Page 85 of Wild For You
She laughed. “The two things you both probably hate the most.”
“No kidding.”
In the distance, an intercom sounded, and Rory had to rush off for her flight. I was certain she and Talon were sitting in first class. He probably could have chartered a flight, but I knew his money spending made Rory uncomfortable. Even if it was to spoil her.
I understood how she felt. Especially since Andrew gave me his black card and told me to buy whatever I wanted with it. And the asshole knew me better than I expected, because he already warned every shop in town that my charges were to go on that card, not my own.
Sometimes, it really sucked to be an independent woman with a boyfriend who wanted nothing more than to pamper you. But I knew it wasn’t worth the stress or aggravation to argue with him.
Little did he know that I had zero plans to use the card.
I walked into the first shop and perused the soaps and bath salts. I realized that this was the vendor who had the booth at the market, where I thought the ingredients in the soap had gone bad. I searched the shelves, found the particular one that had grossed me out, and took a sniff. Then nearly fell over laughing. The woman working the store eyed me like I was crazy as I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried to explain.
“I’m sorry. It’s just… I smelled this one before and thought it had gone rotten. It didn’t. It smells divine to me now. But later that week, I found out I was pregnant, so it had just set off my nausea.” I was still giggling as the woman cocked her head to the side, trying to figure me out.
“It was a lot funnier in my head. You have a beautiful store,” I said as I set the soap back on the shelf and exited swiftly.
I passed by the next store of outdoor equipment and clothing. In the window, there was a canoe next to a crossbow and a taxidermized bear.
Continuing my trek down the back side of Main Street, I waved at a group of women I met in the coffee shop a few times. One was a nanny and pushing a quad stroller.
I hadn’t even considered what items I needed for the baby. I wondered if there was a checklist online I could reference.
“Excuse me,” I called out as she passed. “Is there a baby store in town?”
“Oh, yes! My sister just opened one up last year. It’s across the street, between the bowling alley and ice cream shop.”
“That’s great. Thank you.”
This town really did have everything. I added it to my mental list for the day and continued down the path.
A shop called All Yarn Long caught my eye, and I stepped inside. The space was long and narrow, but along every wall were spools of yarn in every color and thickness.
“Wow,” I whispered, taking it all in. It was a crocheter's dream.
“Can I help you?” an older man asked as he stepped around the counter.
“Oh, sorry. I was just looking around. I love your shop.”
“Thanks,” his unsteady voice said as he shuffled closer to me. “This place was my dear Agatha’s dream. She loved to crochet. I promised her one day we’d open this shop up together. She passed away before she could ever see it, but I think she’d like it.”
I gazed around the space with a new set of eyes and saw all the love and promise inside.
“That’s…” I sniffled. “That’s the sweetest thing I ever heard.” I couldn’t fight against the sob that broke free. The man startled at my reaction, and I tried to explain why I was emotional, but all that came out was a garbled mess. Since I hit the second trimester, I cried at the drop of a hat. Last night, it had been a cat litter commercial. Today, a yarn store by a devoted husband.
Reaching into my bag, I grabbed my travel pack of tissues and tried to compose myself.
“I’m sorry. The pregnancy hormones get to me sometimes.”
He smiled and congratulated me while mentioning that his granddaughter was pregnant with her third child. And then went on to explain that his grandkids helped him run the shop and a social media page.
While he was standing there, I pulled it up and saw it had over three hundred and fifty thousand followers. All the images were of him and some sort of yarn creation.
“Do you make these?” I asked, pointing to an image of a crocheted turtle that had over a million likes.
“I do. I took it up when Agatha passed. It helps me remember her.”
“You’re going to make me cry again,” I joked as my chin wobbled. “I’m Kelsey, by the way.”
