Page 48 of My Secret Snowflake
“But you were the one who made the suggestion that we work from home and have a desk rotation for days in the office,” Iris says.
“How’d you know that was me?” Ernest asks.
“Our boss cited it in our Monday team meeting as an innovative example, suggesting we should emulate it.” Iris rubs her right wrist. She rolls it around. She did that yesterday too after she handed out the bingo sheets at the party. “So, no hobbies?”
“You and Lily are very into hobbies,” Ernest says, his brow furrowed.
“We are?” Iris looks quizzically at me.
I shrug. “Remember? Lily wanted to know what everyone’s hobbies are, in case she decided to give out party favors.”
Iris nods, an appreciative glint in her eyes. “Of course.”
“Knitting,” Ernest says.
“You knit?” Iris asks.
Ernest knits? He could’ve told me he knit.
“Yes, but that’s a secret. Just between us,” Ernest says. “Mother taught me.”
“And me,” I say. “I’m still here.”
“Why are you still here?” Ernest asks, teasing. “Shouldn’t you catch up with Rupert?”
I should. I should definitely leave them to it.
Ernest turns to Iris. “I bet you’re surprised?”
“My ex knitted. Briefly,” Iris says.
Is being a knitter good or bad?
Rupert and Lily join us.
“Did I tell you that Rupert woke up at six a.m. and went to a Target in New Jersey on Tuesday to get the new release I wanted?” Lily asks. “He was waiting there when it opened at eight a.m. I thought he’d gone for a run, and then he surprised me with breakfast in bed and the latest Wilhemina Chrissy novel.”
Lily beams at Rupert.
“You couldn’t pre-order it?” Ernest asks.
Way to dampen the celebration of Rupert’s romantic impulsiveness.
But Iris smiles at Ernest. Does she agree with Ernest’s more practical position?
I practically slap myself for caring but catch myself just in time and rub my forehead. Whatever she’s interested in, it doesn’t matter.
“I did pre-order it, but that doesn’t always guarantee its arrival on release day,” Rupert says. “I thought this was safer.”
The buzzer rings, and Lily and Rupert excuse themselves to greet the next guest.
My phone timer rings. Iris reaches for the potholders, but I volunteer to do it.
“Does your wrist hurt?” I ask.
“Too much clicking on my mouse last week during that investigation,” she says. “I have a brace I can wear this week.”
“You need to be careful with that,” Ernest says. “Mother had carpal tunnel pain when she worked, and it really hindered her.”
