Page 12 of The Side Road (Love Chronicles #3)

TOOL RACK

As the bells on the front door tinkled, Mia turned. Like a loyal Labrador, Oliver had followed her inside. Surprise registered, but she admired his persistence. Was he about to make her life easier or complicate her day even further?

‘The thing is.’ He walked briskly toward her. ‘I can stay here and help you, or I go back to Leo and Blanche’s, look at old photos, and drink tea.’

She had no trouble picturing the scenario. ‘I see your predicament,’ she sympathised. ‘But I sell wool.’

A glance around the store seemed to confirm his suspicions; there was a lot of wool. ‘Well, I could unpack a few boxes and I live for recycling. If I get in your way, I promise to leave.’ He paused. ‘Also, I need something to do.’

His enthusiasm was welcome. Unpacking stock was a job the staff consistently tried to avoid. In the loading bay were two pallets waiting to be unpacked, and Mia had no problem with free labour.

‘I’m also great at taking instructions, just tell me what to do.’ He offered a sexy, engaging smile, and there might have been a twinkle in his eye. He had discovered her weakness; she enjoyed telling men what to do.

‘Okay,’ she conceded. I’ll write you a list. Are you okay with a list?’ She picked up a notepad and a pen.

‘Yes. Did you make this jumper?’

‘Technically, it’s a cardigan.’

The garment was pink. A luxuriously soft knit with a light, fluffy finish. She held out her arm. ‘You can touch it if you like. I don’t mind.’

He ran his hand up her arm. He didn’t say anything, but she thought he liked the feel because it was impossible not to like mohair. ‘We call that the hand – the hand of the fabric – that’s how we describe the feel of the fibre on our skin,’ she told him.

Again, he didn’t respond, but he seemed impressed by her technical description because he took a very deep breath.

She clicked the top of her pen and wrote an itemised list of tasks, including unpacking the new stock, disposing of the recycling, placing orders in the dispatch area, and re-stocking the accessory stand. She handed him the page.

He scanned the list and nodded. Slipping his suit jacket off his shoulders, he removed the garment and was about to leave it on the counter when she reached for it. ‘No, no. I have a hanger.’

She took the jacket and draped it over her arm. As her fingertips stroked the nap of the fabric, a wave of unexpected desire washed over her. Mixed, complicated feelings, akin to yearning, were circling, and like a whirlwind, they were threatening to drag her from her mooring.

Next, he unbuttoned his cuffs. Turning them back, he pushed up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms. Deftly, he undid the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie.

A hardcore erotic gesture, if ever there was one.

She was fighting a desire to undo all his buttons, help him take his shirt off, and lay her face on his naked chest.

‘Where do you want me?’ he asked.

About one hundred kilometres away from me, she thought. But it was far too late for that. Still fingering his Italian jacket, she realised she had offered him a manual labour job in her storeroom.

She swallowed. Pointing over her shoulder, she said, ‘The loading bay is this way.’

He followed her out the back, and she showed him the boxes stacked on the pallets.

‘You have a high turnover.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘Online orders,’ Mia explained. ‘Eighty percent of our business comes from our website. Knitting kits, from beginners to advanced, are our biggest sellers. We call it slow fashion.’

‘Well, it’s moving out the door.’

After picking up the largest box, he carried it into the storeroom. Filled with compressed wool, it was lighter than it looked, but there were tasks men could do because they were men. Her arms would not have reached around the box.

Confident that nothing could be broken, Mia headed into the staff room.

She slipped Oliver’s jacket onto a coat hanger and hung it up.

It was Valentino Garavani. Elegant, hand-tailored virgin wool.

Taking the sleeve, she rubbed the fabric between her fingers.

Exquisite, she thought. Stereotypes were shattering all around the Italian-suited mechanic.

Mia returned to the shop floor just as the front doorbell rang and Helen entered.

Recently, the staff had received a request from Helen’s husband asking them to stop selling wool to his wife.

Helen continued to visit daily, usually around lunchtime.

Retired, she liked to browse. Over the last few months, Mia had watched the slight upward arc of Helen’s mouth fall in the opposite direction.

Her shoulders went the same way. Yarn addiction was real.

As Helen circled the store, Mia checked her delivery book and the online orders. The sound of boxes falling from a great height startled them both. Alarmed, Helen clutched at her chest. From across the store, she shot Mia a concerned glance.

Mia told herself it was just wool. He couldn’t do any harm.

Another crash followed, and Mia flinched. What could he possibly be doing back there?

‘Do you need to check on that?’ Helen asked.

Mia shook her head and returned to her bookwork.

The front door tinkled, and April entered. Her shift started at twelve and she worked until five. As she headed to the staff room to stow her belongings, Mia told her that Oliver was helping with the delivery.

‘Oliver? Oliver, who?’ April asked. She wore her craft smock – a sleeveless, cross-backed apron with pockets – over jeans and a floral shirt.

‘Tash’s father.’

‘The clumsy coffee man. Oh dear.’ April continued to the staff room.

Moments later, the sound of laughter and light-hearted conversation reached Mia. A burst of giggles followed. This continued for several minutes.

When April eventually returned to the shop, she lowered her voice and said, ‘Have you seen what he’s done? He can’t handle his coffee, but he has a master’s degree in organisation. Are the two of you…’

‘Friends. ’

April snorted. ‘Offer him some lunch, the man looks hungry. I’ll deal with Helen.’

More customers were entering the store – the lunchtime rush had begun – and April scurried over to help Helen. While she was not a paying customer, she was still a customer who needed help.

As Oliver entered the shop carrying boxes of online orders, Mia said, ‘I’m going to lunch. I have extra…would you like to join me?’

‘Yes.’ He immediately dropped the box he was holding.

Mia planned her workday lunches for the coming week.

Today, it was a frittata and a fresh baguette, which she had collected from the local bakery on her way to work.

In the staff room, she served the food. Holding his plate, Oliver followed her outside the back door.

They sat on the steps of the loading bay, the building’s overhang protecting them from the gentle rain.

For a few minutes, they ate in silence, and then Oliver asked, ‘What brings a city girl like you out here to Eagle Nest?’

She raised an eyebrow, unhappy with the typecasting. ‘What makes you think I’m a city girl?’

‘Well, you are a city girl.’

‘But how can you tell?’

He didn’t respond. She suspected he was biting his tongue.

‘A fresh start,’ she said. ‘Honestly, this isn’t where I intended to be. Late-thirties, living in a country town, selling wool. It’s a big detour.’

‘This isn’t where I intended to be, either. For me, this isn’t a detour, it’s a big fucking loop.’ He smiled and shook his head. ‘I can’t believe I’m back. Raising a twelve-year-old.’

‘She’s a great kid. ’

‘She is. What’s it like being Leo’s favourite niece? Are there benefits, or is it just a figurehead title?’

‘Apart from letting me ride the BMW, he grows excellent beans and leafy greens.’ She pointed to the remains of the frittata on her plate. ‘Leo and I are like-minded. We’re the black sheep of the family.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’ He shifted in his seat.

She was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘Leo and I don’t exactly fit into our family’s expectations.

My dad and Leo are complete opposites. I don’t think Gary, my father, has ever set foot in a garage.

Beth, my mother, wouldn’t know how to pump petrol.

I don’t think she’s ever done that in her life. ’

‘Seriously?’

Mia nodded. ‘My parents are…both professors. One of my brothers is a scientist, and the other a doctor. I bucked the trend and studied fine arts. My parents were not happy about my career choice. After twelve years of private education, they had a lot invested in me, and this was not how they saw my future.’

‘But you have a successful business. They must be happy for you.’

‘They’re addicted to travel. I haven’t seen them in two years.’ She needed to change the subject. ‘What about you? I hear you’re a local lad?’

‘Born and bred. Like my dad and my grandfather. We all went to the same district primary school. My dad owned the garage. Took it over from his father. Three generations of mechanics; oil is in our blood.’

‘Are you going to stay in Eagle Nest? The rumour is…’ She paused. ‘Sorry, gossip is contagious in this town.’

He smiled .

She stood up and collected their plates. ‘April is here now, so if you want to go…’

‘I’d like to finish, if you don’t mind. I’ve got an idea for the tool rack. It’s a mess.’

She presumed he meant the haberdashery and accessory display, which was a shambles and had been on Mia’s to-do list for weeks.

Before they returned to the store, she asked, ‘Which garage?’

‘It’s gone,’ Oliver said. ‘’Now it’s an automated public restroom.’

‘That’s a shame,’ she said.

An hour later, Mia and Oliver stood in front of the accessory display.

‘This is my favourite part of the store,’ he said.

‘I’ve grouped the needles by material and then by size.

If you want bamboo, then go straight to bamboo.

If you want metal, then the metal section is at the end.

Over here’—Oliver pointed to the right—‘are the other accessories, cutting knives, scissors.’ He stood back and placed his hands on his hips. ‘What do you think?’

Mia admired the display. It had never been this organised. ‘Works for me.’

‘I’ve arranged the manuals by product and then brand,’ he continued.

She followed him around the Spectacle of Socks to the bookshelves. The crochet magazines were separate from the knitting books. The sock pamphlets were side by side. He had divided jumpers and other knitwear into male and female categories. Items for children and toddlers were in another section .

‘I figured customers would look for a product first. Unless they’re loyal to a brand. Like in the old days, it was Holden or Ford.’ He looked at her. ‘You stock a lot of brands.’

‘You’re right. People decide what to make first. After that, they think about the wool.’

‘Then, I’m done.’

‘Thank you.’ She selected two balls of soft wool from the Spectacle of Sock display. ‘For you,’ she said. ‘For helping. You can give them to Tash. They’re perfect for her sock project. Fingers crossed she likes the colour.’

At the counter, Mia opened a bag and placed the wool inside. ‘She needs to do it herself. Accurate tension is vital for the sock to fit.’ She handed him the bag.

As he took the bag, his fingers grazed hers. He looked into her eyes. ‘Mia, I was wondering if I could see you sometime.’

The feel of his skin stirred something inside her. Her earlier longing reignited, and a tiny spark flared within her heart. A silent but palpable connection hovered in the air around them. A date, however, was out of the question. She knew how to deter a potential suitor.

‘Would you like to book a private lesson?’ she asked, using her best schoolmistress voice. ‘Lessons are seventy dollars an hour. Shall I get the form?’

With his arms crossed, he tilted his head. Imminent laughter was apparent. She needed to increase her resistance.

On an iPad, she opened the booking page. ‘Did you want to book with me or April?’

‘With you. If that’s okay?’

‘Of course. The same time next week,’ Mia continued. ‘If you have a special project or you’re stuck on something, bring it in and we can work on it together. I’m going to need a deposit. Fifty dollars. ’

Pleased with herself, she had made her intentions clear and matched his advance with a clever rebuff. He would fold; there was no other choice.

Promptly, he took out his wallet and handed over his credit card.

After taking the card, she turned it over in her hand. ‘You’re sure about this?’

He nodded. A charming smile followed.

She tapped the card and recorded the sale. ‘You’ll receive a reminder. Cancel anytime .’

‘Do I need to bring anything?’ He was better at this than she was.

‘A notebook and a pen. You can take photos or videos if you…if you want.’ This was a rote response, and she reprimanded herself for not concentrating.

Colour rose in her cheeks. Confounded, she had nothing more to say and could only stare.

He slipped on his Valentino hand-tailored virgin wool jacket and walked out the door.

Outside, Oliver reclined in the driver’s seat of his car. The woman was like a flower that needed hours of sunshine before it opened, but someone had planted her in perpetual shade. He wondered why goosebumps on a woman’s legs were so attractive.

Imagining her beside him, showing him how to use the needles, was an enticing scenario.

The two of them, head-to-head, studying the knots.

Faces so close he could feel her breath on his cheek.

She might even touch his hand, her fingers lingering on his.

It was tempting to see where it might lead, but he wouldn’t go through with the lesson.

After closing both his fists, he opened them quickly.

‘Boom.’ His heart was exploding. But he would reschedule the lesson.

Find a time more suitable for Tash and apologise for the confusion, saying something about not being across his daughter’s schedule.

Although seventy dollars wasn’t a bad hourly rate.

It was a fair price. What she offered was a speciality service.

She didn’t undervalue her time or her skills, and he liked that.

He understood the power of yarn craft. Handmade goods in a world run by invisible algorithms were more valuable than ever. He also enjoyed making things with his hands, and he thought he could fix almost anything, like the way she could knit anything.

He could easily spend another day in the storeroom. Did she leave the cupboard doors open on purpose? Even after he had closed them, she reopened them and then left them ajar.