Purls of Wisdom

by Morgan James

  “Hm, yes I can see how being called Grandma in public when you’re a six-foot man would be embarrassing.”

  Noah shoved his shoulder lightly and laughed. “Shut up, like you’ve never had any embarrassing nicknames.”

  “If I did, I’m not telling you.”

  “Fair is fair, I told you mine!”

  “Yes, but we made no pact, and I see no reason to share and share alike. After all, Grandma isn’t that embarrassing. It could have been much worse.”

  “Like what, for example?” Noah smirked.

  “Like… I’m not falling for that extremely weak attempt at manipulation. And I’m never telling you the nickname that my younger sister gave me.”

  Noah lifted a brow.

  “Sibling nicknames are, by definition, the worst nicknames,” Finley confided.

  “I see.” Noah’s tone was dry and he clearly didn’t, but Finley was willing to forgive him, since Noah was obviously an only child.

  “It was a joint project actually,” Finley found himself admitting, “between Violet and Hazel.” Noah tilted his head. “We grew up together, the three of us. Inseparable throughout middle and high school.” Finley couldn’t help but smile at the memories—creating mischief, supporting each other, sleepovers, and gossip sessions.

  Noah had stopped knitting and stared at him for a long moment, his face inscrutable. “Sounds like you have good memories.”

  Finley nodded. “The best. The country club set aren’t known for their warmth, so Hazel, Violet, and I did our best to provide that for each other.”

  Noah’s expression softened. “What kind of trouble did you get up to, because I’m sure you did.”

  A memory caught him off guard, and Finley laughed. “Oh yes. We liked to go on adventures, and one year we became obsessed with the idea of leaving school campus for lunch. Which was allowed for the senior students, but we were a tad young at the time.” That earned him a raised eyebrow. “We were eleven and twelve—my sister is a year younger—and so we decided the best option was to sneak out. We probably would have been better off forging a note, to be honest. Fancy private school, parents have a tendency to send notes and drivers to pick children up for appointments. But we didn’t think of that. So we just left—very dramatically, though, very James Bond.”

  “Successfully?”

  “Oh yes, got all the way off campus without being seen. And all the way to our chosen restaurant. Unfortunately we’d rather underestimated the walk time there and back, or how long food takes to cook.”

  “Late coming back, were you?”

  Finley hummed the affirmative, enjoying the way Noah’s eyes danced and the quirk of his lips. “Very, about half an hour. When it was discovered that we weren’t in class, our parents were called. Father isn’t very prone to dramatics, but—” Finley laughed. “Hazel’s mom got him riled, so we get back to school to find them yelling, and the headmaster looking like he might swoon.”

  Noah shook his head.

  “Don’t judge me,” Finley said with a smile. “I might have felt guilty about worrying them, but it turned out Violet had bragged about our plans to some fellow students, so they knew we’d wandered off of our own free will, and it’s not like our parents didn’t let us do so ourselves on a regular basis.” Finley and Violet hadn’t exactly been left to fend for themselves, what with the well-paid staff, but it was near enough.

  “Still, no guilt at all about making them worry?”

  “Maybe a little.” Finley smiled. “Though not as much as I suspect you felt during your capers.”

  Noah looked down at his fingers flying over his needles. “Hm.”

  “I’ve caught you out fair and square! Your turn to share a story,” Finley teased, hoping the light tone would give Noah an out if he wanted one.

  After a long pause, during which Noah wrinkled his nose a lot and Finley sweated, Noah finally said, “I felt more guilt about it as an adult, after joining the Army. Not the nicest thing to do as an only child.” He gave a self-deprecating smirk. “But I didn’t feel much guilt the summer I spent an entire day in Central Park. A visiting circus spent a day there, sort of busking, trying to drum up business. A friend of mine called to tell me about it, and I booked it from the house. I did yell out, but no one heard.” He gave an uncomfortable shrug. “I felt bad that night, after I got home and found them so distraught, but I was also flying pretty high. I’d learned how to juggle and some card tricks.”

  Finley didn’t even know where to start, but he opted to focus on the last. He doubted Noah wanted to talk about his guilt. “Noah Miller, are you telling me that you can juggle and do card tricks, and this is the first time it’s come up in the two weeks we’ve known each other?” Finley placed a hand to his chest, affecting his mother’s genteel upper-class outrage. “Well, I never!”

  Both eyebrows flew up. “Is this a request for a magic show?”

  “If you can provide one? Yes, yes, it is.”

  Noah shook his head, but he also tucked his knitting under the counter and stood up. Finley sat in the exit of the L-shaped counter, and Noah once again moved gracefully around him. But the cramped space made contact inevitable. Finley shivered at the brush of a hand. Seemingly unaware of the turmoil he created in Finley, Noah wandered off.

  Eager, Finley put away his own work. The cowl was almost done anyway. After a couple of false starts, his third effort was looking rather nice if he did say so himself. And thanks to his increased speed and his selfless willingness to knit every evening while hiding in his bedroom so Hazel wouldn’t see, Finley would finish before Christmas next week without any trouble.

  Noah returned carrying three balls of yarn. For them to be in ball form rather than skeins was, Finley had learned, unusual for a knitting shop. But he didn’t have time to question it. Noah squared his stance, arched a brow at Finley, then began to juggle.

  The experience of watching Noah’s large hands manipulate balls of yarn and deftly toss and catch them was more arousing than Finley could have expected. Noah threw one higher than the rest, then passed it behind his back. Finley locked eyes on Noah’s face, positive he must need great concentration, but Noah didn’t have his eye on the ball. No, he was staring at Finley, his eyebrow cocked and a smirk playing on his lips.

  Finley scowled, flustered. “Show-off.”

  Noah caught all three balls and bowed. “I’ll stop now while you’re impressed. That is the limit of my skills.”

  “They were, uh, impressive skills.”

  Noah grinned. “They’re sufficient. Mostly because hobbies are difficult to maintain in the army, but there was always something to juggle.”

  Finley blanched as he considered an alarming prospect. “Please tell me you didn’t practice with grenades.”

  Noah laughed, hard enough to tilt his body forward. “No, Finley, I did not juggle grenades. Mostly I used rocks or abandoned gear that was heavy enough. I once used some spare gun clips.”

  Finley’s lips twitched. “Oh, well, so long as it was only live rounds….”

  Noah laughed again, shaking his head, and Finley joined him, and their laughter filled the otherwise empty shop until every corner felt full.

  “WHAT AM I going to do, Hazel!” Finley despaired into another throw pillow.

  “I keep telling you to man up or buy that cat.” Hazel watched him serenely from her favorite chair.

  Finley groaned. “Sometimes I think maybe he wants to, but then nothing happens or he goes cold….”

  Earlier that evening, after their laughter had calmed, Finley had leaned into Noah, sure that this was the moment Noah would kiss him.

  Noah had pulled away, his eyes shuttered, and pointed out the time. Finley needed to go, and he needed to close the shop.

  So, once again, Finley was unsure where he stood with Noah and bemoaning it to Hazel. It was a wonder she still put up with him, really.

  Hazel sighed. “Well, then, ask him! Maybe he’s just shy, Finley, or isn’t sure of yo
ur interest. Or maybe he doesn’t like you back—stop wailing, darling, honestly. You need to know if he doesn’t want you so you can move on. So buck up and declare yourself.”

  “I don’t know how,” Finley admitted. It was unfortunately true. Finley had never been a subtle creature, and he relied on his oh-so-obvious interest to get the boys declaring to him. He’d also never been this interested in someone before. Despite the number of hours he’d spent in Noah’s company, Noah was more desirable, not less.

  Hazel blew out a breath. “Stop wailing. It’s not hard. Just tell him. Or you know, give him a Christmas card and ask him out on a date.”

  “He’s Jewish.” A fact he had already told her, surely. Yes, when she said to speak the language of knitting and he’d misunderstood….

  “So give him a Hanukkah card! It’s not that complicated. Now I’m going to bed before you drive me to the Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer.”

  “Night, Hazel,” Finley said absently, his mind whirling. The language of knitting.

  “Night. Get some sleep, darling.” She kissed the top of his head on her way out.

  “Sure, sure.” He stared into space for a long moment. Then he flicked his phone on and opened Google. When is Hanukkah 2019?

  The answer set Finley’s thoughts whirling. He opened up a different tab for another search, an idea taking form. This would be perfect!

  Knit Seven

  “I TALKED to Gali and she talked to Rebecca, and she says Lev will be happy to go out to dinner with you.”

  Noah took a deep breath and reminded himself that he’d asked for this. After the disaster of the other night when he’d almost kissed Finley over a bit of juggling, it became clear Noah couldn’t put this off any longer. It was time to end his hermit existence.

  Still, he didn’t look forward to going on a blind date.

  “Maybe you could give him my number, Mom, and we could start slower.”

  His mom tsked. “You can’t fall in love with a man over the phone, dear.”

  “No, but it might make meeting him more comfortable if I’ve talked to him a bit first,” Noah gritted out. He needed to do this; it was an important first step. He clutched the pen on the counter and thanked the fates that he’d been alone in the shop when his mom called.

  “Well, if it makes you more comfortable, then I will. Just….” She hesitated. “Don’t back out just because he has bad grammar over text.”

  Noah might have taken offense if he hadn’t once dumped a boyfriend for his appalling use of text speak, and if worry didn’t drip from her tone. “I promise I will not back out before meeting him.”

  “Well, I suppose you could if he said something truly alarming,” his mom conceded.

  Noah smiled. “Of course, Mom, if he confesses to having a murder basement—”

  “Noah!” She laughed.

  The bell jangled over the door, and Noah looked up to see Finley entering the shop.

  “I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you for Shabbat.”

  “Yes, my good boy, I know you will. And I can’t wait to have you around for eight days!”

  Noah smiled. He was taking advantage of Hanukkah’s timing this year and closing the shop on Sunday until New Year’s. For once, Christian expectations worked in his favor, and he wouldn’t have to worry about paying Mark for extra hours or closing up shop to enjoy a holiday, even if it was only Hanukkah. New York’s knitters would have to survive without him. “Bye, Mom.”

  He pocketed his phone. “Good evening, Finley. How can I help?”

  Finley smiled. “Be a willing admirer!”

  Noah winced, though he did his best to hide it. The anachronistic innuendo was probably not intentional. Finley wasn’t asking Noah to be a suitor like some Victorian romance hero. Noah needed to stop binge-watching BBC period dramas. “Of what?”

  “The finished product!” Finley pulled the cowl from his bag and showed it off. Despite the rough start, the final product was a rather decent effort for a first time.

  “It looks good. Much better than I’d expected after our first meeting.” Noah smirked as Finley squawked with outrage.

  “How dare you malign my good faith efforts!”

  “Which you did under duress,” Noah pointed out.

  Finley, the drama queen, collapsed against the counter and fluttered his lashes—he looked alarmingly like one of the starlets from his mom’s black-and-white films. Noah swallowed.

  “You never would have made it if not for a bet.”

  “True. But what a bet—without it I never would have met you, darling.” He fluttered his lashes again, and Noah ruthlessly quashed the warmth burbling in his stomach. Finley might be a flirt, but he wasn’t flirting with intent. He couldn’t be. Noah needed to remember that.

  “Just think how much more quiet and serene my life would have been for the past two weeks if only you hadn’t crashed into it,” Noah said dryly.

  Finley clasped his hands together. “Exactly!”

  Noah shook his head.

  Finley lasted less than five minutes before he begged Noah to show him card tricks. Despite himself, Noah pulled from behind the counter the box he kept for slow afternoons.

  Finley was rapt as Noah shuffled, splayed, then gathered the deck—simple flourishes that always impressed. He had spent hours alone in his room practicing these moves as a child. He’d never yet used them to impress a man, though.

  He started with a simple “Is this your card?” When he flipped over the two of hearts, Finley’s eyes went gratifyingly wide, and his mouth dropped open—driving Noah’s thoughts in a decidedly non-PG direction. Goddammit.

  Flustered, Noah looked down at his cards and tried to compose himself. He pulled a few from the deck and did a simple aces-only sleight of hand—the one he’d learned at thirteen and had so well memorized that his hands could probably do it by muscle memory alone.

  Finley leaned forward on the counter, elbows propped on it, and stared openmouthed throughout.

  By the time Noah had put away the cards and Finley had gone home, Noah was flushed, a bit hard, and frustrated. He stomped upstairs and threw himself onto his couch. Katz joined him, settling on his chest. Noah buried his face in her fur.

  When his phone pinged a few minutes later, he emerged from the cuddle fortified. He could do this; now that Finley had finished his project, he was unlikely to return to the shop and Noah could get over his stupid crush.

  His phone pinged again, and Noah found two texts from Lev. He swallowed and opened them.

  Time to move forward.

  TO NOAH’S shock, Finley returned to the shop on Thursday, a gift bag in hand and wearing a smile.

  “Finley,” Noah said. He put his phone down. He’d been texting with Lev between customers. Surprisingly, conversations with him tended to not be terrible and were even fun sometimes, though he and Noah had little in common other than being gay Jews in New York. Well, they were both Mets fans.

  “Noah.” Finley leaned across the counter.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Can’t I just stop by to say hello?”

  Noah rolled his eyes. “I know you’ve shown little concern for it in the past, but you do realize that I’m running a shop, and that these are business hours, right?”

  Finley flapped his hand and waved the concern away. Apparently Finley didn’t suffer from consideration for other people’s workweeks.

  “I just stopped by to give you something!” He plunked the gift bag onto the counter and smiled winningly. “Also, now that I no longer have an excuse to come around here anymore, I thought maybe you’d be willing to make up new ones?”

  Noah’s heart banged against his ribs. He licked his lips. He didn’t reach for the bag. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, I was thinking maybe we could get a drink some time.”

  This is not a date invite, Noah told himself firmly and clenched his fists. He is married to a woman. This can’t be a date invite. How could he get out of this tac
tfully? Friendship with Finley would not be a good idea.

  “I mean, not right away. I understand that you’ll probably have a lot of family commitments until the thirtieth.” Noah swallowed, touched, despite himself, that Finley had apparently done some homework—even if Hanukkah wasn’t exactly a busy time. Finley waved his hand. “But maybe for New Year’s?”

  Noah licked his lips again. “I, uh…. You’re right, I’m pretty busy for the next few weeks.” Liar. “I’ve got a-a date on the first, so I can’t then.” He did his best to give Finley a polite smile. “But maybe we could find some time in January.”

  “Oh.” Finley’s shoulders slumped, like Noah had rejected him outright—which wasn’t fair, goddammit, Noah wasn’t the one teasing more and offering just a drink—and then he smiled. “Yes, you’re perfectly right, there’s no rush. Well, Happy Hanukkah, Noah.” Finley gave him one last smile, nudged the bag, and turned and left the store.

  “Merry Christmas,” Noah managed to get out just before the door shut.

  He looked down at his phone, buzzing on the counter, the screen lit up with new texts from Lev. Suddenly the prospect of a date with him—with anyone not Finley—tasted bitter. So much for a new beginning.

  Clearing his throat, Noah darkened the phone screen and ignored the new messages. He glanced at the gift bag. Curiosity won out. He tugged the bag closer and pulled out the tissue paper. Inside sat something knitted in the most garish of greens. Appalled and fascinated, Noah reached in and pulled it out. An envelope came with it, but he set it aside for the moment.

  The knitting unfurled into a somewhat lumpy and uneven scarf—no doubt Finley had made it himself. With cheap yarn, judging by the feel, of a truly hideous shade. Honestly what had Finley been thinking when he picked it? Why would he ever think that Noah would want something made out of this khaki green? It managed to be both aggressively bland and obnoxiously loud at the same time. Noah hated it.