Page 23 of Take Me Tender

A sting of tears surprised her. Why did she keep crying around Jorge Santos? But she had to blink, and blink again, as her hand faltered and she realized she really did care about this place. She wanted to bring it back to its former, comfortable-in-its-own-skin glory. She thought of that photo in the hallway, of her arms opened wide to embrace the world.

She’d been comfortable in her own skin then, too.

“Ooops,” said Jorge, as he came up behind her. “Let me get rid of that paint drip for you.”

Blinking, she realized that her hand had trailed over the enameled molding, leaving a wide streak over the white-painted wood. Jorge’s arm snaked around her to wipe away the new paint with a rag.

She spun and shifted to get out of his way, but found herself trapped between his chest and the window behind her. They both froze.

Despite the prevailing, raw smell of new paint, she could still detect his own soapy scent. She could see the masculine, close-shaven line of his jaw, his dark eyes, with their spiky fringe of blacker-than-black lashes.

Jorge was staring at her mouth.

Those tingles broke out afresh, starting at her neck and then tumbling down her spine, her thighs, the backs of her knees. They were female tingles, a female reaction, a female-to-male response.

And she’d decided to boot men out of her life.

His lips lowered toward hers and their gazes caught. She couldn’t look away, she didn’t back away, even as she tasted his first kiss. In the black of his pupils, she saw her own reflection, and it was what kept her feet glued to the floor.

How could she turn away from him? She couldn’t. Not when through him she could see herself for the very first time in a very long, long while.

Inside Malibu & Ewe, Nikki passed the time waiting for Jay by starting on an ambitious—for her, anyway—project. Per Cassandra’s advice, she wound a rubber band around one of her needles as a reminder to increase the number of stitches every other row. She’d just put a slip knot on the other needle in preparation to start her kerchief, when the adjacent sofa cushion bounced as the yarn shop owner dropped down beside her.

“Found it!” she said. “It was hiding away in my supply closet. But I think the purse is perfect with your outfit.”

She dangled it in front of Nikki’s face. It was an evening-sized square, knit in pale blue and with a feathery fringe in the same color around the top. Natural wooden beads interspersed with white shells were strung together to create the short handle.

Reaching out, Nikki played her fingertips through the light, funky fringe. “A purse, too? And on top of my one of-a-kind, designer T-shirt.”

Cassandra tucked the purse between them. “I hope you have as much fun wearing it on your date as I did making it.”

Nikki grimaced. “I’m thinking of telling my date I’ve changed my mind.” Or found it. What stupidity had prompted her to agree in the first place? Jay had thrown out a dare, she could see that so clearly now, and she’d fallen right for it, determined to show him she wasn’t afraid of men, or sex, or even dinner dates.

Her touch almost maternal, Cassandra patted her shoulder and then adjusted the top she’d created for her from a simple, tie-dyed, “just in case” T-shirt Nikki carried in the back of her car.

The process had been quick, but amazing. One moment she had a plain boring tee, and the next Cassandra had scissored and tied and threaded to create a collarbone-clearing, cap-sleeved garment. The back view made it really something. She’d cut away the fabric from shoulder blades to waistline, and using strips of leftover material, laced it up the back like a corset, cinching it to her ribs yet still leaving a lot of bare spine showing.

The blue and white matched the purse and also went well with Nikki’s white, calf-length linen skirt. A pair of flat, white leather sandals would make walking easy on her knee.

It was getting better, thank God. Without the constant rush of a restaurant kitchen and within the smaller confines of Jay’s, the swelling had subsided and the pain had lessened. She still sensed its inherent weakness, and wasn’t anywhere close to signing up for those martial arts classes she’d bragged to Jay about, but it gave her confidence that she could go on with her life without the operation the orthopedic surgeon insisted was necessary. She couldn’t do the surgery.

First, because of that little hospital phobia she’d developed following her mother’s sudden death. And second—

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Blinking, Nikki’s focus shifted back to Cassandra. “My thoughts? Oh. I was thinking about my mom.”

Cassandra’s hand smoothed her shoulder again. “She died about ten years ago, is that right?”

“Thirteen.” Nikki shifted away from the touch and concentrated on her knitting. “But that’s way in the past.”

“If you’d ever like to talk…”

Embarrassed, Nikki shook her head. “No, no. You’ve been so nice to me already. I don’t understand why”—not any more than she understood why she’d come here for wardrobe help again—“but I do appreciate it.”

Cassandra cleared her throat. “I, um, felt a kind of connection when we met. Maybe because we…we grew up in similar circumstances.”

Puzzled, Nikki glanced up. “Really?”

The other woman flushed. “Well, not exactly.” Her fingers twined in her lap and then she straightened them out to press at imaginary wrinkles in her khaki trousers. “Um, Nikki—”

The loud rattle of the bells attached to Malibu & Ewe’s front door interrupted. Three women burst inside.

With a slight grimace, the shop owner checked her watch. “Tuesday Night Knitters’ Club.”

“That reminds me,” Nikki remarked, “I’ve been meaning to tell you I received some advertising from your shop before I started with Jay. I don’t know how your marketer targeted me—I’ve never been into crafts. But it’s a weird coincidence, huh?”

“Um. Yeah. Weird coincidence.” Glancing down, Cassandra ironed her pants once more with the flat of her hand. “Nikki…”

The bells rattled again, causing Cassandra to jump. She looked over as more women entered the shop, then back at Nikki. “Maybe…maybe we can talk about this later?”

“Sure.” Though Nikki didn’t quite get what else there was to say. Maybe her obtuseness was due to her dad’s detachment gene showing up again. It had rendered her unnaturally ungood at girl chat. So instead of attempting to join in, she listened to it as others arrived and situated themselves on the couches.

A new mother, baby nestled next to her, was having trouble with lining the diaper tote she’d knitted.

A gray-haired lady complained about her latest haircut and seemed to take it out on the cat bed she was creating for her mother-in-law’s favorite feline.

A younger woman was surprised by the group’s communal reaction of horror when she said she wanted to knit her new guy a sweater. “It’s a curse,” one expert proclaimed. And a well-known fact that the relationship would surely be finished before the boyfriend sweater.

The legion of true-life examples trotted out by the knitters only ended when a beautiful celebrity entered the shop and plopped her skinny body on an ottoman then set to work on a baby bootie. Nikki might have thought herself delusional except her sofa neighbor introduced Nikki to the striking beauty as Oomfaa—short for One of the Most Famous Actresses in America. The nickname was conferred upon her by the rest of the group, the woman explained, after a Malibu magazine piece on the store used that vague reference to preserve the A-lister’s anonymity.

Oomfaa flashed Nikki her trademark blinding smile and continued plying her needles. As a rat-a-tat clackety-click filled the room, it struck her that twenty industrious knitters made a noise not unlike a stage full of tiny Irish step dancers.

A noise that abruptly cut off when the door’s bells rang again and Jay stepped into the room.

All heads lifted and turned his way. Twenty pairs of eyes took him in.

Only Jay Buchanan could handle the all-female regard with such aplomb. There was the merest hesitation and then he strode forward, wearing a grin as blinding as Oomfaa’s had been earlier.

Nikki found herself on her feet and in full retreat as he continued his confident advance. As she backed out of the knitters’ circle, her shoulder bumped into Cassandra’s, stalling her sudden need to escape.

Clutching her knitting to her middle, she spoke out of the side of her mouth as Jay paused to greet the first of the women. “Tell me you have a back exit.”

“You’re really changing your mind about tonight? What’s the big deal? You said you two were an item.”

Nikki kept her eye on Jay and went for the shortest explanation. “We don’t suit.”

“He didn’t appear convinced of that last week on the restaurant dance floor.”

It wasn’t the time to talk about lesbian charades and Nikki in bed with twins. “Think about it. Me and Hef Junior together? That sunstruck example of male sexuality and me? He belongs with someone as…as shiny as he is. He belongs with someone like Oomfaa.”

And he was currently kissing Oomfaa, smug, charming bastard. On the cheek, but still.

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