“I don’t know how I can help with that.” Zoey holds her hands up with a shrug, one still clutching a bundle of yarn. “You’re an intimidating guy.”
“Bet you wish you weren’t such a grumbly grump now, huh?” Warner needles me, not being supportive in the slightest.
He’snot intimidated by me.
But Warner is my brother. He’s seen me at my worst. Like the time I fell on a hornet’s nest when I was ten and swelled up to twice my normal size.
Or when I went through a bleach-blond hair phase.
Or the time I proposed to the absolutely wrong woman.
Hard to be truly intimidated by a guy after that.
And that brings me back to Juliet’s point.
“Is there anything you like to do that you’re bad at?”
“It’s about vulnerability, Roderick.”
Maybe she would change her mind if I embarrassed myself in front of her. Or at least showed her I’m willing to be. That I’m not a prideful, unbending asshole.
Zoey’s hands drop, her craft settling back in her lap, where she proceeds to hook yarn with a tiny metal implement without looking.
“Give me the balls.” Warner nudges her, then smirks at me. “I’m the official ball holder.”
Zoey huffs a chuckle as she passes over the balls of yarn. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Never,” he hums, even as he carefully cradles them in his lap.
Zoey, meanwhile, continues to weave at an impressive pace.
My beefy hands could never move so nimbly.
I blink, an idea forming.
Leaning across the table, voice low, I ask, “Did you bring more yarn?”
28
JULIET
“Areyou sure I can have these? They look like antiques.” I stare into the shoebox full of lace scraps Hester set in my lap.
She waves me off while sipping her tea, a spearmint-heavy mix tonight she claimed was for clear thoughts.
We’ve made tea on Thursday while the sun sets a habit. I’ve found I enjoy these evenings with my neighbor, exchanging town gossip and random stories from our pasts. Neither one of us has laid out a chronological history of our lives, and therefore, we can easily skirt around dark memories we don’t want to share. But now I know Hester is a lawyer in Pine Falls, she’s always lived on her own, she has a condo in Denver for when she wants a reminder of city life. But she always comes back to the mountains.
And apparently, she weaves lace.
“I’m sure. Those were all trial and errors. A waste to toss them, but I have no use for them either. You can use what you want for your cards.” She smirks. “Make me a thank-you one.”
I chuckle, then sit up straighter at the sound of an approaching motorcycle.
But this time, there’s no fear or shock. I know who is on his way to get me.
“Thanks so much for the tea. I hope you don’t mind that I have to head out.” I throw a thumb toward the front of her house, where we can hear the bike passing.
“No. You go.” Her smile remains mysteriously teasing. “I have some plans of my own.”
