

      She still didn’t trust him. “I don’t get it.”

      “What’s to get?”

      “You,” she said. “Wanting to see me.”

      He cast her a strange look. “Is there some law that says I’m not supposed to be attracted to you? I liked you in sixth grade and I still think you’re kinda cute.”

      He liked her? He thought she was cute? “You do?” she asked and was mortified by the slight quiver in her voice.

      “I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t.” He stretched out his hand and stole one of her French fries.

      “Hey.” She slapped his hand.

      He laughed and gave her his sliced pickle.

      They finished eating, talked about movies they’d both seen and then left the café an hour later. “Are you going to stop avoiding me now?” Jordan asked.

      Alix figured she’d play it cool. “I haven’t decided yet.”

      “Decide soon, will you?”

      “Why?”

      “Because I don’t know how much longer I can afford to rent movies.” Alix laughed.

      “You coming to church on Sunday?” he asked.

      “Probably not.” She didn’t see herself sitting next to any church lady with sagging panty hose and a big purse. Jordan might want her to show up, but she didn’t think those goody-goody types would take kindly to her purple-tinted hair.

      Church was for people who had regular lives and who had goals and dreams. Okay, Alix had dreams, too, but damn little chance of ever seeing them come to life. She wanted to be a chef. Not just a cook, but a real chef in some fancy restaurant. She’d worked in a couple of cafés like Annie’s over the years and always liked the kitchen jobs best. The last place she’d worked—before the video store—had closed down, but working there had set the dream in place.

      She suspected he was laughing at her. Before she knew what he intended, he pulled her into the shadows of the alley and backed her up against the brick wall.

      They stared at each other for a long moment, neither breathing, neither saying anything.

      Then his mouth was on hers, and it was all she could do not to crumple at the effect of his kiss. Her head started to spin and her knees actually went weak. The only thing left to do was hold on to him, so she wrapped her arms around Jordan’s neck. From there, her senses took her on a roller-coaster ride more exciting than anything Disney had to offer.

      “What was that for?” she asked, her voice sounding like something rattling around in a tin can.

      When Jordan finally lifted his head, he whispered. “I figured you owed me that because I had my heart broken in sixth grade.”

      Alix moistened her lips. “Yeah … well, you weren’t the only one.”

      22

      CHAPTER

      “In the hands of a knitter, yarn becomes the medium that binds the heart and soul.”

      —Robin Villiers-Furze, The Needleworks Company, Port Orchard, Washington

       LYDIA HOFFMAN

      Another Friday had come to an end. The knitting session was one of the best ever, with Alix laughing a lot and Jacqueline more relaxed and tolerant than I’d ever seen her. Carol was at home—doctor’s orders. By the time I turned over the closed sign on the shop door and headed upstairs to my apartment, I was exhausted. But this was a good kind of tired. When I first opened A Good Yarn, I’d had plenty of empty hours to work on my own projects.

      Not anymore. I had a continuous stream of customers and I was intermittently busy most days. I needed to thank Jacqueline the next time I saw her. She’d spread the word about the store, and two of her affluent friends had recently stopped by. Despite all her threats to quit the class, she showed up each and every Friday. And Jacqueline’s country club friends had purchased four hundred dollars’ worth of yarn. With big sales like these I didn’t need to worry about making the rent payment, which was one of my biggest concerns when I opened my door.

      I wasn’t actually earning enough to pay myself a real salary yet, but I was managing the rent and after less than three months in business, that excited me. My strategy was to live simply and believe in myself.

      When I arrived upstairs, I left the smaller windows in the living room open. A gentle breeze filtered through. Whiskers was all over me, weaving between my feet in an effort to attract my undivided attention. I love my cat and he’s excellent company, but there are days I’d like a few moments to myself to unwind. Whiskers’s demands come first, however.

      I opened a can of his favorite tuna and set it down. He’s terribly spoiled, but I can’t help it. While Whiskers chowed down on dinner, I sorted through the day’s mail and came upon an envelope with a familiar scrawl. Margaret.

      I hesitated before I tore it open. Inside were two thank-you notes, one from each of my nieces, thanking me for the sweaters I’d recently knit. It was the first time they’d formally acknowledged my gifts. In the past I’d often suspected Margaret hadn’t given them the things I made them.

      In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have reacted by phoning my sister. Except that our strained relationship showed recent signs of improvement, and I was feeling encouraged. Before I could change my mind, I punched out her telephone number.

      At the first ring, I nearly did change my mind and hang up. But I knew she had Caller ID and would immediately contact me and ask why I’d phoned.

      Hailey answered on the second ring.

      “I got your thank-you note,” I told her.

      “Mom said we should write you, but I would have anyway. It’s a cool sweater, Aunt Lydia. I love the colors.”

      “I’m glad you like it.” I’d chosen a lime-green yarn and accented the cuffs and button bands with bright orange. It turned out to be really cute, even if I do say so myself.

      “Mom’s here,” Hailey said and before I could tell her it wasn’t necessary to interrupt Margaret, my sister was on the line.

      “Is everything all right?” she demanded in that gruff unfriendly tone she holds in reserve for me.

      “Of course,” I assured her. “I got the note from the girls today and I—”

      “You only ever phone if something’s wrong.”

      That was categorically untrue but I didn’t want to argue with her. Normally I avoided calling Margaret because the experience was so often unsettling.

      “I’m fine, really.” I tried to laugh but it sounded phony.

      “Have СКАЧАТЬ