Before she can finish, an espresso machine hisses, and it doesn’t sound good.
Joni swivels around and then groans in despair. “No, no, no, no, no. You turned it the wrong way,” she says to an employee, then rushes over to fix the espresso mishap. As she’s working on the machine, she waves us off. “Thanks for stopping by. That was really kind of you.”
When we exit, I replay her words as worry wiggles through me. “What do you think she heard?”
He shrugs. “No idea. Probably nothing.”
“I hope so.”
We pop into a few more shops, saving the toughest one for the end.
It’s knitting club day again at the yarn shop, according to the poster promoting their meeting times in the window. My stomach flips upside down like a pirate ship ride as I open the door. The ladies in the knitting club are perched on comfy sofas in the back of the shop, needles clicking. One works on a sparkly white beanie, the other a red-and-green sweater, and another a pair of mittens. One of them says something about needing some magenta chenille yarn for a Christmas scarf she wants to make, which is impossible to find, while another says she plans to wear her Christmas sweater to an upcoming punk rock show. Okaaaaay.
But the conversation stops when my shoes creak on the floorboards. Their eyes are filled with question marks as they stare at me as I stride past rows of yarn. A woman behind the counter gives me a curious stare.
I square my shoulders. “Hi, I’m Mabel, and this is Corbin,” I say, motioning to the man next to me. He gives a quick hello.
“We know him,” one of the ladies says coolly as she finishes a row in the mittens. I think she’s the one who said it would only be successful for a few months because of him.
“We’re opening a bakery tomorrow,” I continue.
“We just wanted to stop by and say hi and offer you a little gift,” he puts in.
Another woman arches her brow, her tone full of skepticism. “So you’re giving out free things? To the people of Cozy Valley?”
“We are, just to say hi. And if you want to stop by the bakery when it opens, we’d love to see you,” I add.
The lady making the beanie snorts. “What a great way to run a business. Giving everything away for free,” she says derisively.
Ouch. Why did I think this would be a good idea?
The woman behind the counter taps her needle against it. “Now, Dottie, take the cookies. It’s a gift, you old bird.”
Dottie, the woman working on the white fluffy hat, huffs, sets down her knitting and motions to me with a wrinkled finger. Corbin says nothing—just shoots me a look that says he’s got my back if I need him.
But I can do this. Even with nerves chasing me, I stride across their knitting circle and hand Dottie the box. “I hope you enjoy them,” I say.
“So you can trick us into coming in and buying more things,” she mutters.
I try to untangle her response, but then decide to say, “I’m just trying to be a good neighbor.”
Dottie stares at the box quizzically.
The lady making the sweater taps the box with her needles and admonishes her friend, saying, “Just open it. Maybe it’s good.”
Dottie hums doubtfully but takes a bite of a classic chocolate chip cookie. The corner of her lips quirks up. Her eyes dance. And she fights off a food moan.
I smother a grin. Yep, I’d recognize a food moan anywhere, even as she stifles it. I steal a glance at Corbin, who’s watching the scene with admiration.
Dottie mumbles around the crumbs. “It’s okay,” she says, begrudgingly.
“I’ll take that,” I say with a smile.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” she snaps.
“I know, but it wasn’t an insult either,” I say, with a happy shrug.
Corbin waves. “Goodbye, ladies. See you all tomorrow, maybe.”
