Page 32 of Cosy & Chill
“True enough.” Leo finished his breakfast and topped up their coffee mugs. “How long did you knit?”
“Four-ish,” Finn said. “I finished that lace cardigan, so that’s another order off my list. An expensive one, too.”
“Maybe you should have slept in. Should I tiptoe downstairs in future?” He’d miss their shared breakfast before he started his day, but if it gave Finn an extra couple of hours of rest, he’d deal with his disappointment.
“Nah. It’s fine. I need to wash and block the lace cardy. Then I want to get started on cleaning the store. That’s pretty mindless work. Almost as good as a nap.” He turned his gaze towards the window where white clouds scuttled across a patch of blue sky. “You should at least have decent weather.”
Leo had spent the previous morning moving his freezers and the afternoon making ice cream, even though he had a day’s worth of stock in the old chest freezer. “Keep your fingers crossed that the sunshine tempts some customers to the market.” He stacked the empty plates. “I’ll talk to the graphic design guys during lunch. They promised us early sketches for the shop sign and the flyers. We may have something to look at over dinner.”
“I’d love that,” Finn said, taking the plates and mugs from him. “I’ve never had a logo made. I was too… I just didn’t know who to talk to. Or what I wanted.”
“How did you find yours?”
“Logo-making software on the internet. They have templates. All you have to do is choose a colour and add your business name. That’s about my skill level.”
“You’ll be in for a treat then.”
“You really think they can rival the Chill logo?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Go, get ready. I’ll wash up and fill your thermos.”
Leo nodded his thanks and disappeared up the stairs. His mind ran over the other stalls that would be open at the market today. It’d be a mix of food, craft supplies, and clothes, with one or two new stalls selling gifts and Christmas décor. He’d started to think about holiday offers before the weather had torpedoed his sales and his mood. He needed to get back to that.
He also needed to decide what to grab for their dinner tonight. Finn hadn’t been joking when he said that his cooking skills extended not much further than boiling water and making toast. He’d offered to help, but so far Leo had done the cooking and Finn’s open appreciation of everything he made had been ample reward.
Making Finn smile cheered him, and he’d love nothing better than to impress him. Which wasn’t all that easy. Finn had dreamed of this store, and he was like a demon on speed now that he had it. The purple couch in the bow window was proof of that. The only time Finn sat still was when he was knitting. The rest of the time he was up and down the stairs, washing garments, wrapping parcels, and organising yarn until Leo felt he had to scramble to keep up. He couldn’t wait to see what changes Finn had wrought by the time he came back from the market.
Leo moved like the Michelin man when he came downstairs. Layers—many layers—were a necessary evil if he didn’t want to catch hypothermia or attract every single passing bug. To his surprise, there wasn’t just one thermos flask on the table waiting for him.
“The red one is coffee,” Finn told him. “The blue one’s hot chocolate, just in case you get sick of the coffee.”
Leo grinned. “Sick of coffee. Right.” The second flask had nothing to do with him getting sick of coffee. It had everything to do with the lady who had the stall beside him and was even greener at the whole market trading thing than he was. Leo had told Finn about that after dinner on Sunday night. It was nice to know that Finn had listened, even if he’d been absorbed in his work and his needles had never stopped moving.
“Have fun cleaning,” he said. “I’ll forage for dinner while I’m out.”
He placed the thermos flasks carefully into his shoulder bag and then surprised them both by dropping a kiss on Finn’s cheek on the way out of the door.
Finn had been itching to start on the store, but Leo’s kiss left him standing in the middle of the kitchen trying to work out what he’d felt. A gossamer brush of silky warmth on his skin, a waft of cologne in his nose, the rustle of Leo’s coat as he turned towards the door… And a surge of heat he’d not experienced in far too long.
Finn didn’t know how to read the unexpected gesture. Had Leo been serious? Friendly? Or had he been making fun of Finn?
After a while he shook himself out of it and finished drying the breakfast dishes, looking for Leo’s missing spatula while he was at it. There was no sign of the thing anywhere in the kitchen or the living room. Which made zero sense. Why would anyone break into their house to steal kitchen utensils?
Bored with the fruitless search, Finn grabbed his cleaning stuff, and went into the store. After a good airing and with the colourful sofa and armchairs in the window, the place was losing its vibe of mourning and neglect. A thorough dusting and a liberal application of lemon and beeswax furniture polish would no doubt make it come to life.
Finn set his phone and speaker on the counter that Leo would use as the bar for the café and chose one of his favourite playlists. It was a mix of epic film music that never failed to calm him. When he didn’t use the music to help him decide which project to tackle next, that was.
Today, there was no shortage of tasks and Finn had little choice about which to tackle and which to leave alone. He worked methodically, starting from the top shelves, while trying to decide when to stop taking custom orders in his online store. He could sell pieces he’d already made until December 20thand still have them arrive in time for Christmas if he charged express postage. That didn’t mean he could take custom orders that late.
He wished he could remember what he’d done the previous year, but all his memories were of his father, angry and reeking of booze, barging into his room night after night to shout at him. He’d made sure Finn understood how useless he was, how much of a waste of space and oxygen, and nothing Finn said or tried to say changed his mind. By the middle of December, Finn had no longer been able to sleep at night. Even when he was exhausted, he was on the alert for footsteps on the stairs or a hand on his door.
He didn’t understand why it had taken four years and Leo Wetherall to get him out of his parents’ house and away from his father’s anger. Or why he still listened for footsteps on the stairs every night.
Finn’s mood improved when a courier dropped off a huge delivery of yarn. On a whim, he began stocking the shelves. Wool, mohair, yak, and linen yarns in all colours of the rainbow emerged from the carrier’s box in lace, fingering, double knitting, and chunky weights. Finn hauled in the baskets and boxes that held his yarn stash, and soon the store warmed with the riot of colours.
A knock on the door startled him, and he looked up to see a woman on the other side of the glass, waving.
Deep brown mohair, matching her blonde bob and brown eyes. A cowl, or high-necked jumper trimmed with English rose.He unlocked the door and opened it. “Can I help you?”
“Are you opening a yarn shop?”
