Page 50

Eli sat down across from his brother and set his coffee cup next to two knitting needles and a ball of blue yarn.

“What are you all even making?” Eli asked. “And why?”

“Nothing,” they all said, not quite in unison.

“It’s not about the destination…” Boone began, and Eli groaned.

“If you even so much as finish that aphorism, let alone spout one more, I might have to figure out what else these needles can do.”

Boone finally met his brother’s eyes, holding his needles up in some semblance of surrender.

“We both know you’re not a man of violence, but on the off chance that you really are that pissed at me, can we call a truce?” Boone asked.

Eli crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair with a groan. “Fine,” he responded. “How long am I being held prisoner?”

He knew he was grumpier than he should have been, but Eli was a man of structure and routine. Now that he and Beth had found a rhythm that seemed to be working, he wasn’t really a fan of the routine being broken without his consent.

The other men glanced up from their projects with raised brows, looking equally curious for Boone’s response.

“This one’s Instagram-worthy!” Trudy called from behind the counter, and Eli caught her lowering her phone, which had evidently just captured the moment of Eli’s capture.

Boone blew out a breath and set his needles and yarn on the table. “We’re here until nine. Sometimes we stay past the store opening if we’re really going strong. But for you, big bro, I’ll give a one-time offer of one hour. Sixty tiny little minutes, and if you’re still pissed to be hanging with a few buddies who like to enjoy a little coffee, contemplation, and really ugly scarves, then you’re free to go.”

Eli glanced around the table at the five other men who seemed perfectly content to simply be at this table with their too-sweet coffees, their hats that looked ridiculous indoors, their piles of yarn…and each other. This wasn’t the tavern where he could sit at the bar with his back to the rest of the world, nursing a beer and disappearing into his own head. If he stayed for even as little as ten minutes, it felt like agreeing to giving up the solitude he’d so grown to enjoy.

Okay, maybe not enjoy but expect. Comfort came with what was expected.

Sam, who sat to Eli’s right, clapped him on the shoulder.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Sam told him. “And one added perk is you don’t have my wife trying to set you up with her little sister.”

Eli coughed. He tapped his chest and cleared his throat. “Wrong pipe.” He picked up his coffee and nodded at the supposed culprit, though he was pretty sure everyone knew he hadn’t yet taken a sip.

Sam grabbed the ball of blue yarn and wooden needles in front of Eli. “Come on. I’ll get you started.”

“What the hell am I making?” Eli asked.

Sam glanced at him with his brows raised.

Eli shook his head and couldn’t help but laugh. “Right. It’s not about the destination.”

Four hours and three salted caramel white chocolate mochas later (Eli needed the caffeine), Eli had silently knit the ugliest, most lopsided…what? He couldn’t even call it a scarf because that would be insulting to scarves. But he’d made something. He’d kept his hands busy, his brain focused on his busy hands, and his ears trained on the conversation going on around him.

Kara was suddenly doing what Boone called reverse cycling, which meant she slept all day and was up all night. He and Casey had been trying to get her back on track for the past week and were both exhausted.

“You should talk to Charlotte about that at your next visit,” Ben told him, referring to his pediatrician wife. “I swear I’ve heard her talk about that happening with other patients. I bet she has a trick or two she might be able to share.”

Carter and his wife, Ivy, had been working on her birthing plan. She had the whole delivery planned out exactly how she wanted it to go, and Carter couldn’t bring himself to tell her how many babies he or someone else from his company at the fire station had delivered in barns or on the side of the road in the back of a truck for parents whose offspring decided they didn’t give a shit about their plans.

“I sure as hell hope Delaney didn’t plan to grab my hand with hulk-like strength and growl during a contraction, ‘You did this to me,’” Sam joked, but Eli was pretty sure he saw a glimmer of relived fear in the man’s eyes.

They all talked like that on and off, periods of verbose conversation followed by stretches of quiet contemplation, all the while the five of them enjoying the journey despite the result of their yarn and needles when all was said and done.

Everyone else had filed out in the last half hour or so, leaving just Eli, Boone, and a few actual paying customers in the café.

“It grows on you, doesn’t it?” Boone asked, and Eli realized he was still concentrating on his needles, his brows furrowed.

“Not exactly,” he replied. “I just feel like…I mean, I perform surgeries on everything from rabbits to Great Danes on a weekly basis. Shouldn’t I be better at this than the rest of you a-holes?”