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"Your mother’s knitting club?"
She tries to pull away in the direction of the door, but I hold her back.
"So fine, we’ll meet her knitting club. Why is that a problem?"
She looks at me like I’ve grown horns or just landed from outer space. "They are her knitting club. You have no idea what that means, do you?"
"Umm, that they knit together?"
"And while they knit, they talk. They gossip. They dissect each and every one of their friends and family and relations—including their fourth and fifth cousins removed—to pieces. They know everything about everyone in this town. And once they start asking questions, believe me, the paparazzi are nothing compared to them."
I chuckle. "I’m sure you’re exaggerating. They’re a small-town knitting club. Surely, they can’t be that intimidating."
She laughs, a desperate, evil sound. "You have no idea, do you? You poor thing." She pats my cheek. "I already feel sorry for you."
Sparks of sensation sizzle out from her touch. My pulse rate shoots up. Jesus, what is this crazy response toward her? It must be the fact that I don’t like her. That’s all it is. It’s a natural reaction to someone you can’t stand. I take a step back, and her hand slides off. A hurt look flickers across her face, then she tosses her head.
"I hope you’re prepared."
"Stop trying to make it out to be something bigger than it is." I draw myself up to my full height. "Let me show you how it's done." I brush past her and cross the room. The clickety-clack of knitting needles greets me, and I stop in the middle of the room next to Nadine.
The sofa opposite me has three women of varying ages between fifty and seventy, with varying degrees of gray in their hair. To my right, a man and a woman in their late forties are seated; to my other side are another man and two more women. The women are dressed in formal skirts or dresses, the men in slacks. All are intent on their knitting.
"They’re dressed in their Sunday best to see you," Isla murmurs.
Right. "Ladies and gents." I clear my throat. "It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Nadine turns to me with a gleam in her eyes. "This is the Lymington Knitting Club. We meet every week on Friday to knit together. But when they heard Isla was coming with her beau, they wanted to meet you. They’re very excited." She claps her hands and turns to the ladies in front. "Everyone, this is Liam Kincaid, Isla’s—" She looks to me for her help. "Isla’s—"
"Husband-to-be," I say.
"Friend," Isla interjects at the same time, but it’s, clearly, only for my ears.
I shoot her a glance, and she raises a shoulder.Had to try, she mouths silently.
"Husband?" Nadine pales. "Did you say husband?"
The clickety-clack of the needles stops. Silence descends, except for the panting of Tiny, who’s settled down in a corner of the room on his mat.
"Umm, yes, Ma." Isla walks over and puts her arm around her mother. "That’s why we wanted to see you. It didn’t feel right to tell you over the phone. And Liam thought it best we break the news to you together."
"Oh, my." Nadine sways.
I turn to her. "Are you okay? Maybe you should sit down?"
"No, no." She shakes her head. "I’m fine. It’s just, I’ve dreamed of this day, when my Isla would get married, and I can’t believe it’s here already." She sniffs.
"Ma, please." Isla pats her shoulder.
"I’m good, just... happy. Of course—" she turns to me "—in order to marry her, you need to pass the Lymington Knitting Club test and be inducted into our circle of trust."
"Test?" I look toward the gathered crowd. All of their gazes are on me. The expressions on their faces are, universally, ones of curiosity. They don’t seem friendly, but they’re not unfriendly. "I’m ready to answer any question you may have of me."
"May I introduce Wilma Mason, the President of our knitting club?" Nadine gestures to the woman on the far right of the sofa in front of me.
“Hmph.” Wilma purses her lips. She puts her knitting in her lap, and fixes her steely gaze on me. "Do you love her?"
I blink. Talk about going straight for the jugular.
