Page 42 of One Night Stand After Another
He winked. “For me, too.”
A warm feeling burst in her chest, and she leaned to kiss him. Her gentle kiss of gratitude went hot and deep, fast, as their connection snapped into place. She gasped against his lips, as always, stunned by how much she felt. He provoked an instant response in her body, but after the last few days together, he also made her heart smile.
She turned back to the window to hide that knowledge from him, not ready to share her thoughts. Not yet. She watched the world fly by, letting its beauty enter her soul. She’d remember this later, use it for inspiration.
An idea tickled her.
She grabbed her phone, shocked she had wifi. Airplanes were amazing these days. Zane was still watching her, but not in a creepy way, more in a smug, sleepy,I just rocked your world and you liked itkind of way, which was totally true. He’d folded the blankets and put them under his seat, but his head was still on the pillow, and he looked like he might fall asleep. Tenderness stirred inside her, mixed with excitement, and—she finally admitted it to herself—hope.
She logged in to her blog and typed a quick post.
Mountain Man Socks
You can’t make him a sweater, ladies. You know you can’t. It’s too soon. You don’t want to jinx it, or maybe you know it just isn’t going to happen, and yet…you want to give him a little something to let him know how much you appreciate his time and attention…and maybe a few other things. *Wink*
Socks.
Totally useful. Easy to cover up if a few stitches go sideways. And if you happen to put your heart into them, he’ll never know where to look.
She sent it flying out into the ether and the world and took another long look out the window. In the far, far distance, she could almost—maybe—see mountains. Her cropped cardigan was nearly finished, but she hadn’t figured out how to end it yet. She tucked it into her bag and found Freddie’s yarn by feel. It was the softest one. Luckily, she had the perfect circular needles to make a pair of socks. She grabbed them and cast on.
Chapter Fourteen
“I never asked what job you’re interviewing for in Los Angeles,” Zane said. “Chief designer? Art director? Head yarn wrangler?” They’d caught an Uber at the airport and were heading for her class at the café.
“Accountant.”
“What?” His entire being rejected that for her.No way.“You’re an artist.”
She shook her head. “I told you I went to business school. Crocheting is a hobby. I enjoy it, but it’s no way to make a living.”
She believed that. It was clear in her flat expression. The calm acceptance in her eyes.
“You like numbers?” he pressed, bewildered.
“I don’t hate them. I like the way they make sense. There’s a simplicity to the way they balance, kind of like the way my stitches line up.”
Her words were glib, practiced, like she’d said them before, which she must have if she’d convinced herself being an accountant—instead of an artist—was her calling.
Their driver cleared his throat, and Zane realized they were parked in front of a charming two-story brick and siding building with lunch specials chalked on windows that displayed huge baskets overflowing with yarn. Hanging baskets of plants welcomed guests up the stairs to the porch. Murals covered a good portion of the red brick. Somehow, he knew the inside would be unique, creative, and probably profitable, if the number of customers streaming in and out of the bright-purple door was any indication.
Clara got out of the car.
“Thanks,” Zane said to the driver. “I’m heading inside for a bit, but then I’ll need a lift to the Monaco. Can I buy you lunch and convince you to stick around?”
The driver’s eyes lit up. “I’m a big fan of the Slip Stitch Sandwich.”
“I’ll send it right out,” Zane said. “I won’t be long.”
The driver handed him a card with a QR code on it. “For the lady. This takes you straight to my cell.”
Zane scooted across the back seat and followed Clara out of the sedan.
Crocheting was a hobby? He was certain she’d said she was going to do something with her designs. He’d thought she was going to sell them to the Fiber King. How had he misunderstood so completely?
He was hot on her heels as she stepped into the café.
“Wow,” she said, halting.
