“Oooh, Hollywood, huh? That’s a long drive, ain’t it?”
“Kinda. Cole wanted to live here to be close to his work, and he makes the money, so here I am. I listen to audiobooks and podcasts on my drive,” she said, her hands deftly weaving the yarn. It was mesmerizing to watch. The knitting needles made a soft clicking sound as she worked the fabric in her fingers.
“Will you make me a hat?” I asked.
A small smile curved her lips. She had a really cute smile, but she’d never shown me her teeth. Just little smirks. “Why, are you cold?”
“I mean, I get cold at work.”
She scrunched her brow. “Wait, is your sport hockey?”
“Now she gets it. I honestly thought you knew since you called me Jockey. Or did you think I race horses?”
“Shut up,” she said. “I thought hockey players were bigger.”
“Ouch!”
“No, I mean, you’re like, huge on the ice.”
“Those are pads, Jessie. So we don’t die every game.”
“Huh. Never really thought about it, I guess. I didn’t grow up with hockey.”
“Oh yeah? Where are you from?” I asked.
“West Virginia.”
“Seriously? My friend’s fiancée is, too. The French guy you talked to last night. Maybe you know each other.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, maybe in my state of a million people, I know this one person.”
She had me there. “Fair. My mom’s from Eastern Kentucky, though, so I know how tight-knit it all is.”
“So you’re a blood Appalachian, huh? Where did you grow up?”
“Detroit.”
“Ah yes. Hence the hockey.”
“Hence the hockey,” I agreed. I loved getting to know more about her, but I was still haunted by what Cole had been doing earlier that day. “So, how long have you and Cole been together?”
“Oh, a while. Since I was in college in Pittsburgh. He was all cool and graduated, a young professional. First we went to New York together. I interned with some fashion houses. Now I’m doing TV since he wanted to be out here.”
Because I was feeling like an armchair psychologist, I dug into that. “Do you want to be out here?”
“I can’t argue with seventy degrees almost year-round,” she said.
“But do you like that?”
Jessie stiffened. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“No, but I want to know you.”
She rolled her eyes and stood, gathering her yarn and beer bottle. “Goodnight, Ben.”
“Wait, wait, I’m not trying to be creepy. I swear. Stay? I like talking to you.”
She looked at me sidelong. “One more chance.”
