The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club

by Lori Wilde

Belinda nodded in the direction of her six-year-old, who was doing the chicken dance with a group of servers, her siblings, and various other children. In between the country music Froggy’s looped in, they played a few group participation songs like the “Hokey-Pokey” and “Chicken Dance” to heighten the festive atmosphere. One thing was a given, Flynn was not playing the “Chicken Dance” at her wedding reception. No “Y.M.C.A.” No “Electric Slide.”

  “We’ll chat later.” Flynn zoomed away, happy for the excuse of schlepping a platter of steaming hot catfish across the packed dining room. People had been bombarding her with questions all day about the ring and she was tired of talking about it.

  The sun was sliding westward as she turned from the kitchen, the serving tray balanced on her upturned palm. No one had yet thought to draw the shades, and the harsh afternoon glare cut straight through the big picture window fronting the water, bathing the main entrance in a band of sultry light.

  The front door swung open and a man, cast in silhouette, stepped across the threshold. He was cloaked in shadows, but something about the way he stood seemed very familiar—deceptively casual and self-possessed, but don’t-tread-on-me dangerous.

  Flynn squinted, blinked. Her gut tightened and her heart slowed to a sluggish beat. The hairs on the nape of her neck lifted and all the air fled her lungs. Her head spun and her knees wobbled. She’d never fainted in her life, but for one precarious second she thought she might hit the floor, catfish platter and all.

  Jesse.

  Was he real? Was it a trick of the light? It had to be. Jesse had two years left to serve on his prison sentence. He simply could not be standing in Froggy’s doorway looking like a gunslinger come for a showdown.

  A hostess met him, menu in hand.

  It could not be Jesse. She was imagining things. This engagement business was muddling her mind. The cold sweat rolling down her back had to be wrong. But he was undeniably masculine, his saunter pure cocky, self-assured male.

  The hostess turned, escorting him toward her.

  No, no, no.

  The “Chicken Dance” was over, the kids dispersed. Silverware clattered against plates. Voices hummed. Shania Twain was singing “You’re Still the One.”

  Closer and closer, he stalked.

  Her whole body was trembling now. Willow-tree-in-a-hurricane trembling.

  His face was leaner, stripped of the round-cheeked innocence of youth; his jaw harder and ringed with a scruffy five-o’clock shadow darker than his muddy blond hair. He wore scuffed cowboy boots, faded Levi’s with a hole in the knee, and a snug-fitting white T-shirt that stretched tight across his bulked-up biceps. A battered old Timex was strapped to his left wrist, and a red bandana peeked from the front pocket of his jeans. Gone was the boy she once knew. Here stood a man, through and through.

  Jesse.

  The bridge of time snapped, butting her past up against her present, the future weighing heavily on her ring finger.

  The serving tray she carried slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor. Flynn smelled peanut oil, lemon, and her own deep-seated fear. Instantly she squatted and started scooping up catfish.

  To her horror, Jesse crouched beside her.

  “Don’t…I can…please.” Studiously she wrangled hush puppies, tomato relish, mashed potatoes, anything to keep from looking him in the eyes.

  His hand reached out to lightly touch hers. Damn if her heart wasn’t beating so hard she feared it was going to explode. She didn’t know what to think, had no idea what to do with these feelings shifting around inside her. He kept his hand on hers until she finally had no choice but to look at him.

  “How you doin’, Dimples?” Jesse said in his sexy Southern drawl that still curled her toes. “Long time no see.”

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, she was as brainless as if she’d just been struck on the head by lightning. He was the only person on earth who’d ever called her Dimples.

  Say something, but be cool, don’t let him see what he’s doing to you.

  “You’re out of prison,” she said brightly, plastering a stupid smile on her face, knowing full well she was revealing the dimples he enjoyed teasing her about. Oh God, why had she said that? And in such a chipper tone, like, “You’ve lost weight.”

  “Here I am.” He spread his arms.

  “So you are. How’d you get out early?”

  “Time off for good behavior.”

  “You?” She snorted.

  “Yeah, imagine that.”

  They stared at each other. He reached a hand to her face. Startled, she drew back.

  “Easy there, Dimples, just going for that speck of gravy.” He rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

  Her skin burned where he’d touched. “You that hungry?” she quipped.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, his tone low and sexy and filled with sizzling hot innuendo. His eyes darkened. “You have no idea.”

  Flynn gulped and got lost in his gaze. Apparently some things never changed. “Was there really gravy on my cheek?”

  “Let’s just let that stay a mystery.”

  The busboy, Carlos, hustled over with a mop and broom. “I clean mess up for you, boss.”

  “Thank you,” she said, happy to have a reason to look away from Jesse.

  He stood and held a hand out to help her up, but she ignored it and got to her feet under her own steam. No way was she touching him.

  “Well, then,” she said, wiping her palms on her apron. “If you’re hungry, let’s get you a seat.”

  “Had enough of those in prison. Not very tasty even with salt.”

  She wasn’t going to laugh at his joke. She wasn’t about to encourage him. How did he manage to joke after ten years in the slammer? She immediately had ugly thoughts of metal bars, cement floors, stark lighting, and burly men named Bubba with fierce tattoos on their faces. Jesse had been to such a place, and now here he was grinning and joking as if he’d just come back from a prolonged vacation. It wasn’t what she expected.

  What had she expected?

  For one thing, she’d never expected him to come back to Twilight. Not after the way the town had treated him. Why had he come back?

  “What’ll you have?” she asked.

  “I’ve been dreaming of Froggy’s chicken fried steak.”

  “One chicken fried steak dinner, coming up.” She turned to go, but he snaked out a hand and grabbed her wrist. Instantly her womb tightened. “What?” she whispered.

  “You want me to just stand here?”

  “Oh, yeah, um, you wanna sit outside on the patio?”

  “Outside sounds like an excellent idea.”

  “This way.” She crooked a finger and led him to a vacant table near the railing overlooking the river. A sand crane flew by, skimming low to the water, looking for a meal.

  Jesse sat, tipped back his chair, propped his feet on the railing, and closed his eyes. He looked…peaceful.

  “You want a beer or something while you wait?”

  “Don’t drink,” he said without opening his eyes. “Never have, never will. Not joining in on that little family tradition, if you know what I mean.”

  No, maybe not, but you carried a .357 and sold cocaine.

  “Well, me neither. Nothing more than a sip of champagne at celebrations. Not with my father’s problem. Alcoholism takes all the luster out of being drunk.”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll bring you a glass of water.”

  He nodded, eyes still closed, sun on his face. Flynn raked her gaze over him, unable to believe he was really there. Maybe this was a dream. That was it. After accepting Beau’s proposal, she’d gone to bed and was just naturally dreaming of Jesse to get him out of her system once and for all.

  Pinch yourself and see.

  She pinched the web of skin between her thumb and index finger. Ouch. Okay, not a dream.

  He opened one eye. “You still here?”

  “Just going.”

  “Hurry back.
”

  She turned, walked halfway to the door, stopped, turned back, opened her mouth, shut it, then zoomed off to the kitchen. But she didn’t get far; Belinda and her brood were headed out the door.

  “Yoo-hoo, Flynn,” Belinda called and waved at her. She pretended not to hear, but Belinda wasn’t the type to believe anyone would intentionally ignore her. “Honey, wait up.”

  Flynn stopped, sighed, and waited for Belinda to catch up after she sent Harvey and the five little Murpheys on out to the car.

  “Who’s the guy?”

  “Guy?”

  “The hunk.” Belinda waved toward the patio. Although she’d been born in Twilight, her family had moved away for several years. She hadn’t lived there when Jesse was in high school with Flynn. “He’s gorgeous and he’s got that bad-boy aura women just love. I have a couple of clients who’d go gaga over him.”

  Jealousy swept through her, California-wildfire hot. Flynn moved between Belinda and the patio. “I thought your matchmaking business concentrated on hooking people up with long-lost loves.”

  “Everyone isn’t as fortunate as you and me to wind up with our high school sweethearts. Some poor women don’t even have long-lost loves. There are only so many Beaus and Harveys in the world.” Belinda peered around her shoulder trying to get another peek at Jesse. “Do you think that guy is single?”

  “Listen, Belinda, it’s not a good idea.” Why was she warning Belinda off recruiting him for her matchmaking business? Jesse deserved some happiness. If Belinda could conjure him a match, why not encourage her?

  “What do you mean?” Belinda lowered her voice, leaned in closer.

  “The bad-boy thing?’

  “Yes?”

  “No act. He’s been in prison.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widened.

  “That’s why you haven’t seen him in here before. He just got out.”

  “What he’d do?”

  “Drugs, guns.”

  “Do you think he learned his lesson? People can change.”

  “Belinda! You’re not seriously thinking of hooking one of your clients up with an ex-con.”

  “No, no.” She waved a hand, but kept looking at the patio. “Of course not. But if he’s learned his lesson and he’s really remorseful…I mean come on, look at him…”

  “It’s Jesse Calloway, okay.”

  Belinda looked flustered. “Patsy’s Jesse?”

  “Patsy’s Jesse,” Flynn confirmed.

  “Why didn’t she tell us he was getting out?”

  Why hadn’t she? “You know Patsy doesn’t like to talk about Jesse.”

  “Still.” Belinda sniffed, her feelings clearly hurt. “You’d think she’d say something to her closest friends.”

  “Wife,” Harvey hollered from the doorway. “It’s broiling out here in the Suburban and the twins are fighting, shake a leg.”

  Flynn shook her head. “I’ll let you go, Harvey looks like he’s about to have a stroke.”

  “Oh dear, his face is red. Harvey, did you forget to take your blood pressure medication?” Belinda scurried off to her husband.

  Flynn placed the order for Jesse’s chicken fried steak and tried not to look out the patio doors every time she walked past. When she brought his meal he was still cocked back in the chair, face turned up, enjoying the sunlight.

  She settled the platter in front of him. “Grub’s up.”

  He opened his eyes, dropped his legs, settled his chair firmly on the floor, and then he kicked out the chair beside him. “Sit down.”

  “I gotta…” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

  “You aren’t going to make me eat by myself, are you? It’s been a long time since I had a meal with a pretty woman.”

  Flynn felt her cheeks heat.

  “Come on,” he wheedled. “Five minutes for an old friend?”

  Don’t do it. Leave, go.

  She sat. He’d always been able to coax her into anything.

  He tucked into the chicken fried steak with gusto, eating hunched over with his elbows sticking out as if fending off predators.

  “That good, huh?”

  Jesse seemed to realize what he was doing and where he was. He settled his elbows to his sides, sat up straight, took a deep breath. “Sorry, I picked up a few bad habits in the can.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “No,” he said, his tone as sharp as the steak knife he held in his right hand. “No, you cannot.”

  A chill chased through her at the dark look in his eyes. “You’re right. That was a very dumb thing to say.”

  The moment was incredibly awkward. On the river below, a pontoon boat filled with laughing and joking partygoers motored past. Over the outdoor speakers, Shania was singing “Forever and for Always.” Who the hell had put on that soundtrack?

  “Froggy’s has changed,” Jesse said after a long moment. “No longer just the place you gas up your johnboat, grab a six-pack and a hot dog.”

  “A lot of things have changed.” She wondered how to tell him about her engagement to Beau.

  You don’t owe him anything. He returned your letters unopened. Never called. Never offered an explanation for what he’d done. It’s none of his business that you’re getting married.

  “I can see that.” His gaze lingered on her bosom. “A lot of things got bigger.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, fought back the thrill his perusal brought. Stop this nonsense.

  “You changed your hair.”

  She put a hand to her sleek straight locks. “I straighten it now.”

  “Why?”

  “It looks more polished.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “See what?”

  “You want to look like furniture.”

  “What?” She knew he was making a joke but she was suddenly struck by insecurity. She lifted a hand to her hair. “You don’t like it?”

  He shrugged, “’S all right.”

  “You disapprove.”

  “I liked it wild and curly.”

  “You were the only one.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I like it straight.”

  “Just you?”

  “And my family.”

  “Just them?”

  “And Beau,” she said, reluctantly speaking his name in front of Jesse. Tension spun out between them, taut as wire, thick as tapioca.

  “Ah, the Golden Boy, I was wondering when we were going to get to the root of the problem. He’s the one who likes straight hair. Not you, not your family.”

  “Listen, you gave up your right to weigh in on my hair when you decided to sell drugs.”

  “I didn’t—” He stopped, clenched his jaw, fisted his hands against his thighs. “I just don’t see any reason why you have to be something you’re not. Be natural, be yourself.”

  “You’re saying I’m not polished?”

  “I’m saying you shouldn’t fight who you are.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the sage advice.” She scooted back her chair and tried to ignore her rapidly pumping heart. “Seeing as how following your natural outlaw tendencies worked so well for you.”

  “Hey, now.” He rested his hand on her forearm. A jagged scar zigzagged across four of his knuckles. A scar that hadn’t been there ten years ago. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

  She sucked in a breath filled with concern, sadness, longing, sarcasm, and fear. She twisted her arm out from under his hand. “I did just fine without your advice for ten years.”

  “You did.” He nodded.

  “Now you’re just placating me.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “Why are you here, Jesse? Why did you come back to Twilight?”

  He leaned forward, placed his arms on the table, pushed his tea glass back and forth between his hands. A nervous gesture? The ice in the glass tinkled; his watch band made a rough noise against the smooth table. For a split second, she prayed he would say, You. But he didn’t. He just
shrugged. “Gotta be somewhere.”

  “What are you planning on doing here?”

  “Opening up a place to sell and repair motorcycles.”

  “You were always good with your hands,” she said, recalling the way his calloused palms had felt running over her soft skin.

  “It comes to me naturally,” he said. “But I also took courses in prison on small engine repair.”

  “You can take courses in prison?”

  “Sure. Rehabilitation and all that.”

  “So you’re really set on staying.”

  “I am.”

  She didn’t know how she felt about that. It was unsettling, thinking of Jesse being in town again for good. “We’ll be seeing each other around.”

  “We will.”

  They stared at each other. Desire flamed in his eyes. He fisted his hands, clenched his jaw. She watched him fight back what he was feeling, but it was a struggle. Did her face reveal her own battle?

  Fear clobbered the other emotions swirling inside her, pulling ahead like an odds-on favorite at the Kentucky Derby. She jerked her gaze from him, stared down at her hands, and that’s when she saw that her ring finger was bare.

  “Omigod,” she exclaimed. Flynn felt her skin blanch white, and she bit down so hard on her bottom lip she was amazed she didn’t taste blood.

  Instantly Jesse was on his feet, on alert, fists knotted, eyes sharp, muscles tensed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “My ring. I lost my ring. I’ve got to find it.”

  “It’s all right, calm down. I’ll help you find it.”

  “You don’t understand…it’s really valuable. Oh, oh, I knew something like this was going to happen.” She jumped back, eyes to the ground, searching. Beau was going to have a fit. She hadn’t had the damn thing twenty-four hours and she’d already lost it. And in less than four hours she was supposed to be at his mama’s annual Memorial Day weekend bash, flashing it around for all her uppity friends to ooh and aah over. Proving in his mother’s eyes, once and for all, that she wasn’t good enough for the likes of her son.

  “Let’s retrace your steps. When was the last time you remembered having it on?”

  “Just before you came into the restaurant.”

  “You dropped the tray.”

  Flynn groaned. “I lost it in the food. Or on the floor. Someone probably already found it, kept it.”