39. Trinity
Trinity
“What am I going to do?” I drained the last sip from the ice-filled tumbler. Macy had set a giant gin and tonic down in front of me the second I’d walked into the apartment.
“It can’t be as bad as you think.” Macy cocked a hip against the table. “You’ve still got inventory, right? It’s not like you’re going to open the doors and have nothing to sell people.”
I cradled my head in my hands. “But the pattern I created is done in the merino. I’ve got over a hundred orders of the kits that I’m not going to be able to pass out.”
“Can’t you just toss another kind of yarn in there?”
As much as I loved my bestie, Macy didn’t get it.
“I can try to find a substitute, but I’d probably have to rework the whole pattern.
It would be like”—I struggled to come up with a comparable crisis that Macy might be able to understand—“like trying to make a margarita with rum instead of tequila.”
Macy’s lips screwed into a frown. “Wouldn’t that be more like a daiquiri?”
“Exactly. So you’d have to adjust the ingredients. You couldn’t do a straight sub of rum for the tequila without making some changes, right?” There, now my roomie would understand the predicament Oliver had left me in.
“But as long as you had the fruit, you’d still have a hell of a good drink.
I mean, who cares if you’re getting tequila or rum?
I’d be happy with either.” Brow furrowed, Macy reached for my glass.
“And now you’ve got me craving some sort of frozen fruity drink. Should I make margaritas or daiquiris?”
I groaned. So much for Macy understanding the simple principles of yarn substitution. “I suppose I can rework the pattern and use a substitute yarn. But I was really hoping to work with something people couldn’t just grab from their local craft store.”
“Have you talked to him?”
Him had to mean Oliver. Otherwise known as “he who should never be named again.” I’d ignored all of his calls over the past several days and not bothered to check my voice mails or texts. “No. And I don’t want to.”
“Do you think, maybe, just maybe, you’re being a little harsh?” Macy winced as the question left her mouth, probably bracing herself for an outburst.
“Harsh?” I blinked. Hard. “Are you kidding me? The man tried to ruin me. All the lies…” I grappled for words that might convey the deep hurt Oliver had caused.
“I can’t believe a single word he said.” None of them.
Finally, when I’d thought I’d found a reason to stay put for a while and someone who was worth letting in. He’d ruined me.
Macy put her elbows on the counter separating her from me and leaned closer. “Maybe think about giving him a chance to explain.”
“Explain what? How he tried to run me out of business so he could save his own ass? How he lied to me about everything? How he refused my shipment of yarn to ruin my grand opening?” I clamped my arms over my middle and turned away.
Let Macy feel sorry for the man. But I didn’t have a soft spot left for Oliver Martin. Not a single one.