Page 11 of Beautiful Harmony

“Sure,” Cora said. “And if you need help between now and next Tuesday, just text me. I’d be happy to give you some private lessons. You still have my number, right?”

“I do,” he said. “I think I’m good just to do group classes, though.”

Disappointment crossed Cora’s face, but she smiled. “Sure, whatever you want. But you know where to find me if you change your mind.”

She stood and helped a few others gather their stuff together as Lucas, his head aching and his mood foul, slid the needle into another too-tight loop.

CHAPTER4

Emma straightened the already straight yarn on the shelf. She told herself she wasn’t hiding in the back of the store. She was allowing Cora to work her magic on Lucas while they waited for Mrs. Walters’ ride.

Bitter-tasting bile rose in her throat, and she squeezed the yarn she held in an iron grip. She needed to get a freaking grip on herself. Watching Cora sit so close to Lucas, touching and flirting with him for the last two hours, had Emma worked up something terrible, and she hated it. She would never be more than friends with Lucas, so being jealous that he might date Cora was ridiculous. She wanted him to be happy, right?

She blew out her breath, her annoyance rising when she heard Lucas’s deep timber and Cora’s breathy laugh. Emma had no idea why Lucas had decided to learn to knit -because he wants to bang Cora, you idiot- but after two hours of watching Cora get her flirt on, Emma couldn’t take it anymore. She’d mumbled something about needing to check on some stock and fled to the back of the store like shadow zombies were after her.

She stared at the wall of yarn in front of her. Usually, the different textures and colours soothed her, but it did nothing for her today. She blocked out the voices at the front and reached out to run her hand along the yarn. She needed to forget about Lucas and Cora potentially dating and concentrate on -

“Hey?”

She turned, staring in surprise at the man standing behind her. He wore stained sweatpants and a t-shirt with big blocky letters that spelled out FBI. Below the FBI, in smaller letters, it said ‘federal boob inspector’. He had short hair, and a rash of pimples covered his chin. He had muddy brown eyes, and he was about her height and on the thin side.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice carefully polite.

He studied the birthmark on her face, but she was too tired to even bristle at the familiar pity/disgust in his eyes.

She wasn’t surprised when his gaze settled on her tits. “Yeah, my grandma sent me back here to talk to you.”

“Your grandma sent… Mrs. Walters?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I came to pick her up.”

“Finally got your car, huh?” she said.

“Nah, borrowed Grandpa’s. I make shit money at the Sip and Gulp, but my probation officer said it looks good if I have a job. But,” he continued to stare at her tits, “I got some other shit on the horizon that’s gonna get me out of this fucking town and back to living the high life I used to have.”

“Back before you went to prison, you mean,” Emma said.

“Yeah.” He picked at the pimples on his chin, his gaze flickering to her birthmark before skittering back to her tits. “I’m Brendan. My grandma said you’re interested in going on a date with me.”

“She’s mistaken,” Emma said.

Brendan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, she’s mistaken. I’m not interested in dating you.” Emma kept her voice brisk and her back straight.

Brendan finally stared at her face again. “Why? Because I’ve been in prison? You too good for an ex-convict?”

“I don’t have to explain my reasons for why I’m not interested,” Emma said.

Shivers of disquiet went down her spine when Brendan walked toward her. He rested his hands on the wall on either side of her head, penning her in. The ugly look on his face and how he was almost touching her turned the disquiet into low-level fear.

She kept her back straight, refusing to let her fear show on her face. Fuck this guy. She’d taken several self-defense courses. If he touched her, she’d make him swallow his own goddamn teeth.

“Someone who looks like you can’t afford to be picky,” Brendan said, his gaze fixed on her birthmark. “So, why don’t you stop being such a bitch and just go the fuck out with me. You think anyone else is gonna give you a pity date with that fucking thing on your face?”

“Fuck you,” she said.

His laugh was low and mean. “Only if you wear a bag on your head, sweetheart.”

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