Dylan popped it into his mouth in one go and seconds later his eyes widened. ‘Whoa, that’s hot!’
Cleo giggled. ‘I know. The stallholder warned me, and the label has a warning too.’ She stood back so he could see.
‘That’ll serve me right for turning my back for even a second.’ Dylan loved the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. He moved on to another cheese, checking the label and description before diving in this time. He nodded approval and then on a fresh toothpick stabbed a piece and held it out to Cleo. But instead of taking the stick, she leaned forward, opened her mouth and pulled it off the stick while it was still in his hands. It sent a shudder straight through him.
‘That’s good,’ she agreed, unaware of the effect she’d had on him.
As a distraction, Dylan got the attention of the stallholder and bought two types of cheeses: an American Farmhouse cheddar, safe for kids who refused to contemplate anything with a strong odour, taste or peculiar colour; and a mild, creamy Monterey Jack. Cleo bought some of the creamy goat’s cheese they’d tried and they returned to the ornament stall to collect Ruby’s creation, which was wrapped carefully in a paper bag.
Jacob rubbed at his eyes as they headed back towards the entrance to the market, marked by an overhead sign surrounded by fairy lights. The moon glowed above them, along with a thousand stars out in the Connecticut sky.
‘Can we drive you to the station?’ Dylan offered when Cleo mentioned calling a cab. ‘It’s no trouble, honest.’
‘That would be lovely.’
They bundled into the car and set off on the short journey. ‘I’m surprised the car will move with everything we’ve eaten this afternoon.’
‘It’s what Christmas is all about.’ Cleo’s hair spilled across her shoulders and glowed every time they passed beneath another streetlamp.
‘What do you usually do for Christmas?’ he asked.
‘I either spend it with my Grandpa Joe, or occasionally with Violet and Robert. They’re great friends.’
‘And this year?’ Dylan indicated left and followed the road.
‘Probably the same. The Little Knitting Box is open Christmas Eve as usual and store owners have always taken turns to have a gathering after closing time. I did it last year. It’s Rita’s turn at the cafe this time.’
‘I feel terrible.’ He couldn’t help it. Every time she mentioned the store, guilt crept in.
Thankfully the kids were so exhausted they sat silent in the back seat, heads lolling on a side window each, not interested in adult conversation.
‘Dylan, don’t. You own a building, the leases have gone on for years, times change. No big deal.’
She sounded much too in control for his liking.
‘Thanks for the ride.’ Cleo hopped out onto the sidewalk when they pulled up outside the station.
‘It was my pleasure.’ She was about to walk away when he found himself asking, ‘Can I call you?’
She turned and pulled on her bobble hat. Her breath met the air, coming out in little white puffs. She bent down so she was at eye-level through the open window. ‘I’d like that.’ She moved closer still and for one moment he hoped it was to kiss him. But she looked into the back of the car. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Ruby, and you, Jacob.’
The kids chorused their agreement and started the debate of when they could see the knitting store.
‘We’ll sort something out, I promise,’ said Dylan. ‘If it’s all right with Cleo, that is.’
‘It’s all right by me.’ She smiled and turned in the direction of the station.
Dylan watched her go and in his mind, the debate was over. He’d moved on from Prue and there was no going back. Cleo was a woman he felt a strong connection to, a woman he wanted to get to know more, someone he could see becoming a big part of his life.
All he hoped was that she felt the same way.
15
THE LITTLE KNITTING BOX, WEST VILLAGE, NEW YORK CITY
Since she’d bumped into Dylan at the Inglenook Falls Christmas Market last week, Cleo hadn’t been able to concentrate. She’d restocked the yarns in the store and rather than replacing what had been sold, she’d doubled up on what was there already. The accounts were making her head spin; she’d reordered far too much of the outrageously expensive vicuña yarn instead of a basic worsted and had to phone up in a panic to cancel it, and she’d forgotten to process Kaisha’s wages.
‘I’m so sorry, Kaisha. It’s totally unacceptable.’
