Chapter 3 – Hannah
Chapter Three
HANNAH
M y phone beeps on the counter, and I yip in surprise.
Usually, the sound of a text wouldn’t make me so jumpy, but today is different. Today is the day . I’m going on my first date in years.
The mere thought makes me dizzy. I’m trying not to spiral and fixate on all the ways tonight can go wrong, but it’s hard. I don’t even know this guy, and yet it feels like so much is riding on tonight.
Checking my phone, I find that the text, predictably, is from Flick.
You should wear that black dress you crocheted. It’s sexy but won’t look like you’re trying too hard.
Sighing, I put down the phone. I still have to do the books, and I have no time to run back home before seven. So it’s jeans and the mahogany blouse that I already have on.
At least I brought some makeup so I can touch up ahead of time.
It’s not the first text Flick has sent about tonight’s date. She’s been an endless well of advice, and while I appreciate it, the input is also starting to make me stressed. I know I should ask her to stop, but she’s just trying to help and I don’t want to hurt her feelings. That would be stressful, too, and make things awkward between us.
My phone starts ringing. Assuming it’s Flick calling with some more advice, I huff and pick it up—but it’s my aunt Carol.
“Hey,” I answer, relief flooding me at the opportunity to speak with her.
“Hey, sweetie. How are you? How was work today?”
“Good.” I take a seat on the stool behind the counter. “Things are busy.”
“That’s wonderful.” The familiar sounds of home drift over the line, all the way from Oregon—the gentle gurgling of water as she fills the teakettle, her cat Einstein meowing for attention in the background.
It’s almost enough to make me miss Portland, but not quite. As much good that happened there, there were also a lot of heavy times. In Maine, I’ve shed a lot of the past. People don’t know me here, and, in a way, I don’t know myself either. It’s been easier to take off the old identity and put on a new one, that of a knitting store owner who lives in a historic cottage and keeps to herself.
“Have you made any more friends?” Carol asks.
“Actually, yeah.” I bite into a smile. “You know that group I was thinking about starting? For people with chronic pain? Flick and I held the first one the other night, and two women came.”
“Oh Hannah, that’s lovely.”
“And…I have a date. Tonight.”
Silence.
“Really?” Carol asks.
“Yeah.” Why did it take her so long to respond?
“With whom? Someone on the island? How did you meet him? Send me a picture. Or his Facebook. He’s on Facebook, right? It’s a red flag if someone isn’t, you know. Or if they have more than one Facebook profile. Gail Douglas’s cousin?—”
“Carol,” I cut in. “It’s a blind date. I don’t know anything about him.”
“You… Oh.” I can nearly feel her worry, the source of both her silence and then sudden rapid-fire interrogation.
“Don’t worry. We’re going somewhere public. It’ll be fine.”
“I know. You’re a smart girl, Hannah.” Another loaded silence. “Do you still have that pepper spray I gave you? Keep it on your keychain.”
“I will,” I say, though it’s so old, it probably doesn’t even work anymore. “I need to go. He’ll be here soon.”
“Okay. You have a good night. Love you.”
“I love you too. Bye.” Hanging up, I let out a long sigh.
Carol tries to hide her worry about me, but every once in a while, something pushes it to the surface and it becomes glaringly obvious. And as much as I love my aunt, the woman who raised me, the only family I have, and I crave her company…sometimes it’s a bit much. I’m already nervous enough as it is, which is why it’s best we continue this conversation after the date.
That way, if there’s anything to worry about, we can do it in retrospect and not from a place of anxiety.
Refocusing, I pivot to the shop’s books, the last task on my list for the day. After crunching the numbers, I do it a second time and get the same result. One that makes me smile.
Knit Happens is doing even better than I thought. I’m beyond breaking even. I’m actually thriving.
Not too shabby, considering many businesses fail in their first year, and others only make just enough to keep going. But look at me, living the dream.
Still grinning, I close my bookkeeping software and open my email for one last check. The message at the top of my inbox makes my stomach do a flip.
Nerves racing through me, I open the message. It’s a reminder about the deadline to apply for private craft funding. I have two more weeks to get my submission together. After that, fingers crossed, maybe I’ll receive the grant that will let me hire employees so that I can teach crafting classes out of the store.
I had meant to at least start my application by now, but between the store and limiting my tasks so I don’t have flare-ups, I just haven’t had any free time.
Quickly, I close the tab and shut my computer. I have enough to worry about tonight, and Michael will be here in less than twenty minutes.
Hurrying to the bathroom, I pull out my makeup bag and start touch-ups. My hair is a little limp, but I didn’t bring anything to freshen it up so I settle on a small French braid on either side. My shoulder-length blonde hair is a little short for the look, but it ends up pretty cute.
Add some mascara and powder, and I’m starting to feel good about myself. Pulling out my nude pink lipstick, I start to apply a fresh coat, but a knock on the front door makes me freeze.
Lipstick to my mouth, I stare at myself in the mirror. He’s here!
Just like that, all my nerves return. Quickly, I finish my lipstick, stow my makeup bag under the sink, and head to the front of the store.
At the sight of the man on the other side of the glass door, I freeze. Ho-lee…
“Shit,” I breathe.
Based on what Maya said, I’d expected Michael to be attractive, but what’s standing in front of me is a whole different level of hot. Tall and muscular, with a square jaw and thick, dark brown hair, he looks like he just walked out of a magazine.
Are people this attractive even allowed out in society? Shouldn’t they be kept somewhere behind glass display cases? A man like this probably causes car accidents every time he walks down the street. Because what driver, with this in front of them, could ever be expected to keep their eyes on the road?
My whole body buzzing, I walk to the door. When he catches sight of me, his eyes widen slightly, and then…he smiles.
Genuinely smiles, like he’s happy to see me.
My heart tittering, I unlock and open the door. “Hi. Michael?”
“Yes. Michael Greer.” He extends his hand.
“Hannah Lewis.” I slide my palm into his, and electricity crackles across my skin and up my arm as we shake.
“Hannah.” He says my name like it’s poetry, and the deep timbre of his voice makes it all the better. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You too.” Realizing I’m still holding on to his hand, I swiftly drop it. “I just need to finish closing up. It should only take a few minutes. Would you like to come in?”
“Sure.”
I’m intensely aware of his close presence as he follows me into the shop. “Make yourself comfortable.”
He lingers by the wall. “That’s a lot of yarn by the radiator. That could be a fire hazard.”
“O…kay.” I grab my purse, not sure how to react to such a random comment.
His face turns pink. “Sorry. Bad habit. I’m a firefighter.”
“You are?” So then maybe he walked out of a calendar rather than off a magazine cover.
“I’m the fire chief here.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets, and I realize for the first time that he’s probably as nervous as I am.
Which, ironically, makes me less nervous.
“That’s cool. Stopping fires is important.”
Oh God. Did I really just say that? I sound like a second grader presenting her report on what firefighters do.
He chuckles. “I think so.”
My face hot, I turn away from him, using the excuse of switching off most of the lights. “Ready to go?”
“Absolutely.”
He holds the door open for me, and we head out into the chilled dusk. Understanding that we’re both coming from the same place—sheer nervousness—is helping me breathe easier, even despite the awkward comment I just made about his job. We might be strangers, but at least we have one thing in common.
“Jenny says we should have pizza.” Michael starts slowly walking down the sidewalk. “Apparently it’s the perfect first-date meal.”
“Oh, is it now?” I laugh.
“Yeah,” he chuckles.
“Jenny has a lot of opinions, doesn’t she?”
“That’s one way to put it.” He grins down at me, and I’m struck by how tall he is, how broad his shoulders are. I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in years, and we’ve known each other all of five minutes.
“Michael!” A man with thinning gray hair approaches. “Heard you’re picking up your dad’s old project, renovating the firehouse kitchen.”
“Er, uh, yes. I am.” Michael stiffens slightly.
“Your dad sure would have liked to see those windows replaced.”
Michael nods. “I might get to them. There are some other priorities first.”
The man shakes his head. “Your dad knew what he was talking about.”
Michael’s jaw tightens, but he smiles through it. “Thanks, Lou. I’ll keep that in mind. See you later.”
We start walking again, but we haven’t gone even a few steps before Mrs. Krohn comes out the front door of her realty office. “Well, hey there! How are the renovations going on the firehouse?”
It’s like that for the rest of the two-block walk to Get Stuffed. It seems everyone in town has heard about Michael renovating the firehouse kitchen. Everyone but me, that is.
Michael is kind to all of them, but underneath his soft voice and smile I can sense the tension. I don’t know whether anyone else can see it, but he’s eager to finish each conversation.
And I would really like my date to myself.
“People are really curious about what you’re doing,” I comment as we finally reach the pizza place.
He sighs. “That’s one way to put it. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. Don’t be.”
He holds his arm outstretched toward the door. “Shall we?”
It’s such a romantic, formal gesture for such a casual setting, that I have to laugh.
“What?” He asks.
“Nothing. I just… I like that we did this. I was nervous.”
He drops his arm. “We haven’t even started dinner yet.”
My face warms. Oh no. Did I just put my foot in my mouth? Do I look too eager?
“I—” I try to recover, but Michael is going on.
“But I’m glad, too.” His bright hazel eyes drink me in.
A giddiness wells in my chest, and I accept his offer to hold the door open for me. As we walk into the restaurant, I feel the kind of excitement that I haven’t had since I decided to open Knit Happens.
This date isn’t at all what I expected, but maybe it’s exactly what I need.