Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
FREYA
“Iwas kind of hoping she’d bring the cat,” Oscar says quietly as Gloria leaves. He’s two rungs up on a stepladder, helping me unpack everything we took to Denver.
I came in this morning to find him waiting outside the front door, hot chocolate in hand and a refusal to hear me every time I tried to shoo him away.
It’s been two days since we got back. I wanted some time to recover before tackling the mess, but I probably should have done it yesterday when the store was closed.
“Me too!” I whisper-yell, watching Gloria tuck her coat tighter around herself as she crosses the street. “I kinda feel like everyone is messing with me at this point.” People keep telling me Gloria walks around town with her cat in a baby sling, but I’ve yet to see conclusive proof.
“Next time I see it, I’ll sneak you a picture,” he replies.
I don’t know how Oscar knew I was sorting everything today, but thank God he’s here.
I would not have been able to get this done by myself.
I’ve mostly been dealing with customers and my usual day-to-day tasks, and he’s been doing all the heavy lifting, patiently awaiting each instruction before putting items back in their rightful homes.
It’s like he’s got some kind of sixth sense for whenever I need him. It’s a little spooky.
“You’d better,” I say to him, passing up a box that he stacks on the top shelf of my inventory closet.
“Scout’s honor.”
“You were a Boy Scout?”
“For a bit.” He reaches down for the next box.
“That explains why you’re such an upstanding citizen.” I grin up at him, quirking an eyebrow. “When you’re not pillaging yarn stores.”
He reaches down and gives my ponytail a playful tug. “When are you gonna let that go?”
I bat his hand away. “That’s not very ‘Eagle Scout’ of you.”
“What can I say, I was never serious enough to make Eagle.”
“Oh, no? Just a hobbyist, then?”
“I was only in it to get girls.” He winks, and I really hope my face doesn’t look as flushed as it feels.
“You meet a lot of girls in the Boy Scouts of America?”
“Chicks dig the neckerchief.” He waggles his eyebrows and I burst into a fit of laughter.
“Oh, I bet.” My face aches from the force of my grin. This side of him, the playful side that I feel like few people get to see, has butterflies exploding in the base on my stomach. I feel like a lightbulb with the wattage turned up, my whole body thrumming with energy as we banter.
Oscar turns back to face the shelves, his voice softer now, lower. “I actually just went because my dad was a Scoutmaster.”
“Yeah?” I ask, not wanting to push. We’ve only talked about his dad a little, but I can see that it’s a sore subject.
“Uh huh. I think he was more into it than I was.” He steps off the ladder with a half-hearted smile and heads out into the main shop.
“That must have been fun, though, spending that time with him.”
“It was. He was the best.” His eyes mist over and I’m worried I’ve said the wrong thing.
“We don’t have to talk about it, you know.”
“No, it’s okay. I just don’t talk about him a lot.”
“Why not? It sounds like he was really special to you.”
“He was,” he says with a soft smile, looking past me like he’s somewhere else. “I don’t know why. I guess it was too painful at first, then people kinda stopped asking.”
“Even your mom?”
“She’ll talk about him, but it makes her sad.”
“But now you’re sad.”
“No, not really.” He takes a seat on the stool next to the desk. I follow, slumping into my chair. “Maybe? I don’t know… I guess I’d like to talk about him more, share him. But I don’t want to upset her. I’d rather I be sad than her, if that makes sense.”
“It does.” My heart fractures a tiny bit for him, this steadfast man, so willing to bend over backwards for everyone else, even if it risks him breaking. “Do you want to talk about him with me?”
I don’t know if I’m being too forward, but I can’t do nothing. And besides, we’re friends now. I think.
“Yes?” The gentle smile he gives me warms me from the inside out. “But maybe not today, if that’s alright.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you, though. I’d really like that.”
An hour later I’m updating the inventory system with everything we sold at the fair when the door opens and a woman shuffles in, her multiple tote bags making it hard for her to maneuver through the entrance.
Oscar sticks his head out of the stockroom door when he hears the commotion. He’s been back there finishing up the last of the tidying. Once he got the hang of the system he didn’t need much input from me.
The woman faces me and I see that it’s Andrea, one of Joyce’s friends from the knitting circle. I straighten, surprised to see her. She’s always been sweet, but this is the first time anyone from the group has made it into the shop.
Perhaps Joyce’s iron grip is slipping?
“Hi,” I say brightly, “it’s so lovely to see you.”
She returns my smile, adjusting one of the bags on her shoulder. “It seemed like about time I took a peek in here.”
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” I’m trying to sound casual, professional. Hopefully she’s not seeing how thrown I am by her presence.
“Well,” she says, reaching into a tote and pulling out a skein of burgundy yarn, “I’ve got this lovely alpaca, but I’m looking for a mohair to go with it.”
“Of course!” I stand and go to take it from her. It’s ultra soft, but not fuzzy at all. “How much do you need?”
“Enough for a cardigan, maybe a little extra.”
“For your granddaughter again?”
“Not this time.” She smiles, a little cheekily. “This one’s for me.”
Andrea spends another twenty minutes in the shop. She buys more than just the mohair she came in for, also picking up some new circular needles and a cross-stitch kit to give as a gift. When she leaves it’s with a promise to be back, and to bring some of the other knitting circle ladies with her.
Maybe I don’t need Joyce to like me after all? If I can win over the others, then perhaps whatever problem she has with me will just fade into irrelevance?
When I turn back to my desk after walking her out, Oscar’s sat in my chair, playing with one of the projects I keep in the basket at my feet.
“What’s this gonna be?” he asks, smoothing his hands over the fabric.
“Another sweater.” I shrug. When I make my way towards him he stands, gesturing for me to have my seat back.
He pulls up the kick stool and takes his place back on it.
“This cabling here goes over the body, but the sleeves are going to be blank. I have one like it, but in blue.” I roll my chair back and slide open the bottom drawer, struggling for a second as the wood sticks.
When I pull out the sweater, I catch the hint of a smirk at the edges of Oscar’s mouth.
“You just keep those everywhere?” He nods at the half-finished project.
“Pretty much,” I say sheepishly.
“That looks done, right?” He reaches over and takes it, running his thumb over the ridges of the cabling.
“Nearly. I have to do the ribbing, but I hate it.”
“Why don’t you just get it over with?” He inspects the collar, like he wants to take in every detail. “Why not do one project at a time?”
“Oh, no, no, no,” I tut. “Didn’t your mother teacher you anything? You never ask questions like that.”
“My mom makes one thing at a time,” he says a little indignantly.
“I don’t believe that for a second.” I scoff. “I bet if you go looking you’ll find half-finished pieces all over that house.”
“You think I’d go rifling through my mother’s things? How long are you gonna act like I’m some kind of delinquent?”
“A few more months at least.” I giggle.
“Lucky me.” He winks and I feel a flush of heat chase across my skin.
“Or at least until Joyce runs me out of town.” I smirk.
“What’s her problem?”
“I don’t know!” I throw my hands up. The whole thing is driving me crazy, it would be great if she could just have it out with me. At least I’d finally know what her deal is. “She doesn’t like that I’ve taken over the florist, but I thought she didn’t even like Elsie?”
“She just misses their arguments,” he says thoughtfully. “It probably spiced up her days.”
“If she’s picked me as her next nemesis, she’ll be disappointed.” I roll my eyes. “I’m way too much of a pushover to put up a satisfying fight.”
“You’re not a pushover,” he protests. “You give me shit all the time!”
I wave him away. “That’s just you, you don’t count.”
Oscar clutches his chest like I’ve pierced him with an arrow. “I can’t believe you’d say that to me!”
“Wait, no!”
“God, you drive a woman to Denver—”
“Stop it.” I can’t stop the laughter that escapes.
“You unpack all her craft fair stuff.”
“Oscar, I swear to God—”
“But you knock over one display and suddenly you ‘don’t count.’”
“Oscar!” I draw out his name on a groan, dropping my head to the desk.
His warm chuckles wash over me and before I realize what’s happening, I feel a weight on the back of my head.
Oscar’s palm cradles my skull for a long moment, the two of us falling silent as he swipes over the shell of my ear with the tip of one finger.
I don’t dare move, not wanting to do anything that could make this stop.
His hand is warm, and there’s something comforting about the press of it.
But all to soon he seems to regain his composure and snatches it back, blowing out a harsh breath.
I lift my head slowly, just in time to catch him flexing his fingers against the denim of his jeans. The silence stretches between us like a spiderweb; taut, fragile, ready to be broken with a single push, but neither of us willing to be the one to do it.
“Don’t let Joyce run you out of town,” he eventually says, ducking his head a little to meet my eyeline. “I’d miss you if you were gone.”
“You would?” I hate the hopeful note in my voice, the idea of someone missing me a novelty.
“Can’t have you forgetting about me again.”
“I wouldn’t forget you,” I murmur. I don’t think I could ever forget Oscar. Even if we never speak again, if I didn’t see him for thirty years. His coffee eyes, that smile you really have to work for—it scares me how much they’re etched on my brain, like they’ve become essential to me.
“Actually, Freya, can I ask you something?” He says it slowly, carefully.
I look at him and he’s frowning, like he’s having an argument with himself.
“Okay?” I say hesitantly.
He straightens, planting his hands on the desk. “Can I take you out tomorrow?”
My jaw almost hits the desk. What is… Is he… I can’t…
I can’t get my thoughts straight. I feel dizzy with panic. He can’t be serious.
Let’s get dinner tonight, I’ll pick you up at seven.
I push away Aaron’s voice, when he asked me on our first date without ever actually asking.
“Not like, I just…” he starts fumbling over his words. “We can just get lunch, it’s not a big deal.”
It’s a very big deal. I was just starting to feel like I had my feet under me, like I knew where I stood with him. Now this?
“Like a date?” I choke out.
“Yeah, honey,” he says, and I lean forward. “Exactly like a date.”
I don’t know what to say. I should just say yes, then he’d lose that wounded glint in his eye and I wouldn’t feel so much like I was letting him down.
But I can’t do it. The thought of going there again, with anyone, I can’t handle it.
Aaron fucked me up in ways I’m only just starting to sort out.
I’ve got no business going anywhere near a relationship for the foreseeable future.
“I’m sorry.” As soon as I say it, his face falls, but he doesn’t get mad. He doesn’t even look upset. He just gives me a gentle smile and stands to go. “I can’t.”
“Hey, you’ve got nothing to apologize for.
” He slings on his jacket. There’s something desperate in my chest, something that wants to haul him back here, make him stay.
But that wouldn’t be fair, not when I can’t give him what he wants.
“There’s no pressure, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.
I’d better get going anyway, I’m doing a night shift later and I’ve got to feed Harv before I go. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
Then, he leaves, the bell echoing through the empty space.