Page 47 of Unexpected Love
An hour later, a text message pings on my phone. Two tickets to a hand-knitting class at the brewery.
“Kate,” I bellow through the station. “What the fuck is hand knitting?”
Immediately, a YouTube tutorial comes through.
“There is no way in hell that I am doing this with Jules. She’ll think I’m an idiot.”
“Oh, come on, give it a chance. If it crashes and burns, you can do your boring dinner thing.”
I grumble but agree to it. None of them let me off the hook by letting me text an invite, though, and they’re sitting around like a nosy fan club when I call Jules later in the evening and ask her out.
“That sounds like fun,” she says, and they all silently do air pumps. “But, Cal? Can we take your bike?”
There’s a tiny glow of something shimmering in my chest. It’s been trying to ignite all day as this motley crew worked with me to help me get the girl.
Now it bursts into a warm glow because I’ve just scored some alone time with Jules, and because it’s been almost a month since I’ve taken my bike out.
It’s taken a while, but I think this is what being happy must feel like.
Chapter 19
Jules
“Idon’t understand how you made this big of a mess, Jules. It’s not that hard,” Cal admonishes, but he’s grinning. We’re at the local brewery taking a hand-knitting class, and he’s stolen my project and taken over. He’s also been grinning for the last hour, and his joy is incredibly attractive. Happiness looks so good on him.
He rearranges the fluffy bolt of yarn as he reaches the end of one row, working the yarn faster and more deftly than I can comprehend. His shoulders are relaxed, eyes focused on the work he’s doing, but he’s smiling nonstop.
Even if I totally suck at hand knitting, this night has been a win because Cal does not. Bonus: I got to dress up and get out of work clothes and pull on a dress for the first time in forever, and he looks scrumptious in his jeans and collared shirt.
We dressed for each other, and that simple act is making my insides squishy.
“You look oddly at home, sitting there knitting.” I take another pull from my second, no, third beer. “I could’ve finished it myself, youknow.”
I fight squirming on my stool. Who knew hand knitting could be so erotic.
He reaches the end of the row and, through some complicated knotting, changes the color of the yarn and continues working.
“You could’ve, but you looked so miserable. Someone had to take pity on you.”
He’s been this loose version of himself all evening. If troubled and stressed-out Cal was hot, this version—happy, relaxed Cal—is hot as hell. “My shoulders were hurting, all hunched over, trying to make this make sense. I just don’t get all the fingering movements. Like how do you hold it all together? My fingers aren’t long enough.”
“Lucky for you, mine are. I’m always happy to help anytime you need assistance with fingering,” he says with a wink.
Heat burns its way up my chest to the roots of my hair, and I lift the strands off the back of my neck to try to cool off.
His blanket is folded neatly, resting at the corner of our table. He’s back to concentrating again, but his lips remain tipped up, his eyes soft, and every line of his body is relaxed.
“This is a good look for you,” I say.
His brows pinch together as his head tilts in question.
“You look happy.”And adorably handsome. He’s quiet, those capable hands working the yarn. It’s hypnotizing watching him work, and I get a mental image of what else he might do with those nimble fingers.
Another hot flash rolls over me, and my face heats up. I slip out of the sweater I had to don earlier.
“You okay?”
His eyes are on me, and my face now burns for a different reason. “Yeah, hot flash. Side effect of the beer.”
