‘Where does this leave Brian?’ Dylan wanted to be clear with what was going on. She owed him that much. ‘If you want me back, or you think you do, I assume you’re not sleeping with him.’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘What, you want to make sure you’ve got me before you leave him? Nice.’
‘At least I was honest with you and told you about him.’
‘What are you implying?’
She moved towards him, hand on her hip. ‘Who’s the blonde?’
‘What?’
‘Shannon saw you with a blonde last night in Chinatown.’
He pulled a face and was about to explain that Shannon, his ex-wife’s best friend, had seen him with Cleo, a date who hadn’t worked out, when the puzzle fitted together. ‘So this is what today was about? You know I’ve found someone, or you think I have, so you storm around here to stake your claim.’
‘Bullshit. I’ve been thinking about this for a week or two now, ever since Jacob wouldn’t stop crying at Mom and Dad’s one day when you’d dropped him off with me. He’s four years old and… as much as you think I don’t have a heart, maybe I saw what this is like for our children and I think we should try to fix this.’
Dylan shook his head. ‘I think it’s time you went, Prue.’
‘I will, but we’ll talk again. We need to, Dylan.’ Never one to give up in a fight, she stepped closer and even when he backed away she managed to be near enough to kiss him. It was only a quick graze on the lips, but enough to tell him of her intentions.
He didn’t follow her to the door. He just waited to hear it click shut behind her. He hadn’t wanted the divorce in the first place. He’d wanted to work at their relationship, for the sake of everyone, for their families who didn’t want to see a broken marriage, for each other out of respect, but most of all for two children who were complete innocents in all of this. For a long while after she’d walked out the door, he’d wanted this moment to come. But over time, they’d built a neat little unit here without Prue and he saw all three of them being okay. He saw their future, incorporating Prue on occasion, but mostly he saw himself as a single dad doing just fine.
He picked up his keys and wallet. He needed to get out and the grocery shopping would be something he could do instead of sitting here trying to fathom what had just happened. He went in to the kitchen to pick up his phone, and when he tapped the app to check his messages he got his second shock of the day.
There was a message waiting, from Cleo.
8
THE LITTLE KNITTING BOX, WEST VILLAGE, NEW YORK CITY
Cleo was glad of the phone call that morning with her dad, because it distracted her from thinking about Dylan, wondering whether her text acknowledging receipt of the letter regarding the sale of the premises, requesting he keep her informed about the lease extension when he knew more, had been too formal. She’d sent it the morning after their date and then, when she hadn’t heard from him two days later, she’d texted a short message to ask whether he’d like to see her again. Her fingers had hovered before pressing send, but she’d done it before she could talk herself out of it. That was four days ago and she’d heard nothing since.
The only part of the phone call with her dad she’d been less enthused about was when he’d told her Teresa had booked a trip with friends to come over to New York. He hadn’t mentioned meeting up but the subtext was there, and Cleo knew there was no way Teresa would come here and not at least say a quick hello.
Cleo sipped her coffee and turned the sign on the door of the Little Knitting Box toOpen. She started when she saw a man scurry past outside, head down against the wind. He reminded her of Dylan, had the same dark blond hair, mussed on top. But it wasn’t him.
She thought about the restaurant, the café afterwards, when he’d touched her hand and she’d panicked. No doubt he assumed it was because of his role in the termination of the lease here, but it wasn’t that. It was everything to do with the fact he was a single dad and she never wanted to be the woman who tried to step into another life as though it was hers.
After Cleo’s mum Diana passed away, her dad had taken a long time to get back into the swing of life, and by the time he met Teresa, Cleo was in her early teens, probably the worst time to be introducing a new member of the family. At first Cleo had assumed the relationship wouldn’t last and had been nonchalant when Teresa was there, polite enough and didn’t think too much about it. It was only when she came home from an awful day at school following a tough maths test and her dad tried to cheer her up by telling her he’d booked a family holiday for the three of them that she started to realise Teresa had become a part of their lives. It was as though the woman had planned it, strategized to get Cleo at her most vulnerable, sneak in when she wasn’t looking. And there was no telling a fourteen-year-old girl with a rush of hormones that flowed as fast as the Mississippi River that it was simply because her dad had met the right person.
Cleo sipped her coffee. She’d never been interested in giving Teresa a chance. Teresa was the person who’d taken her dad’s attentions away, the woman who’d taken her mother’s place in the household. Cleo became well versed at snide comments and generally making Teresa feel unwelcome, and she continued her offhand behaviour when her father married Teresa, because even though she knew they must love each other, she still couldn’t accept this person jumping into their lives with both feet. She’d forced a smile in the wedding photographs but it was one that left her eyes without shine, her face without any unnecessary animation.
The bell above the door tinkled and the first customers of the day drifted in. Cleo took her mug out back and then returned to tidy the shelves beneath the cash register. She filled the baskets to the side with yarns, and she’d wait until she got the signal to help a customer. This was something she’d learnt gradually. At first, she wanted to leap in and make sure every person through the door immediately got the help they needed, but over time she’d learnt to read people better. Now she knew when someone had no clue as to what they were looking for—they’d stare intently at the shelves and eventually their gaze would lift and meet hers, a smile would be exchanged and she’d go over to discuss requirements. Other times she’d pass a customer as she was restocking shelves and she’d ask whether they needed any help. If they didn’t, the reply would be polite and she’d go back to whatever else she was doing.
‘I’m wondering if you could help me.’ The latest customer stood beside Cleo as she replenished hanks of one of their most popular yarns.
‘Of course.’ The young woman who Cleo estimated to be in her twenties had seemed to know what she was doing, which was why Cleo had been waiting for her to ask for help, not the other way round. She finished hanging the last two hanks on the wall ladder at the side of the store. ‘What is it that you’re looking for?’
The young woman extended a hand. ‘I’m Kaisha.’ She unbuttoned her orange duffle coat now she’d met the warmth of the store. She had on inky blue jeans and an ivory shirt with ruffles up the front to the collar.
‘It’s nice to meet you, Kaisha. And what can I help you with today?’
‘I’m a student studying at NYU and I’m looking for some part-time work.’ She pulled a face at having had to confess she wasn’t the average customer. ‘Sorry, I thought it’d be easy to come in and ask but as soon as I got through the door I was too nervous, so I’ve been looking at the beautiful yarns instead.’
Cleo smiled. ‘No need to apologise.’
