by Morgan James
He loved that Finley had made it for him.
Eyes still trained on the scarf, he picked up the envelope. He found a card inside, a generic drugstore one with a menorah on the cover and the words Happy Hanukah! in metallic blue. He swallowed and flipped it open.
Happy holidays, Noah. Thank you so much for all your help, I couldn’t have done it without you! May the holiday season bring you everything you want and the new year some exciting new beginnings. xo Finley.
Noah blinked hard and tried to chase away the tears of disappointment and frustration. Nothing but a thank you gift. He stuffed the card and the scarf back into the bag and shoved them under the counter. His shop was still open for business. He couldn’t deal with this right now.
Purl Eight
WELL, THAT had gone terribly.
After Finley left the shop, he settled into his car and breathed. The look on Noah’s face as he attempted to avoid rejecting Finley outright….
Finley shut his eyes, breathed deeply, and willed himself not to cry. He was being stupid. He’d only known Noah a couple of weeks. He’d get over this. He would.
After several shots.
Finley cranked the key, shoved the gear shift into Drive, and headed straight for home and Hazel.
The first words out of Hazel’s mouth after he walked in were “Oh shit.”
Finley gave a wan smile. “Pretty much.”
“Ouch.”
He slumped through the door and kicked off his shoes. Hazel waved him into the living room and joined him with a bottle of scotch and two glasses in hand. He’d brought her that same bottle a few nights before to commiserate over Toni, as they’d always done to cry over their poor attempts at romance.
“Tell me about it.”
“It was awful.” Finley tossed back his first drink in one gulp. “God, Hazel, he looked so embarrassed when I asked him out.” He buried his face in his hands. “He even mentioned a date to let me know how not interested he was.”
Hazel paused with the drink halfway to her mouth. “A date.”
“Yes. God, he probably doesn’t even have a date.” Finley poured another drink and shot it back. Thank God he had no classes tomorrow. “It was mortifying. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”
“Ouch,” Hazel said. “I’m sorry, darling. I thought for sure…. Well, what I thought doesn’t matter, and I’m sorry he bruised your heart.”
He gave her a shaky smile and tried not to remember how Noah had looked, a little green and pale, when Finley had asked him out.
“Thanks,” he said.
Hazel lifted her glass and took another sip. “Any time.”
“I know.” Finley did know; her friendship was one of life’s few constancies. “God, it was so awful.” He groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead. “I asked about a date in the new year, and he said he was busy but maybe come January we could do something.” He took another shot. “It was the worst brush-off in the history of brush-offs.”
Hazel rose from her wingback and settled next to him on the couch. She opened her arm for a hug, and Finley leaned into her. “I’m really sorry, Finley.”
“Me too.”
Finley downed another drink, and Hazel took the glass from him.
“I think four is enough.”
“Prob’bly,” Finley muttered.
Hazel pressed a kiss to his head. “Maybe I should call Violet. The three of us can have a good old-fashioned sleepover and watch rom-coms and insult boys until the wee hours.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” Finley blinked rapidly, and if a few tears fell, Hazel didn’t say anything.
FINLEY AND Violet woke late the next morning. Hazel was absent, probably having gone out for a run because not even a hangover would keep her from her routines. So Finley and Violet made themselves breakfast, and Finley remembered why he’d always loved her so much, why his sister was one of his closest friends. He saw her less these days, now she was married and living in White Plains, but he could always count on her to show up when he needed her—even on a Thursday night six days before Christmas.
Hazel hadn’t returned from her run by the time Violet had to head back to her family. She kissed his cheek. “Call if you need anything, Fishy. Love you.”
He wrinkled his nose at the horrible nickname. “Love you too, Petals.” He kissed her back and hugged her close before he let her leave.
“Tell Hazel I said bye and sorry I missed her, but Shawn will kill me if I miss family time with his parents—we’re getting them from the airport after we pick the kids up early from school, so I really do have to dash. But we’ll have to do this again soon. Though maybe with less alcohol or heartbreak next time?”
“You bet.” Finley hugged her again and said goodbye.
Hazel, dressed in running gear, came in as Finley was washing the dishes. “Hello, darling. How are you feeling this morning?”
He groaned. “Tired, achy, kind of sick. And better than last night.”
“Good.” Hazel ruffled his hair—because she apparently thought he was five—and then said, “I need a shower. And then I’m thinking we should go out for lunch. Somewhere with mimosas.”
“Good plan.” Finley couldn’t fault it.
He settled on the couch while he waited for her. His hands felt empty. He’d spent the past few days knitting almost nonstop. Every spare moment had been dedicated to making Noah’s scarf. He’d had to start it twice—the cast on had gone wonky in the first one—and he’d had two balls to work through to create the piece.
Finley knew the scarf wasn’t “good.” Compared to anything that Noah could make for himself, the scarf was rather shabby, but he had hoped Noah might be moved by the effort….
Finley sighed and pulled out his phone, hoping to distract himself. It was going to be a long morning.
Knit Nine
NOAH WOKE resentfully the next morning. Katz was curled on the pillow next to him, and she greeted him with a soft “Mrrrow.” Figuring she deserved a reward for being so lovely, he let her follow him down the steps into the shop. Pleased with herself, Katz wandered the room to scent everything, and then jumped into the window nearer to the cash register and settled down into her wicker basket.
Noah was staring moodily out the window and ignoring the new texts from Lev, when the bell jangled, announcing the first customer.
Noah turned to see a rather pretty and familiar face. She was one of his repeat customers, though she’d never before arrived in running gear. As he often had before, Noah noted how beautiful she was—stunning enough to be considered so by most metrics.
“Hello,” he said.
She narrowed her dark eyes and stalked to the counter. Had she been carrying any sort of bag, he might have thought her a dissatisfied customer returning something.
“You.”
“Me?” Noah kept his expression blank. Admit nothing until you know what they accuse you of.
“You.” She planted her hands on the counter and leaned in.
“Yes. We’ve established that,” Noah said. The Army had taught him many important lessons, including to be wary of women who looked like they wanted to kick your ass, because some of them could.
Her eyes narrowed even further. “Indeed.” After another long pause, during which she eyed him up, she finally asked, “What is wrong with you?”
“With me.”
“Yes.”
Noah bit back a sigh. “Look, I’m unclear as to what you’re upset about—”
“I’m Hazel Lawson.”
Noah’s mouth dried up. “Finley’s Hazel?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”
“I see.” He stared at her with new eyes. The wife. Here, presumably, to yell at Noah for… what? Rejecting his playdate? Hitting on her husband? Having a crush? Perhaps this was a return to a draconian age.
“Yes, oh.” She glared at him. “So, what is your problem! I know you don’t actually like people much, but I figured Finley was differen
t, since he said that you, you know, talked to him.”
Noah scowled. Sure, he might be a little antisocial, but he didn’t appreciate having someone stomping into his store and accusing him of it. “Look, I don’t owe any sort of explanation to you.” She snorted loudly and opened her mouth, but he forged on. “If I did owe one, it would be to your husband, not you.”
She stared at him and snapped her mouth shut. She blinked. “I’m sorry, did you just say husband?”
Noah stared back, lost. “Yes.”
Hazel stared some more, then muttered darkly under her breath, “I swear to God, Finley.” She leaned back from the counter and put her hands on her hips, looking more frustrated than intimidating. “Are you telling me that you are under the impression that I am married to Finley?”
“Yes?” Noah said, feeling rather unsure about it.
“Oh my God. What did he say? No, you know what? Never mind, I don’t want to know. I am not his wife.” She huffed a laugh. “I am his oldest friend and practically his sister.”
Noah frowned. “But… you live with him?”
“Yes, because New York is expensive and neither of us would survive living on our own.”
“Oh.” Noah digested this. Then a thought began to coalesce. “Wait, so he’s not married?” His heart sped up.
“No. He is not. And if he were to get married, it certainly wouldn’t be to a woman.”
“Oh.”
Noah digested that. So apparently all those moments when he thought Finley was looking, was flirting, had been genuine. And the offer to spend more time together….
Wait. “Did he ask me out?”
“And the penny drops!” Hazel threw her hands into the air.
Noah licked his lips and looked down, his gaze alighting on the gift bag. Suddenly the scarf held new meaning. Not just a thank you. “He asked me out,” Noah said slowly, “and I said no.”
Hazel scoffed. “Kind of harshly, too, by the sounds of it.”
Noah looked back up. She no longer scowled at him, though her look suggested she thought him rather stupid.
Noah tried to remember what he’d said. He kind of put Finley off, he remembered, a sort of soft rejection, a “maybe in the future.” He frowned. What else…. Ah, he definitely mentioned his upcoming, and increasingly unlikely, date. Which might have sounded to Finley like “I’d rather be dating someone else.”
Noah winced. “I see.”
“I’m glad you do.” Hazel narrowed her eyes. “So, just to be clear, you do want to date my idiot best friend, right?”
Noah blinked at her, thrown by the question. “Of course.”
“‘Of course,’ he says,” Hazel muttered. “God, I think you might actually have it worse than Finley, which is saying something.”
Noah’s heart banged a rapid tattoo against his ribs. Worse than Finley.
Noah needed to fix this. But, he realized with dawning horror, he had no way of contacting Finley. He looked at Hazel, who still eyed him critically. If he wanted to fix this, first he would have to convince this terrifying woman to give him access to her roommate.
He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He could do this… for Finley.
THREE HOURS, several apologetic texts to Lev, and a desperate begging call to Mark later, Noah stood outside an apartment door and clutched the gift bag in his sweating hand. He rapped on the door and waited.
He licked his lips and pressed them together. He could do this.
The door opened, and Finley stood on the other side, looking confused and alarmed. “Noah. How did you—? What are you doing here?” Finley’s gaze swept over him, lingering on the scarf secured around Noah’s neck and the familiar bag in his hands.
“I came here to apologize and explain. If you’ll let me.”
Finley flinched. “You don’t have to apologize for not wanting to go out with me.” He attempted a smile, which came out so pitiful, it was painful to see.
Without thinking about it, Noah took a step forward. “But I don’t—I mean, that wasn’t—” Noah let out a harsh breath, frustrated by his own bumbling.
Finley blinked at him. “What?”
First step. “I thought you were married.”
“What?” Finley’s eyes bugged out of his head. “So, what? You think I’m the kind of man who asks people out despite being involved and doesn’t have an honest discussion about things first?”
“I thought you were a straight married man who wanted to hang out with me and didn’t care or realize how infatuated I was.” Noah almost threw his hands in the air, exasperated.
Finley stared at him openmouthed. Someone’s front door opened and shut down the hall.
“Oh, er, maybe you better come in?” Finley stepped back from the doorway, and Noah gratefully ducked into the apartment.
For a moment they stood awkwardly in the foyer. Noah swallowed. He needed to get this right. He lifted his hand to run his fingers through his hair and realized he was still holding the gift bag.
“Here.” He shoved the bag forward. “This is for you.”
“Oh.” Finley took the bag, somewhat slowly, and then peered inside. “Oh,” he breathed softly and reached in to pull out the hat Noah had knitted last week. “Noah, this is beautiful.” He ran his fingers over Noah’s work, caressing the soft fabric, and Noah shivered.
“I started working on that the day after I met you,” Noah admitted, “because the yarn reminded me of your eyes.”
“That’s—that’s rather romantic,” Finley said, his tone and gaze softening.
Noah shrugged. “It’s just the truth.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I was under the impression Hazel was your wife, and I didn’t know you were asking me out. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Noah undid the top buttons of his coat, the better to show off his scarf.
“You are wearing my scarf.” Finley’s eyes lit up, and Noah’s chest filled with warmth.
“I really like my Hanukkah present. Especially after Hazel cleared everything up.”
Finley smiled bashfully. Then he wrinkled his nose. “Ah, so that’s what happened. I was wondering how you found me.”
“She yelled at me.”
“I’m sorry. I hope you came out of it mostly unscathed.”
“Well, I’m a bit afraid of her but unmaimed.” Noah smiled. “I was hoping that maybe one day soon we could go out on a date. Maybe for breakfast?”
Finley beamed. “I would love to go out for breakfast with you.” He looked down at the hat in his hands and then pulled it onto his head. “Perfect fit,” he murmured and took a step closer.
Noah nodded, his mouth dry. Then Finley reached up to cup his cheek, and Noah couldn’t wait another minute. He leaned in to press a tender kiss to Finley’s lips—which were soft and plush beneath his own.
Finley pulled back far enough to say, “Hey, Noah? How does breakfast tomorrow sound?”
“It sounds perfect,” Noah breathed—his mother would forgive him for missing Shabbat just this once—and he wrapped his arms around Finley to pull him closer for another kiss.
MORGAN JAMES is a clueless (older) millennial, who’s still trying to figure out what she’ll be when she grows up and is enjoying the journey to get there. Now, with a couple of degrees, a few stints in Europe, and more than one false start to a career, she eagerly waits to see what’s next. James started writing fiction before she could spell and wrote her first (unpublished) novel in middle school. She hasn’t stopped writing since. Geek, artist, archer, and fangirl, Morgan tends to pass free hours with imaginary worlds and people on pages and screens—it’s an addiction. As is her love of coffee and tea. She lives in Canada with her massive collection of unread books and acts the personal servant of too many four-legged creatures.
Twitter: @MorganJames71
Facebook: www.facebook.com/morganjames007
By Morgan James
Purls of Wisdom
&nb
sp; DREAMSPUN DESIRES
#81 – Love Conventions
With Ashlyn Kane
Hair of the Dog
Hard Feelings
Return to Sender
Winging It
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Purls of Wisdom
© 2019 Morgan James
Cover Art
© 2019 L.C. Chase
http://www.lcchase.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
Digital ISBN: 978-1-64405-792-6
Digital eBook published December 2019
v. 1.0
