I stare at her, wondering if she’s not trying to protect herself. She should. We should really stop spending time together at all. Save ourselves both the heartbreak.
I think all this and say, “I know how to crochet.”
She blinks at me. “You’ve dazzled me. I have watched a few of the humans on the preserve while they loop yarns together, but I do not yet know how to crochet; would you please show me?”
I take her hand and lead her to the hall closet. “You bet your sweet ass I will. And wait til you see my awesome yarn collection.” I slant her a forced grin. “Technically, it’s Kerry’s. She taught me how to make mittens, and we sit together every year for like three days before Christmas and speed-hook pairs for all the kids.”
Inara is watching me with a look I like a whole lot. “The more I get to know you, the more and more I admire you, Matthew.”
I nearly bite my tongue in half, trying to keep words from spilling out of my mouth. Yeah? Well I’m falling the fuck in love with you, woman. I keep telling myself that we’ve got an expiration date, and that I need to remember that so it hurts less when you leave. But sweetheart, it ain’t workin’. You’re going to break my heart, and I’m going to let you. Because I’d rather have you for a little while than not at all.
I hand her the first basket of yarn, dip close, and kiss her on her cute as fuck blue nose. “Right back at you. Ready to make mittens?” I give her a sheepish grin. “It’s actually all I know how to do.”
But Inara doesn’t care. She shines like the sun. “I would love to!”
And I’d love to do anything, as long as I’m doing it with you. I give her another smile, memorizing her every feature, absorbing her delight, engraving her deeper on my heart. “Awesome.”
CHAPTER 17
ELAINE: You haven’t texted anyone but Mom in days. Are you okay?
ME: I’m doing really good. Sorry I’ve been MIA. How are you, Mike, and the kids?
ELAINE: We’re great, but I’m getting the sense we shouldn’t be talking about me. WHY have you been MIA? Do you have a new girlfriend?
ELAINE: You’re hiding her from us, aren’t you?
ME: I’m not hiding her
ELAINE: OMGOODNESS YOU REALLY DO HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!
It takes thirty seconds for my phone to blow up with texts from Kate, Kaley, Kerry, our mom—plus more from Elaine.
(Who is actually Kinley Elaine, keeping in with the K-themed names. But she hated her name growing up, despite everyone telling her it was pretty. She likes it now, but she’s been Elaine for thirty years, so it’s what she goes by with family and friends.)
I turn the sound off on my phone and let them wig out, mostly because it’ll drive them nuts not to be given details, and the opportunity to bug them just doesn’t crop up as often when everyone lives apart as adults. I have to take advantage of things like this when I can.
“Your phone is shivering,” Inara informs me as we walk hand in hand in a hobby store. Inara can feel the vibration setting because my arm is around her shoulder, her wrist twisted back so we could lace our fingers and achieve maximum hand-holding. In her free hand, she’s clutching a shopping basket handle, the contents of the basket lightly banging against our thighs as we stroll.
“Don’t I know it,” I murmur, smirking because I’m having fun winding up my family. My sisters haven’t had anything to get this riled up about in forever. And my mom? Last time I braved checking my messages, she’d sent me a picture of a baby’s onesie.
Good Lord.
We’re here at a hobby shop so Inara can blow her paycheck on everything she’d love to try her hand at. Plus, we had two hours to kill before work today, and from much experience I know it’s possible to kill that time real damn easy in a craft store. So far, Inara has oohed and ahhed over the embroidery threads, a pile of which eventually made their way into her basket, and she’s perused the bolts of fabric and picked out the wildest patterned material I’ve ever seen. Wildest textiles too. Fake leather, spandexy stuff, cotton, tulle, silk—she got a couple yards of everything, but she especially favors things that are jewel toned or include lace. She has sewing needles that she brought with her that she can use, she said, but she also spent time looking at the store’s selection of sewing machines.
She’s excited at the idea of making her own clothes ‘using Earthen technology.’
She’s fuckin’ cute.
“I need to void,” she announces, which is alien-speak for her needing to pee.
I take her basket with a, “Geez, woman, do you need a cart, or do you want to break your back hauling this through the rest of the store?” and we head for the washrooms where I park myself by the water fountains along the alcove wall that faces the women’s washroom door. Which, to denote that it’s the chicks’ room, has a spool, and for the guys across the way, there’s a needle and thread. I’m shaking my head, about to indicate to Inara which one is for ladies, but she raises her nose, sniffs, and rightly chooses the women’s, evidently by smell alone. Probably not hard—I can smell perfume from here. I guess it could be air fresheners, but I assume it’s the mingled scent trail of a billion women. Ten bucks though says if I step into the men’s washroom, it’ll smell like asparagus and urinal cakes.
While I’m standing there, my elbow ready to snap from the sheer weight of Inara’s shopping basket, two other women head past me, zooming for the ladies’ room, and normally I wouldn’t take more than a cursory notice of them, but the moment they see me, they get… shifty.
My gaze sharpens on them.
Trailing them is a man. Tall. Athletic, slim. It's hard to clock much else about him except that he’s wearing a cape. Think Bram Stoker black but with gold velvet insides. Or wait… I know this cape. It’s the Phantom of the Opera cape, circa Gerard Butler.
My sisters made me watch that movie. And not just once, oh no. I still twitch at the word ‘musical.’
I’m not an opera kind of guy. And forget Les Misérables. Did you know they sing every line in that movie? I mean, the songs are nice, it’s just really, really weird not to have anybody actually speak. (Still, I took Inara to Tinseltown, a local cinema that offers overpriced concession candy, red velvet-covered surfaces everywhere you look, and special viewings of select Fathom Events. We did watch Les Mis, and we’ve seen an opera and a couple ballet deals too. Inara loved them. She’s crazy for anything with music and costumes. But mostly music.)
“Just wait here, Jonah,” is what I think one of the women eyeing me back says. She’s watching me like I’m worrying her—and then she worriedly looks to the Jonah guy. “We’ll be back out in just a sec.” She’s in a lace top and jeans and comfortable-looking gym shoes, and her hair is in something like a Dutch crown braid.
She’s cute, throwing a very girl-next-door vibe.
The girl standing beside her—tall in heels, leggings, and long sleeve cowl neck dress and a whole lot of glossy hair blown out to perfection (Surprised I know hair things? I’ve got sisters and a mom; I know hair things)—glares at me in warning.
Okayyy…
I’m frowning as the women’s washroom door swings shut behind them. Then I look at the guy.