Chapter 14 Jade #2
Lottie ushers me into the small, single room store, where a large reclaimed wood table sits dead center, able to hold up to ten people.
The ceilings are low, the lighting warm and inviting.
Nailed into the right wall are rounded baskets housing bundles of yarn in every shade imaginable, and at the back of the room is a drink station holding no less than twenty different flavors of tea and a kettle that looks like it's seen better days. The whole place is utterly delightful
And standing next to it all is Tieran Stone, small cup of tea in his massive hand, talking to a sweet older woman who’s looking at him like he hangs the moon.
He suddenly stands a little straighter, and the air feels like it’s slowly being leeched from the room when he turns his head and spots me still standing near the door.
A smile breaks across his face, and his eyes flare like a lightning flash. It’s a problem that I can so easily tell the difference between his smiles. This one is sincere, a little relieved, and it makes my stomach flip.
“Come pick your pattern,” Lottie says from behind me, making me jump slightly.
She guides me to a small section of the shop just off the reception desk, a magazine organizer screwed into the wall holding laminated sheets of different stitching patterns to choose from. I quickly scan through them, opting for the coaster. It’s just a square; it can’t be that hard. Right?
After selecting colors from the baskets on the wall, I carry the bundles of yarn and choose where to sit.
The long table in the middle of the room only has a couple people already at it, each place setting marked with a crochet hook and scissors.
In my peripherals, I can see Tieran standing toward the other end of the table, chatting with his sister and the same older woman from before.
The head of the table closest to the entrance looks like a great spot, nice and far away from a certain six foot something rugby player who looks like a giant in this small shop. It also provides me with an unobstructed escape should I need it.
“Alright, you lot. Take your seats, and we’ll get started,” Lottie instructs.
I fiddle with my spools of yarn, pointedly not paying attention to the movements of any one person, zoning out so spectacularly as I stare at the vibrant green and pink I don’t notice when the seat on each side of me fills.
“Hello, dear,” a soft voice to my left says, warbled yet melodic.
Angling my head to put a face to the voice, I’m met with sharp brown eyes framed by the deep groove of wrinkles earned only by a life well lived.
“Hi,” I reply.
“I’m Mrs. Cline. I’ve not seen you ‘round here before.” Placing her accent is difficult. Welsh, maybe?
“Jade. First time here,” I say politely.
Mrs. Cline pulls her glasses out of the breast pocket on her quilted vest, places them on the bridge of her nose, and then gives me a slow once over. “Have you crocheted before then?”
Her tone feels slightly accusatory for some reason, but surely, I’m just paranoid because I’m in a new environment completely out of my wheelhouse.
“I don’t believe she has, Dorris.” The gravelly tone that rings out much too close to my right ear makes my spine straighten. “Jade’s not one for hobbies. Are you, Jade?”
When I look over at Tieran, I find him with his arm resting against the back of my chair and his body leaning slightly toward mine.
The smell of fresh laundry and warm skin reaches out to greet me, and I breathe it in involuntarily.
By all accounts, I would have pegged Tieran as a flashier man, one who has a trove of grooming products scattered about his bathroom, including no less than ten different colognes.
But every day, I’m more and more surprised by him.
His personality is bold, but I think behind the commanding frontman is someone much softer.
“Is this your girlfriend then?” Mrs. Cline asks with obvious derision.
“No!” I shout.
“No need to answer so fast, love.” He directs his attention to Dorris. “She wants me, but I keep shooting her down.”
Before I can irrefutably deny his claims, Lottie pulls our attention to start the beginning of our workshop. She takes us through a series of terms and maneuvers—mostly to benefit those of us new to crochet—before showing us how to do a slip knot and connect it into another stitch.
Twenty minutes goes by, and I’m getting more pissed off by the second at my inability to get the hang of this. My fury only quadruples when I look over and see Tieran expertly hooking, knotting, and stitching—his project already taking form while mine looks like a heap of twisted yarn.
I’ve stayed quiet the whole time, trying to concentrate and drown out the sound of a certain overstepping rugby player's voice every time he speaks.
Which is often, asking me mundane questions on a relentless loop.
My refusal to answer never discourages him from continuing his one sided conversation, though.
The only time I acknowledge him next to me is when Dorris is being critical of my technique and Tieran steps in, soothing her crankiness with a couple sweet words and a cheeky smile.
I can’t stop the words from vomiting out. “I knew you had a thing for old people.”
His resounding laugh is so loud, it almost draws a smile out of me, but I look over and see Dorris scowling my way, so I school my face quickly.
The evening passes by in a mild conversation between everyone at the table, intermixed with Lottie going around and giving people direction.
She, embarrassingly enough, has to stop by and help me a lot.
The fact I can’t get the hand of a simple knot and repetitive pattern is really irritating me—especially when Tieran is basically done with his.
“What are you even making?” I ask. “Is that underwear?”
“It’s a bandana for my dog.” He holds it up where I can see the strings he’s working on that will tie it together. “Who in the bloody hell wears crochet knickers?”
“I don’t know what you’re into…other than people over seventy. Tell me, did the Queen really get your heart racing?”
“What can I say? I’ve always liked powerful women.”
It’s a fight to keep the corner of my mouth from curving.
“Here.” He stands, coming up behind me.
“What are you doing?” He’s towering above me from where I sit, and I feel very small despite my above average height.
Tieran puts an arm on each side of me. “You’re getting confused because you’re holding your hands wrong. When you watch Charlie, you’re seeing the inverse. This is how you need to be holding the hook and looping the yarn.”
He cups each of his hands around mine, placing my fingers in the correct positions, showing me how to best loop the thick thread.
I’m trying my best to concentrate, but the warmth of his chest is soaking through my blouse, making it hard to focus.
“Now try it on your own.”
It takes me a couple more tries with his gentle instruction before I finally get one down on my own.
“Good. Give me another one.” His voice is low in my ear, and it makes shivers skate up and down my spine.
I complete another few sequences of stitches, and before I know it, I have a whole row.
A self-congratulatory smile crosses my face. “I did it.” I look up at him towering over me, a humorous expression on his face. ‘Why was that so hard? I’ve been less angry in a conference room full of men who tried to explain my field to me.”
“Now do another fifteen rows, and you’ll have finished your piece,” he says.
I look from him, down to my single row of knots, and then trail my eyes back up, glancing over his torso until I meet his eyes. “Do I have to?” I whisper.
He tosses his head back, neck elongating and showing off the tattoo just below his ear, and barks out a laugh. “No, we can go. Class is about over anyway.”
Tieran runs over to say goodbye to his sister, and I try not to get stuck on the we so casually thrown around.
A few minutes later, we’re walking down the street toward the tube station in silence. When we make it to the entrance, I turn to say goodbye.
“Let me drive you home,” Tieran blurts out.
“That’s not necessary.” I try my best to keep my voice stable—strong. I can’t let him see that my resolve is weakening with each quippy retort and knee-weakening smile.
“The tube really isn’t safe at night. You should let me drive you.”
“I spent a couple years in New York City. I’m pretty sure if I can handle a man called The L Train Lunatic chasing down extra terrestrials at the 8th Ave station, I can handle a university student named James who’s a little drunk.” I turn, ready to take the steps two at a time to get away.
Tieran’s hand shoots out and grabs mine, stopping my attempt to flee. “Please,” he hesitates, still holding onto my hand, “I know you can handle yourself but—please. Let me see you home safely.”
The earnest look in his cerulean eyes has me folding like a lawn chair embarrassingly fast. I vow to build a stronger backbone…starting tomorrow.
“Fine.”
Twenty minutes into the drive home, I finally break the bizarre silence.
“What kind of dog do you have?”
He seems surprised by the question but recovers quickly. “Blue Staffy. She’s my own tiny happy hippo.”
I want to throat punch him for becoming even more charming.
“What’s her name?”
“Pebble.”
“Pebble?”
“Yes.” He keeps his eyes on the road, following the instructions coming from the GPS on his phone and pulling up to park outside my building.
Facing him, I ask the question on the tip of my tongue, the one that threatens to undo me because it’s too goddamn endearing. “Your dog’s name is…Pebble Stone?”
“That’s right.”
I’ve never seen his face so serious, and I can’t help myself when laughter bubbles up my throat until I taste it on the tip of my tongue and it’s suddenly spilling out, loud and uncontrolled.
The fractured sound fills the small space and grates on my ears like rocks tumbling around in a polisher.
I’ve never liked my laugh, and that thought is what sobers me enough to get myself composed again.
When I hazard a glance over at Tieran, he has a soft smile on his face.
“What?”
“Do that again,” he says.
“Do what?”
He leans a little closer, and the air is sucked out of the car—the universe, and my head goes a little light. “Laugh—smile. London just lit up for a few seconds in the wake of that smile.”
My breath catches a little as he inches a little closer. My eyes dart down to his mouth, full and forbidden, and I panic, because I don’t know how to stop this. It feels like a meteor coming at me full tilt, spinning and spinning, ready to rain down destruction on everything I am.
Our mouths are inches away now, and I can smell the spearmint tea on his breath.
Stop this, Jade, the angel on my shoulder demands. I lean forward just barely, enough to give a signal.
His hand sneaks up under my chin, knuckles tilting my face up to meet his and—
A riot of laughter sounds outside the car, scaring me out of my skin and making me jump away and out of his hold.
“I, uh…I have to go. Thank you for the ride.”
I hop out of the car without letting him reply, run upstairs to my flat, and walk straight into my kitchen, where I pour myself a glass of water I drink in one long gulp.
Too close—that was too close to compromising everything. And the scariest part was, I couldn’t find it in me to care.