Chapter 15 – Hannah
Chapter Fifteen
HANNAH
“ T here she is!” Aunt Carol’s voice booms across Knit Happens, the shop door clanging shut behind her.
She leaves her suitcase by the door and walks across the store with open arms, bangles sliding on her wrists, and her curly gray hair in a high bun.
“Carol.” I open my arms and step into her hug, embracing the smells of home. Her lavender body lotion. The palo santo incense that faintly clings to her clothes.
“How are you?” She steps back and studies me. “There are bags under your eyes.”
“There are?” I touch my face. “Oh. I guess I’m a little tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
She frowns. “Stress?”
“Yeah,” I lie, choosing not to share that it was actually the firefighter in my bed keeping me awake.
“Poor girl.” She whirls around, inspecting the shop. “It looks great in here. So colorful.”
“Thanks.” My chest swells with pride. Knit Happens has come a long way since it was just the empty storefront Carol came to check out while I was back in Portland having a killer flare.
“What can I do?” She claps her hands together.
“Nothing,” I laugh. “You just got here. Go to the house and take it easy. Unpack.”
She frowns slightly. “Well, what are you doing?”
“I’m about to set up for tonight’s crochet class.”
Her frown deepens. “Another class? Hannah, don’t you think that’s too much?”
“No.” I turn away from her and put up my laptop, which I was using for inventory, and try not to be annoyed.
The last week has been wonderfully good—my symptoms have been minimal, Michael and I have had lunch together every day during the week, and I have a new class, Beginner’s Crocheting, which starts tonight.
It’s been cloud nine for days, like almost nothing could bring me down at this point.
And I really, really want to keep that good feeling going.
“You could vacuum.” I turn back to her, knowing giving her a task will keep her happy. “That would be helpful.”
“Show me the way to the broom closet.” She nods confidently.
We get to work cleaning and setting up for class, catching each other up on the smaller details of life as we do so. While we talk at least a couple times a week, I haven’t told her much about the island. Mostly because I haven’t experienced it much.
“The bird sanctuary is supposed to be really nice,” I say as I fluff pillows.
Maybe Michael would like to go there sometime with me?
I smile to myself, recalling our parting kiss after lunch yesterday. We won’t get to see each other as often with my aunt visiting, but maybe that’s for the best. I don’t want to rush things and end up screwing it all up somehow.
“Do you have any flameless candles?” Carol asks. “That would add a nice touch.”
I’m about to answer when the front door opens again, and I look up in confusion. Beginner’s Crochet doesn’t start for another twenty minutes, and the sign is flipped to “Closed”—
I halt in the doorway, my stomach doing a somersault.
Because Michael and Katie stand on the rug, looking around. Michael seems slightly uncomfortable, his hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched up.
“Hey.” My heart races.
“Hi!” Katie bounces over to me. “My dad and I are here for the crochet class.”
I feel my eyebrows rise. “You are?” I ask Michael. “I didn’t know you were into crafting.”
He shrugs. “Katie told me crocheting is easier than knitting, and I need a new hobby. Working on the fire station kitchen is stressing me out.”
Katie nods sagely and turns to me. “And you said crafting is a great way of shutting your brain off and being mindful.”
“That’s right,” I murmur. “I did say that.”
Carol lightly clears her throat, reminding me that she’s even here.
“Michael, Katie,” I say, “this is my aunt, Carol.”
Carol advances on Michael, hand out and gaze sharp. “It’s so good to meet you.”
“You too,” he says warmly, shaking her hand. He turns to me. “I hope we’re not too early. We can go to the coffee shop…”
“No,” I nearly shout. “Please stay. And it’s great you both are here. Katie, do you want to go pick out your supplies for the class? They’re in the baskets over there.”
“I’ll come with you, Katie.” Carol’s love for kids emerges. “I need to pick out some for myself. What color do you think goes well with purple and blue?”
As soon as they’re on the other side of the room, Michael steps closer to me and lowers his voice. “Is this all right?”
It takes me a moment to answer, I’m so distracted by his close proximity. “Of course.”
“I just didn’t know how you would feel about Katie being…here…seeing us together.”
I blink at him. “That’s your call.”
His lips twitch into a soft smile. “She wanted to come to this class. Plus, I wanted to see you.”
“So, you’re not really interested in crocheting?” I chuckle, already knowing the answer.
He smirks. “Guilty as charged.”
I bite into my smile and put my hands in my jeans pockets so that I don’t reach out for him. My skin is itching to be pressed against his, and longing spirals through me. Though we’ve been able to steal moments together during the day, we haven’t had an evening together since that night at my house, and I’ve been aching for more.
“I found mine,” Katie calls across the room. “Dad, what color crochet hooks do you want?”
Our moment is over—for now.
Stepping away from Michael, I busy myself with prepping for the class, though thoughts of his lips and hands all over my body never leave my mind. It’s good that we each have our own lives, and he has Katie, of course, but sometimes I wish we could steal away to a private island and spend weeks naked in a hut, just the two of us.
The rest of the class filters in, bringing the group to a nice head count of eight. I go over the project that we’ll be working on, making sure I don’t look at Michael too much while I speak. Once everyone gets to work, I go around the room giving one-on-one guidance.
Katie is a natural, and the others are doing a pretty good job, too. Plus, there’s my aunt, who was the person who first taught me to crochet and knit, outshining everyone. She might as well be teaching the class herself. There’s only one person who’s struggling.
“Here. Can I demonstrate?” I crouch and hold out my hands.
“Please.” Michael hands me his crochet hooks, but instead, I place my hands over top of his to guide him.
The simple touch ignites a fire that roars in my core. I guide Michael’s hands through the chain stitch, but more than once, I feel his gaze on my face instead of the project.
“Does that clear it up?” Hard as it is, I let go of him.
He gazes at me. “Sure.”
I have to bite back a laugh. He’s clearly more interested in me than the project. But what about Katie? Even an eleven-year-old could notice this chemistry.
She’s distracted, though, chatting away with the town’s mayor while they crochet. Which makes me relax at least a little bit.
I’m not sure what I’m afraid of more—Katie not liking that her dad and I are dating, or her loving it and then being crushed if the two of us don’t work out.
And what are Michael’s thoughts on it? I can’t get a clear read. Does he want me to act like we’re nothing more than friends, or is he waiting for me to make the first move and show him some affection in front of his daughter?
It’s all so confusing. If only we’d had a briefing before the two of them showed up together.
Not that I’m unhappy to see them—I’m thrilled. Katie is awesome, and I’m completely smitten with her dad. It’s unanswered questions that I have a challenging time with.
The class ends too soon, but to my delight, Michael and Katie don’t leave with the others.
“Can we help you clean up?” Michael is already helping Carol stack the chairs and cushions, so it looks like he won’t take no for an answer anyway.
“Sure. Thank you.” I gather the supplies into their baskets.
“Can you two come to pizza with us?” Katie flops down on a cushion that her dad was just about to pick up. “Every week, we go to this pizza place on the mainland. They make cheeseburger pizza, and it’s sooo good. Get Stuffed won’t serve it, even though I’ve asked the owner, like, twelve times. I even put it in my last letter to Santa, but the most I ever got here was a cheese slice with pickles on it.” She sticks out her tongue.
“Oh, I don’t know…” I trail off and glance at my aunt.
She touches my shoulder. “I need to get to the house and unpack, but you should go.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I’ll come home with you.”
She squeezes her shoulder. “Go, Hannah. We’ll have plenty of time together later. Plus, I grabbed something at the airport. I’m not hungry.”
I cut my gaze to Michael. What does he want?
He’s watching me, though—trying to get a read—and I can’t take all the uncertainty anymore.
“I would love it if Hannah went,” Michael says, “but she might be too tired?—”
“Count me in,” I blurt out.
His mouth drops in shock, but a moment later, he’s smiling, eyes sparkling. “Great.”
Carol’s smile is soft. “Does this place have anything other than pizza?”
“Oh. Uh.” He frowns, clearly thinking. “Yeah. They do.”
“You should get a salad,” she tells me. “Or gluten-free, if they have it. The gluten could be sapping your energy.”
“Maybe,” I mumble. “Do you remember where the key is?”
“Yes.” She gives me a quick hug. “I’ll be fine. You go have fun. And remember, gluten!”
“Okay.” I give her a grateful smile, though a part of me wishes she were coming with. Doing something unexpected would feel better with her by my side.
She grabs her suitcase. “Good to meet you both,” she tells Michael and Katie.
“You too.” Michael opens the door for her, and I lean to watch her through the window as she gets into her rental car.
“Ready to go?” Katie asks, bouncing from foot to foot.
“Yep. Thanks for inviting me,” I say, surprised with myself for doing something that hasn’t been planned at least twenty-four hours in advance.
I don’t usually do anything spontaneous. I like to know what’s coming next, because that helps keep my fibro and anxiety in check. But maybe I’m changing.
Maybe I’m starting to feel safe around Michael.
Grabbing my coat, I cast him a long, soft look. He opens the door, letting Katie go first. As I step through, he grazes my waist with his hand, and pure ecstasy shoots through me.
Maybe I’m more than feeling safe around him, I realize as I lock the door and the three of us walk down the street. Maybe I’m starting to trust him.
Me. After years of trusting only a select few people—and certainly no men. But here I am, a flower opening up, turning its petals to the sun that is Michael Greer.