As Cleo chatted, she gradually became aware that she was swaying a little on her feet. It was hot inside from the body heat in the room, and the roaring fire that looked so pretty but wasn’t entirely necessary in the tail end of autumn. She excused herself, left her wine glass in the kitchen, and snuck out the side door around to the front porch to cool down.
Outside, the air held a crispness that hinted Thanksgiving was on its way and would herald the start of the holiday season. It was her favourite time of the year and she couldn’t wait to decorate the Little Knitting Box. She’d add festivities to the window, use twinkly lights everywhere to entice the Christmas shoppers. She even had an advert appearing in the local knitting magazine at the end of the month, which she hoped would drive more sales. But her hazy head, filled with alcohol, was already wondering what the point was if the store would eventually have to close or, at the very least, relocate.
Cleo sat on the porch swing Robert had made for Violet, an act of true love that surpassed most Cleo had ever known. Her ex, Aaron, had certainly never done anything so special for her, but sometimes she’d wondered whether she’d ever really let him. As soon as her long-term intentions about family were clear, the pressure had been on and they hadn’t survived the rocky road that followed. Cleo still had to pinch herself from time to time when she realised that in her early thirties she was a divorcée. It sounded so… grown-up. And it also sounded so sad.
The swing creaked as she pushed her feet against the ground and made it move back and forth, but the sound only added to its charm. A porch swing without a creak would be like popping candy without the pop on your tongue, a fizzy soda without the bubbles.
‘May I join you?’ A soft male voice had her opening her eyes.
She shuffled up and smiled at the man. ‘It’s Dylan, isn’t it?’
He nodded and took a seat at the opposite end of the porch swing, enough distance that she knew he wasn’t trying it on with her at a party where two people on their own were often pushed together.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I can’t remember your name.’
‘It’s Cleo.’ Weirdly, she felt glad he couldn’t remember. She was used to flying under the radar, content in her own little world, and probably why she loved running the store so much. It was when other people became involved that life got more difficult.
‘It’s nice to meet you, Cleo.’
‘Likewise.’
They sat quietly, with only the creak of the swing for company as Dylan gently joined in, his feet moving the seat in the same soothing rocking motion as Cleo’s.
‘It was a bit much in there for me.’ Dylan looked out at the black sky surrounding every house on the street, broken by lamps inside windows, streetlamps outside.
‘Me too,’ said Cleo. ‘Although I’ve had a lot of wine too, so I was getting a bit wobbly on my feet.’
‘One of those days?’
She turned to him. ‘How did you know?’
‘Let’s just say I’ve had one of those too.’
She wondered what this good-looking guy could possibly have to worry about. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ She was used to hearing people’s problems at the store during their knitting groups. It seemed half the reason people came was to offload.
‘Not really. Not a whole lot you can say.’
She waited a moment but then said, ‘You could try me.’
It was his turn to pause before he spoke. ‘I buried my mom this morning.’
Cleo turned in her seat and looked into the darkness beyond the trees lining the front lawn. The porch swing stopped and she turned back to him. ‘You win.’
‘Win?’
‘Yep. You’re the person with the shittiest day.’
His laugh took her by surprise. ‘You know, all day I’ve heard “we’re so sorry for your loss”, “let us know if you need anything”, “we’re here for you”. It’s refreshing to hear someone tell it like it is.’
She returned his smile. ‘Take it from someone who knows.’
‘You lost your mom?’
Cleo nodded. ‘A long time ago now, and it gets easier but the pain never really goes away.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Eight.’
