Page 44 of One Night Stand After Another
Clearly, there must be a reason he wasn’t getting a sweater. From context, it seemed like a bad juju thing, and a quick search confirmed his hunch of a sweater curse. There were all kinds of reasons not to knit your significant other a sweater, starting with “the relationship might end before the sweater is finished” all the way to “he won’t appreciate the work you put into it, and you’ll get annoyed and break up with him.” The fact that she had refused added to his certainty and gave him hope that she might want something more with him. Otherwise, she’d make him a sweater and kick him to the curb, right?
He scanned the numerous comments on the post, thinking about what she’d said on the plane. He’d assumed she was going to do something creative for the Fiber King, and it seemed like a waste of talent for her to just crunch numbers for the rest of her life.
A hobby? Hell no.
Did she read her own website? Passion and desire were woven into every word. Her copy was brilliant. She had followers begging for her creations in every post, and why would she give them the pattern if she could sell them the sweater made with disgustingly expensive yarn? Heck, she could offer each sweater in different yarns at different prices. Not everyone wanted to crochet their own damn sweater. Just like they didn’t want to cook their own food. That’s why he was in business. Sometimes people wanted immediate gratification, the pleasure of having something without the actual work. The dream without the effort. The emotion without the frustration. That’s what she was really selling: emotion.
Priceless.
Kind of like the way he was beginning to feel about her.
He’d never told anyone but Jack about his need to prove himself. Telling Jack had required an obscene amount of bourbon and had been accompanied by regret and a wicked hangover. Telling Clara had felt like shedding a weight that had been holding him down for a lifetime. Connecting after all this time felt like a gift, especially when he was in a unique position to help her do something amazing with her talent. He wanted to share more with her than great sex; he wanted to blend his love of food with her passion for yarn, and create something incredible together.
He texted Roman.
Zane:Got time for a few questions?
His phone rang a moment later.
“Hey, Roman, thanks for your time.”
“No problem, what’s up?”
“Listen—” Zane launched into an abbreviated description of their trip, ending with the café today. “So, do you know if there are any knitting or crocheting enthusiasts in Venice Beach?” he ended.
Roman chuckled. “I’d say there’s some of every kind of person around here. It’s an eclectic area, and we’re used to driving to get what we want. My motto is ‘make something good and promote the hell out of it,’ but I’ve got demographics on the area. I’ll shoot them to your email.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Still on schedule?” Roman asked.
“Ahead of schedule, actually. Can your broker meet Thursday afternoon?”
“I’m sure he’ll be delighted. I’ll set it up and text you the details.”
“Thanks, Roman. See you soon.”
Zane ended the call and tugged his laptop out from his carry-on bag.
Did Clara not realize engagement like she had on her website could be turned into money? She had to—she had a business degree. Then what was holding her back?
He was determined to figure it out, and not just because he wanted a damn sweater.
…
Clara had watched countless YouTube videos and had found plenty of ideas and patterns online, but she’d never taken a class.
After Zane left, she’d almost skipped out, too intimidated to pretend she was a professional. However, the two women they’d followed up the stairs had opened their yarn bags and pulled out gorgeous, half-finished blankets, and she hadn’t been able to keep her admiration to herself. With their encouragement, she’d shown them the cardigan she’d almost finished on the plane and shared her mixed feelings about what to do for the hem. Within minutes, Mary Elise—the silver-coiffed grandmother of six—had shown her a flirty stitch that added a hip, unstructured finish to the garment.
She’d slipped the sweater over her shoulders, already imagining wearing it and nothing else for Zane later that night. Although she thoroughly enjoyed his enthusiasm for activities south of the border, her arms always turned into icicles. She didn’t want to ruin the mood by covering up with a blanket, but the cropped cardigan would be perfect.
The actual class had been less formal than she’d expected, really more of a show-and-tell with brainstorming for fiber artists deeply committed to their projects, but she’d enjoyed the lively discussion immensely. She even found the courage to join in at the end, telling everyone about her visit to the alpaca farm in Ohio and her half-finished Freddie socks.
“You’re making socks? Out of alpaca?” Mary Elise looked appalled.
Clara nodded, feeling her lips curve in a small smile. “He’s a special guy, but…” She let the unspoken words hang in the air.
“Ah.”
