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“You miss me already?” he guesses. Then, only sort of joking, “What are you wearing?”
I laugh. “I’m calling so you can hear my voice when I tell you this. It will be apparent that I’m not freaking out or making up excuses.”
“Okay…”
“I forgot I have a charity knit-a-thon tomorrow, so I’ll need to push the date back till later.”
“A charity knit-a-thon,” he marvels. “With any other girl, I think that was a bizarre excuse to cancel. But, with you, it’s something I’ve got to see.”
For a moment, I assume this is sarcasm. “You want to come to a knit-a-thon?” I laugh. “It’s just us making scarves for a really long time.”
“For charity,” Austin adds cheerfully. “Sure. I’d love to see you in action.”
“Hot, sexy, knitting action,” I tease. “OK, I’ll see you there.”
I hang up, and text him the info. “Maybe this is a good thing.” I decide, giving Millie a hopeful look. “Austin will come to the knit-a-thon and see that I am capable of friendship, volunteering my time, and handcrafting woolen wear. Then, later, I’ll simply break it to him that our office meet-cute was a teeny-tiny misunderstanding.”
“It’s a possibility,” she agrees.
“Now, before we get started on scripting your Austin conversation,” Millie pulls out a bottle of wine, and a stack of takeout menus, “Tell me everything about Lanie and Mac.”
* * *
After a sleepless nightstressing about coming clean to Austin, I wake bright and early, pick up a mammoth box of donuts, and take the subway to Brooklyn where the craft fair is setting up beneath the picturesque shadow of the Brooklyn bridge. It’s like the opposite of VibeFest as I stroll past the stalls: whimsical crafts, homemade goods, and a whole lot of linen overalls. There are even music performances throughout the day, but they’re more “Americana banjo quartet” than EDM.
I wave and greet familiar faces as I pass. We’ve done events like this before, so I know a lot of the vendors. There’s the pottery crowd and the booths that sell Christmas trinkets year-round. Homemade jewelry, wooden Montessori toys—it’s all charming and familiar. And off to one side, in a prized spot between the homemade soap lady and the freshly made lemonade stand, is our table.
“Nice spot,” I greet Evelyn, who’s pulling the first shift in her lawn chair, needles clicking, already two yards deep into a large scarf. “Who’d you have to seduce to get it this year?”
“That’s between me and Big Lou,” she replies with a smirk.
I laugh, setting out the coffee and donuts, and unpacking a ton more yarn. “What’s our goal this year?” I ask, checking the donation sheet. The way it works is people can donate money to add rows to the scarf, we all take shifts knitting, and the person with the highest donation wins the mammoth scarf at the end of the day. Along with the booties, potholders, and other knit goods we sell, we usually collect a fair amount for a good cause.
Evelyn shrugs. “Lottie takes care of I’m just here to knit and look pretty.”
“And you do it so well,” I tease.
I get settled in by the cashier’s tin, chatting with Evelyn and drumming up business from passersby. Soon, the others arrive: Arthur, with a safari hat to shield from the sun, Lottie, with a cooler of sandwiches and other refreshments, and Roxy, who heads straight for the coffee, bleary-eyed after pulling a night shift at a bar downtown. We chat and knit all morning, until the scarf is a good ten feet long, and the cashbox is stuffed. “We’re doing pretty well for ourselves.”
“Gotta love Brooklyn and their commitment to knitwear,” Roxy laughs.
I straighten up the table just as someone approaches. Putting on my best customer service smile, I look up to a familiar face. “Well, hello.”
Austin smiles back, sliding off his sunglasses and hooking them on his collar. “I come bearing gifts.”
“Well, that’s a great way to start,” I laugh.
He lifts up the white paper to-go bag by its handle. “Deli delivery service. We’ve got a few types of bagel and schmear, plus black and white cookies for all.”
“You brought snacks?” I ask, delighted. “You reallydowant to make a good impression.” I turn. “Everyone, this is Austin. My new boss,” I add, with warning looks for them not to reveal all our gossiping.
“My, my,” Evelyn says, sizing him up from her chair. “Aren’t you a sturdy tree?”
Arthur gives Austin a sympathetic look. “That’s Evelyn-speak for ‘Nice to meet you.’”
“We’re rather fond of our girl here,” Lottie adds, nodding toward me. “And we don’t like rats. Are you a rat, Austin?”
“Lottie!” I blurt.
