“That’s a nice gesture,” Riley said, picking up the last of the yarn.
“Have you crocheted or knitted lately?”
“No.” She carefully placed the last skein of yarn on the shelf, then went to her grandmother. “I’ve been too busy.”
“With your art.” Mimi smiled. “Don’t worry, picking it back up will be like riding a bike.”
“I wasn’t good at riding my bike, remember?”
“Oh. That’s right. Don’t worry, sugar, crocheting doesn’t require any athletic ability.”
Riley smirked, then sat in the old stuffed chair near the front of the store. The “Man Chair,” Mimi called it, since it was available to any poor husband or boyfriend who’d been dragged to the yarn store by his significant other. The chair, upholstered in goldenrod, avocado-green, and burnt-orange flowers, was anything but manly, but it was comfortable, and Riley remembered the snores of more than one male who had fallen asleep in it.
She looked around the store, memories flooding her again. She’d spent a lot of time here, back when the store hadn’t been as disorganized and there were more customers, most of them regulars who stopped in once or twice a week to buy yarn and chat with Mimi. Riley had spent her afternoons after school and entire Saturdays working here. When the store had a lull, she worked at the small art center Mimi set up for her in the corner of the back room.
Riley blinked, surprised at the wistful twist her thoughts had taken and the sudden twinge of guilt that appeared as she realized the neglected condition of the store. She shoved it away and addressed what she considered her grandmother’s most pressing problem.
“You really have to do something about your inventory, Mimi.”
Her grandmother lifted her chin, the loose skin at her neck wobbling a bit. “Don’t be bossy.”
“I’m not. I’m concerned. I don’t want something else to happen to you while you’re healing.”
“You’re acting like this place is a danger zone.” She glanced around the shop and frowned. “All right, I may have let things get a little out of control. But I do know where everything is.”
“But if it’s organized, everyone else will know where things are too.”
Nodding, Mimi said, “You’re right, of course.” Then her face brightened. “What do you plan to do?”
“Me?”
“Darn tootin’you. I can’t do anything while I’m laid up. Like I said when I called you, I need your help to run this place. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you. I know you gave up a lot to come help me.”
She met her grandmother’s gaze. There was no guile or manipulation in her expression, just an uncharacteristic touch of sadness in her eyes.
“You don’t have to pay me,” Riley blurted, then mentally kicked herself. Her bank account was worthless, and her grandmother was offering her a job—she was a fool not to accept.
“Nonsense,” Mimi said. “I’ve always paid you when you worked here in the past. I’m not going to change that now.”
“All right. I accept.” Then she added, “I noticed you don’t have regular hours posted on the door anymore.”
“That’s because I don’t have regular hours anymore.”
Riley sat up in the chair. “Mimi, how are you supposed to make money if you don’t open the shop?”
“Oh, sugar, this store hasn’t made money in years.”
Riley’s brow shot up. “It hasn’t?”
Mimi shook her head as she lifted her finger. “There was that one year, I think five or six years ago, that I broke even.”
Alarm ran through her. “How are you managing without getting paid?”
“I never said I didn’t have any money. Your grandfather left me well taken care of.”
Riley saw the touch of sadness in her grandmother’s eyes return. It usually appeared anytime she mentioned Poppy, who had passed away thirty years ago. Riley, of course, had never met him, but she’d heard so many stories and seen so many pictures of her grandfather that she felt like she had known him.
“I’ve also invested well over the years, and I have an excellent financial adviser,” Mimi added. “Trust me, sugar, money isn’t an issue.”
