‘How many have you got in tonight?’
‘Five.’
‘Maybe they’ll come along if you open up elsewhere.’
‘Maybe.’ Cleo shrugged. ‘But I’m not sure I can afford the cost of re-establishing the store elsewhere as well as the inevitable rent rise for new premises. I’ll say one thing for the current owner. They’ve kept the rent down for years and we’ve been lucky. But I think our luck just ran out.’
Cleo left the café with her head hung and tried to muster enthusiasm to re-join the group. She didn’t want to deflate their spirits as much as her own. It was times like these she longed to have a partner, someone to bounce ideas off, someone who knew her so well they could tell her what she should do.
She grabbed an oatmeal and raisin cookie and a cup of coffee to warm up. She’d gone next door to the café without a coat and felt the chill that she’d forgotten about, being so busy in the store. Winter was definitely around the corner, which meant Thanksgiving and then Christmas, usually her two favourite seasons, but with the threat over the Little Knitting Box, she wasn’t sure if she wanted this season to come.
Cleo helped Cecil with the socks he was making, impressed at his determination, and moved on to help Cecilia with the hand warmers she’d started to knit. She went through a brand new pattern for a Christmas sweater with Darcy, who was becoming an experienced knitter and was tackling this as well as the hat for her brother. And when her phoned bleeped to signal an incoming text, Cleo didn’t even think about Dylan until she saw his name on the screen.
She stuffed her phone back in her pocket. ‘It’s a complex pattern, Darcy. Treat it like a recipe and read it through first. Make notes before you start.’
‘Do you mind if I bring my sister next week?’
‘Darcy, the more the merrier,’ said Cleo.
Cleo didn’t read Dylan’s text until they’d all packed up their knitting bags, bundled out the door for the evening, and she’d locked the door behind them. Despite telling herself it was better he hadn’t been in touch, she couldn’t ignore the buzzy feeling hearing from him gave her as she picked up her phone to read the message:
Given you and I were very drunk the other night, I’m texting and not calling you. It gives you an easy way out if you want to say no!
So, would you like to go out on a date with me sometime?
Cleo tapped in a reply to say yes, before her doubts could change her mind.
His answer took a while, but when it came, he suggested dinner at a little restaurant in Chinatown and by coincidence she knew it. She’d been there and it was lovely—relaxed with dimmed lights, cosy tables; a good place to talk without being disturbed.
She agreed to the date, and clasping her phone to her chest, she allowed herself a small smile. She put her worries to one side and texted Violet. For now, she’d allow herself to be excited and not worry about repercussions.
For now she’d enjoy the feeling of excitement. Because it probably wouldn’t last.
6
22 REDCLIFFE PLACE, STAMFORD, CONNECTICUT
She’d seemed keen the other night after the party, but Dylan had still been pleasantly surprised at Cleo’s eagerness to go on a date with him, especially since he hadn’t contacted her for a week.
The kiss with Cleo had been something he’d thought about all the way home and most of the night, until Ruby and Jacob had woken him in the early hours. There was a thunderstorm and usually they slept through the entire thing, but losing Grandma Connie had knocked them sideways. The day of the funeral they’d been on top of their emotions, but he guessed in the dead of night everything felt more real. He’d ended up keeping them at home with him the following day; they’d gone to the park even though it was wet and muddy, they’d made slow cooked roast lamb for dinner and cupcakes for dessert, and he’d generally pulled them all together, just the same as he did when they tied their shoes, tight enough so their family unit wouldn’t come undone.
Since he’d met Cleo that night, life had taken over. There was the nursery and school run, liaising with Prue about forthcoming events for both kids, being on standby in case either of the children were upset and wanted to come home, ferrying lunchboxes they’d forgotten, going back for gloves they’d left behind. And all through this he’d attempted to keep some kind of order. Last night there hadn’t been a storm but the kids had come in and slept in his bed again: a habit he’d explained was better to break sooner rather than later. Lying awake as his kids snoozed, one on either side of him, their gentle breathing had calmed him with every rise and fall of their chest, but he’d wondered how they would react to another woman coming into his life. Since Prue left and rented her own home not far from here, there hadn’t been anyone else, at least not anyone he’d brought home to his house in the suburbs. Any involvement had been strictly casual and played out well away from Stamford.
A week or two before his mom died, Dylan and Connie had got into a discussion about his marriage, his divorce, and his ex-wife.
‘She wants you back, I can tell.’ His mom had told him. ‘Just be careful… she’s their mom but it doesn’t mean she should be your wife again. You were so hurt the first time, so were the kids. Don’t let her do it again.’ She’d smiled then, and said, ‘I always thought you’d end up with someone like Faye from number eight.’
‘The girl who pushed her dolls around in a stroller till she was in her teens?’ He straightened the blanket across his mom’s lap. She was feeling the chill, a reminder she wasn’t getting any better.
‘It wasn’t when she was in her teens. She was six at most.’ She chuckled. ‘Like every other kid on this street, she grew up.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘Actually, the last I heard, she would fancy Prue more than you.’
It was one of those moments when they’d laughed out loud, met one another’s eyes with an understanding of the lives they’d led until now, an acceptance that soon their relationship would come to its conclusion when she passed away.
His mom’s words from that day had echoed back at Dylan the night of her funeral, the night he’d met Cleo, a woman who seemed very different from the one he’d married. And he’d thought about them again this morning, and all day, until he’d finally decided to get in touch with Cleo, hoping she was still interested in seeing him despite the baggage he came with.
