“Ummm.” I sip my wine, trying to come up with anything else to say. “Someone booked me a crochet workshop, but I don’t think I’m going to go.”
Aanya’s eyes narrow on me, all seeing. “You don’t have any other friends.”
“Rude.” I look anywhere but at her.
“Whobooked the class Jade?”
I roll my eyes as if it’s not a big deal when I am, in fact, actively shitting myself. “You know who.”
Nowshe’sthe one squealing. “Christ, why’s that so hot?”
“Don’t enable this!”
“I can’t help it. Much like me, I think he’s good for you. And you’re going to that workshop even if I have to drop you off and make sure you go inside.”
“It’s… I—I can’t go, Aanya. It’ll send the wrong message.”
“What, that you want to shag him? You already have, and I know you want to do it again.” She raises her brow, daring me to disagree.
“Go with me. You can be the buffer.”
“I’m no one’s third,” her words trail off as she thinks, “except for that one couple from Shoreditch, but that got messy quite quickly.”
“So that’s a no?”
“No can do, mate. I’ve got a date with Myles tonight, and I’m horny enough for him without you and Tieran’s forbidden pheromones intermingling.”
“He might not even come. The booking was just for me,” I point out as Aanya stands.
“He’ll be there.” She starts perusing the rows of clothes, all neutral tones. “Now—what outfit says I’m here because I want you to tiemeup in knots?”
A second later, she’s chuckling as she dodges the shoe I send flying through the air.
The cobbled streets of Camden are packed as I dodge tourists and locals alike in search of my destination. It takes passing rows of vibrant buildings with giant 3D objects protruding from them, grunge tattoo shops, and at least a dozen souvenir shops hocking Stay Calm and Carry Onmerch or masks with Prince William’s face on it before Get Knotty comes into focus. It was almost easy to miss, with its demure sandwich board sign sitting on the sidewalk, showcasing a ball of yarn speared with two crochet needles crossed like swords, and an arrow pointing to the small set of stairs showing visitors to the basement level shop.
Every step is one step closer to an irreversible decision. With every thud down, my rational mind screams at me.Thud, turn around now.Thud, you’re being an idiot.Thud, it’s your funeral.
I push the hot pink door open, and a bell rings as the scent of patchouli and regret drifts out to meet me. The urge to cut and run before anyone notices me is strong, but before I can even consider leaving, a British Shorthair cat darts out of the crack I left in the entry.
“Fuck,” I say trying my bestpspspspsspsto call the feline back while it looks at me from the top step of the stairs, tail swishing patronizingly.
“Yarnold! For fuck’s sake, get back inside!”
I turn back around to find Lottie shaking a bag of treats.Yarnoldtrots gently back down the stairs, brushes against my legs, and slips back inside as if he didn’t just make my heart stop.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” I ask, somewhat surprised to see her, even though she looks right at home in this neighborhood, in her lime green checkered pants and cropped band tee.
“Tieran didn’t tell you?” I shake my head. Did he cancel on me and send his sister in his stead? Admittedly, that would be the best outcome, but I can’t help but feel a kernel of disappointment. I shove it away quickly. That’s exactly what I want to happen. The more distance between us, the easier it will be to not get swept up in this off-limits attraction. “I’m the instructor of the class! Let’s head in; we’re about to start.”
Lottie ushers me into the small, single room store, where a large reclaimed wood table sits dead center, able tohold up to ten people. The ceilings are low, the lighting warm and inviting. Nailed into the right wall are rounded baskets housing bundles of yarn in every shade imaginable, and at the back of the room is a drink station holding no less than twenty different flavors of tea and a kettle that looks like it's seen better days. The whole place is utterly delightful
And standing next to it all is Tieran Stone, small cup of tea in his massive hand, talking to a sweet older woman who’s looking at him like he hangs the moon.
He suddenly stands a little straighter, and the air feels like it’s slowly being leeched from the room when he turns his head and spots me still standing near the door.
A smile breaks across his face, and his eyes flare like a lightning flash. It’s a problem that I can so easily tell the difference between his smiles. This one is sincere, a little relieved, and it makes my stomach flip.
“Come pick your pattern,” Lottie says from behind me, making me jump slightly.
