Page 23

“Not just a few stitches. You actually have to make something. Something difficult. In fact,” I said, glancing at my own much daintier hands, “I need new gloves. If I try out for the derby team, you have to learn crochet and then make a pair for me.”

I could almost hear the cogs in his head whirring as he weighed up whether he’d take the challenge. “In two colors,” I added. No harm in upping the ante.

Brody placed an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his upturned palm. “Just the two?”

“Harder than it looks.”

After the longest beat, he sat upright. “Deal.”

A wave of something passed over me. I couldn’t tell if it was delight or terror. “Good. I’ll find you a hook and some yarn.”

“Sounds fantastic,” Brody said, moving his legs from under the bench before he stood, dwarfing me. “Looks like we’ve got some work to do.”

I held up a hand, shielding my eyes from the sun. “We?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? I’m your new coach.”

My stomach flipped, and my breath ran shallower than before. “Wait, what?”

“Yep.” The grin on his face twisted up my insides. “It’ll be fun. And I know my stuff.”

Well, he was right there. He was a genius on his blades. Roller skates couldn’t be that different. But him coaching me meant we’d be spending a lot more time together. We’d already lived in the same house for less than a week, and I was fighting a losing battle with my wayward thoughts. I looked up at the angular planes of Brody’s face and swallowed.

Any misguided notion that I’d lost my crush on him disintegrated. He was going to coach me for derby. And I didn’t like to admit there were plenty of other skills I’d happily learn from him.

8

RO

Isat cross-legged on Gran’s sofa, nursing a strong coffee. I’d spent the last ten minutes unraveling the bundle of wool I picked up at The Twitch ‘n Stitch, Tuft Swallow’s only craft shop. Book lovers often described a sense of bliss, a heavenly calm, when they stepped inside a library. I felt the same when I pottered along the cluttered aisles of needles, hooks, and buttons. Currently, I was battling with a large spool of baby pink 12-ply that’d over-mingled with a green cashmere blend.

I frowned, pulling a stubborn thread of the green, tightening up the knot I was trying to loosen. “Mother f…”

“Careful what you say. Even yarn has feelings.”

My head snapped up. Brody. He’d come into the room, his blue T-shirt matching his eyes, and holy hell, did he know how good those jeans looked? With a side glance, I skimmed over his whole body. To check for consistency, of course. Yep. The entire package was up to scratch.

Brody headed across the green rug to the kitchen but stopped halfway, squinting at my top.

“Show me your pecker?” He gave a little laugh. “I know I’m not known for my shyness, but I didn’t expectyouto be so forward.”

I followed his gaze to land on my chest. I’d thrown on the first thing I saw this morning, which was a red T-shirt displaying those exact words.

“So, peckers, eh?” He’d stopped at the kitchen door now, his mocking grin making my teeth clamp together. “No wonder you’re so popular if you go out wearing slogans like that.”

My cheeks blazed, and I looked at him, mouth flapping like a beached fish.“Stop! I bought it at the bird festival fundraiser last year. Practically everyone in town owns one.”

“Then you’re all equally filthy.” He chuckled, changing direction and sitting on the other end of the couch.

As he landed, the velvet cushions gave a little beneath me.

“Does the council still run that bird festival?”

“They sure do. It gets bigger every year.”

He wrinkled his nose and smiled. The soft light from the netted window lit up the highlights in his hair. “This town is so weird.”

“Maybe, but it’s home. You just have to enter the spirit of it.”