‘Have you?’
She pulled a face. ‘Do I have time for a shower?’
‘Of course.’
Cleo showered quickly using her best expensive shower gel. Alone one minute and with company the next, it felt like a special day already and she pulled on her favourite jeans, a white shirt, and a navy, cashmere jumper. She let her hair fall loose about her shoulders, put on her pearl drop earrings and looped the matching bracelet over her wrist. Even if Dylan was only with her for an hour or so, it was better than the scene she’d envisaged for today: curled up on the sofa with movie after movie, a sad turkey dinner for one, crying into a box of chocolates. People could be lonely three hundred and sixty-four days of the year, but come this one special day, if they were anything like her, they’d feel it all the more.
Half an hour later and they were on the road heading out of Manhattan. The traffic last night would’ve been gridlocked in these areas which were accessible now and it wasn’t long before they were heading up the interstate highway towards Stamford, taking it slow on the roads in case of black ice lurking undiscovered. They chatted about Christmas, the excitement of the day right from childhood when you suddenly became aware that it was different to all the other days of the year.
‘Those needles and the yarn were a big hit with Ruby,’ said Dylan. ‘She’s taken them to Prue’s folks so I’m sure she’ll be asking Granny Delia for some lessons today. I’m afraid I’m not much good in that department.’
‘I’m glad she enjoys it. She’s starting young so plenty of time to practice.’
‘Maybe she’ll teach me.’ He turned briefly to look at her and flashed a smile that made her nervous.
She took out her phone. ‘I’ll just call Grandpa Joe to wish him a Merry Christmas.’ When she didn’t have any luck getting an answer she said, ‘I’ll try again later. He’s not very well. I was supposed to be seeing him today.’
‘That’s a shame.’
They passed a sign to Inglenook Falls and ended up talking about the Christmas market, the cheeses, the chocolate and the decorations they’d made. Cleo would never forget that day because she’d loved every second of Dylan’s company, of Ruby’s, of Jacob’s. She’d left them that day painfully aware that the scene hadn’t been real. She’d walked around the market with them as though they were all one big family. But it wasn’t her life. It was as though she’d been watching someone else’s and desperately trying to take a step into it.
In the heart of Inglenook Falls, they pulled up outside a row of stores, all shut up for the season. It was a dreamlike scene with a tiny greenspace in the centre, mostly covered in snow, and a bandstand. A little school sat at the end of the road and fairy lights were strung across from lampposts to highlight the small town.
Dylan unclicked his seatbelt. ‘I want to show you something.’
They pulled on coats and Cleo tugged on a mulberry, woollen hat and matching scarf. When she closed the car door behind her, the soft click echoed into the crisp Connecticut air and her feet crunched across snow that had been pushed from the road onto the sidewalk.
Dylan led the way past a bakery, a small clothing outlet, and a hardware store. And then he turned so he was standing in front of her. ‘I need you to close your eyes.’
Cleo giggled. ‘Are you serious?’ She did as she was told and let him lead her around the corner.
‘You can open them now.’
And when she did, she wondered whether her face was as pale as the snow because she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
His breath came out in white puffs against the cold. ‘Well, what do you think?’
26
THE LITTLE KNITTING BOX, INGLENOOK FALLS, CONNECTICUT
Dylan hadn’t had long to do this but in less than seventy-two hours he’d managed to pull a plan together. He watched Cleo now, her blue eyes staring at the store they were in front of, no sound coming from the lips he wanted to kiss over and over. ‘This store belongs to a friend,’ he explained, ‘but a friend who needs to sell the premises.’ He’d known about the store for a long time because it was owned by Ruby’s friend Maya’s dad. The family were relocating to Vermont and when Dylan had finally told Prue it was over between them for good, he’d started thinking about Cleo and the possibility of relocating her business. All of the pieces had fallen into place, or at least that’s what he was hoping.
Cleo’s eyes were glued to the makeshift sign he’d painted yesterday with the kids. In bright red letters, apart from the last word, which was green because they ran out of paint, it said ‘the Little Knitting Box’. He’d covered the cardboard sign with contact paper to try and preserve it against the elements, and it was doing well because it was still hanging where he’d tied it with string to a couple of old nails, beneath a little pitched roof to shelter customers as they entered.
‘You did this?’ she asked.
‘I wanted you to realise you have options.’
‘I know I do. It’s all I’ve thought about since you first sent the letter.’
When she didn’t move, he took out the key ready to open the front door. ‘It’s only a suggestion. The owner needs to sell because he’s relocating. You’d own the store, nobody would be able to take it away from you.’ His heart surged with guilt at his role in all of this. He hoped what he said next would be the most tempting thing of all. ‘There’s a local knitting group who are very interested in seeing a yarn store open up here.’
He had her attention now.
‘There is?’ Those blue eyes of hers could melt him at fifty paces. ‘How do you know?’
‘When Mum was alive she used to go to knitting meet-ups before she got sick, so with a bit of digging, I found out who the group was and I went along. They all remembered Connie.’ He laughed. ‘It was like having twenty mothers’ attentions all on me at the same time that night and twenty grandmothers’ for the kids.’
