A few minutes later, Jackson shrugs off his jacket, tossing it over the back of his chair before running a hand through his hair. He frowns at the math worksheet and gives up. “What’s that you’re making?” he asks me.
Every instinct in me is to downplay my craft. After all, Cody didn’t think much of it, always poking fun at my hobby and commitment to leveling up my skills. “I know, I know, I’m such an old lady to be knitting right now.”
“No, it’s cool. I’m guessing that’s a…” He glances at the small patch of a soon-to-be-long brown rectangle that I’m only about fifteen rows into. “Pot holder?”
I laugh and nod toward the big ball of yarn that I’m spooling from. “What will eventually become a scarf. I can do more intricate stuff, but this is an easy way to keep my hands busy.”
“I wish I knew how to make more things.” His warm brown eyes closely watch my next few stitches. “When did you learn how to knit?”
“A couple years ago, mostly from YouTube tutorials. It took a while until I was comfortable with a pattern or freestyling something simple.”
“Can you—” he says, asking a question, but I only catch his hesitant smile.
“What?”
“Can you knit me something?” he repeats.
“Really?”
No one has asked me that before. I’ve given knitting projects as gifts that others seem to accept out of obligation, even though my stuff usually turns out super high-quality if I may say so myself.
“Oh, I mean,” Jackson says, backtracking, “you don’t have to. It’s probably so much work.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll make you something.” I’m already debating colors in my head, so Jackson’s getting something knit, even if I’m not sure exactly what yet. There’s no way I’m making a sweater for another guy anytime soon. “It’s just the last person I gave a piece to, well, he totally hated it.”
Jackson obviously realizes I’m talking about my ex. “I promise to appreciate it even if it sucks.”
“It won’t suck!” I hold up my small sample and show it off with a flourish. “I know it’s only a few rows so far, but look at this impeccable stitching. What do you want—a scarf? Maybe a hat? Socks?”
“You can do socks?”
I chuckle. “Yeah…I can knit socks.”
“Yes, please,” he signs, with a sweet grin on his face.
Chapter Twelve
Jackson
It’s a crisplate-September morning as racers gather outside Amber High for the Running for a Cure 5K. There was a lot of rain yesterday, so fallen leaves are clumped together along the curbside. Participants and spectators gather near the school entrance. There’s a couple hundred people here. My parents usually run as well, but Dad had a work convention in California that Mom tagged along for, extending the stay to soak up some warmer weather. I guarantee my dad will check the times posted after the race. Anything to scratch that competitive itch.
Standing beside my cousin, I rub my hands together for warmth. I’ve got a light jacket on, but it’s not glove weather yet.
“Very ready for those doughnuts and hot chocolate after this.” Darius glances over his shoulder at the tables waiting to greet everyone by the finish line. “What do you think, thirty minutes or so?”
We’ll be starting with the running heat at 8:00 a.m., while walkers hit the road about a half hour later. The course doubles back on itself, so the organizers want to let most of the faster runners clear the route first.
Gently rolling my ankles, I stretch my neck from side to side. “I’m going to break twenty.”Something that my dad won’t be able to give me grief about.
“Really?” Darius asks incredulously. “You want to do a sub-seven-minute mile?”
“Always striving to beat that PR.”
A snide laugh comes from behind me. “If your legs are up for it,” Liam taunts.
“Shut up,” Darius says to him. “You could stand to shave off a few minutes yourself.”
The newly elected student government president grabs a microphone and stands beneath the inflatable archway to thank everyone for coming to the race. I twist at the waist, cracking my back. Then the countdown begins. I lean forward, ready to go.
