How to Knit a Love Song

by Rachael Herron

  “See?” she said under his mouth. “You’re going to be just fine.”

  “No, I’m not. You’re killing me. Little by little. I need more. I need you.”

  And he did. There was only one thing in his mind, and that was having her, and soon. He didn’t care that the house was still full of people, he needed to be in her. He needed her to be his again, to feel her skin against his, to lie, stretched out against her, in bed.

  And by the way her hand was moving against the part of him that needed it the most, she knew how he was feeling.

  “God, you have to stop.”

  “Really?” She laughed, a low sound. It was the sexiest sound he’d ever heard. “Because it kind of seems like you’re liking this. I mean, you don’t seem to hate it or anything.”

  “You have to stop touching me like that.”

  “Like this?”

  He bit back an oath. “I’m serious. I can’t be responsible for what happens if you keep that up.”

  “Oh, come on, Cade,” she chastised him, never stopping the motion of her hands, never stopping her lips from moving against his neck, stoking his fire that much higher. “You and I are both well-enough educated to know that’s crap. You can and will be responsible. I can do anything I want to you, and if I said stop, you’d stop.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “But you would.”

  Cade nodded, took a deep breath and put his hand over hers, holding it tight and still. “If this is a course in women’s empowerment, then yes, I admit I’m enlightened. No means no. But shouldn’t that go both ways? I say no, you stop?”

  “You might be enlightened. But maybe I’m just horny.”

  “I’m shocked.” He was, a little.

  She grinned at him. “Me, too.” The smile dimmed a little, and she glanced away. He watched her take a deep breath.

  “I don’t know what it means,” she said, “and I don’t want to think about it, but I…I want you.”

  “I want you, too.” He pressed her hand against himself again, but didn’t allow her to move, to take more than she already had. He couldn’t stand it. “Obviously.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Would you go out to dinner tonight with me?”

  “What?”

  “Dinner? The evening meal of choice in these parts?”

  “I’m pretty sure I know what it means, but…shit. I have a party out there I should get back to. And don’t you already have a date tonight?”

  Damn. Betty. Yes, he did. Oh, God, he was a total asshole. He should go back to Betty right now; that’s what a gentleman would do. But a gentleman wouldn’t have gotten himself in this situation in the first place, would he? So instead he said, “Kiss me once more, and then I’ll go get out of the date.”

  Abigail gave him a look that he almost drowned in, and he forgot again where he was. Her hand strained to move against him, but he kept a tight hold on her wrist. He wanted nothing more than to let her touch him. Or to turn her around and bend her over the step stool. Or to lead her back through that clutch of knitters straight up to his bedroom. But he couldn’t.

  He could kiss her though. He did his best to do that as thoroughly as possible. He brought his free hand up to the back of her neck, and he made sure she knew exactly how much he wanted her.

  A click, from behind them, and then a gasp.

  “Well, son of a bitch.”

  Cade spun around, clutching at his jeans, buttoning them in the second it took to turn fully. Abigail’s mouth was parted, her lips wet and swollen.

  Betty stood in the door of the pantry, looking as if someone had hit her across the face. Both her cheeks turned bright red and her eyebrows drew together.

  “Well, that’s something, all right.” There was anger in her voice, but her lower lip trembled, just the smallest bit, and Cade felt instantly awful.

  “I guess I’m glad I drove my own car over here. Even though I’d really wanted you to pick me up. Like a gentleman. Now I know why you didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry. Betty, I’m really sorry.” Cade took a step toward her. This was awful.

  She held up a hand. “Save it.”

  Abigail said, “Betty…”

  “You? No, really, I don’t want to hear it. It’s been a nice couple of days, Cade. From what I hear, that’s all you ever give. So Abigail, enjoy your five minutes of heaven, because that’s all you’re going to get. At least you won’t have to drive yourself home afterward.”

  She turned on her spiked heel and walked out.

  “Damn it,” he said. Then he looked at Abigail’s face and hastened to correct the impression he’d just given.

  “No, not damn like I’m sorry she’s gone. But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings like that.”

  “I think, no matter what, kicking someone out while they’re in the middle of a date is going to hurt their feelings.”

  “Yeah, but I wish she hadn’t seen that.”

  She sighed and brushed her fingers through her hair, and then wiped her lips with her fingertips. She sidled past him, and while he wanted to stop her, what could he do? This was crazy.

  “I guess I’ll go back out to my party.”

  “Yeah, I guess you should do that. Before we get caught by someone else.”

  “And there are some women in there that would die of a heart attack if they knew what we were just doing.”

  “Not we,” Cade said. “What you were doing to me. There’s a difference.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “And you weren’t doing anything to me at all.”

  “Not at all. Nothing. I couldn’t be more innocent.”

  “Sure. Hey, I could go out there and tell them there’s a sale at the yarn shop in Half Moon Bay.”

  “You think they’d believe you?”

  “Do I care?”

  “So you’ll get rid of them?” Cade asked.

  “Do I get a date out of it?”

  “Hell, yeah.” He didn’t even bother to try to keep the enthusiasm out of his voice.

  “You are already dressed for a date with another woman. That’ll save time.”

  “I know. I’m an asshole. Honestly, I’m not usually that big a jerk though, I swear. Can’t we just sneak out without telling anyone?” Cade said.

  “No,” Abigail said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s my…”

  “Grand opening, whatever. So you’ll take thirty minutes saying thank-yous and good-byes. They’ll exhaust you and you won’t want to go anywhere at all afterward. Let’s just go.” Cade stepped back a bit and looked at her. “I want you to myself.”

  “I have to tell Janet.”

  “You have your cell phone on you?”

  “In my pocket.”

  “Text her.”

  He didn’t really think she’d do it. She was too responsible. She wouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings by disappearing from her own party. Her own very important party.

  But she grinned at him, and his heart soared, higher than he thought was possible. She put her hand in his and said, “Let’s go.”

  She was no Betty. She was Abigail. That’s all he needed. He held her hand tightly and they ran.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  While you’re knitting the yoke, if you grow bored, think about buttons. It’s always delightful to think about buttons.

  —E.C.

  What had gotten into her? She didn’t make out with and—oh, Lord—give hand jobs to men during her own parties. She didn’t even have parties. Especially with men who were on other dates. Did that make her the other woman, if only for ten minutes? And she most certainly didn’t run out of said party with said man, fishtailing up the driveway at sixty miles per hour. Cade hadn’t even turned on the headlights in the rapidly dropped evening, not wanting to attract any attention. Abigail’s heart rate increased as they raced up the small hill in the dark. Cade obviously knew every curve of the road, but that didn’t slow her pulse.

&nbs
p; Or was it him? Sitting in the darkened cab of his truck, she was suddenly at a complete loss as to what to say.

  Did he feel like this, too? Was he as nervous as she was?

  God, of course not. Look at him. Manhandling the wheel, palming it. Caressing it.

  She had to get herself back under control. Abigail put her cell phone back in her pocket.

  “You send that text message?” he asked. They’d reached the main road now and he flipped on his headlights. Abigail was relieved to be able to clearly see the road in front of her.

  “Yeah, I told her that we were going to the hospital.”

  “Did you really? That might not have been the best thing. They’re all going to show up there looking for us. Did you give a reason?”

  “I said you’d tried something in the kitchen and that I’d popped you in the nose and started a nosebleed that I couldn’t stop. And that I was going to drop you off and then go get more liquor, since that one woman with the sequins…”

  “The one sitting closest to the fireplace?”

  “That one, had drunk it all.”

  “You said all that on your phone? Right now?”

  “Basically. She knows me well enough to read between the lines.”

  “Well enough to know that maybe we needed to be alone?”

  “That well. She’ll do our dirty work for us,” Abigail said.

  “I don’t want her to do all our dirty work.”

  Abigail couldn’t respond. She was too busy tightening her hand into a small ball in her lap, releasing it, clutching it again. She wanted to place it on his lap, on that thigh that she knew from experience was exactly as firm and strong as it looked, but she couldn’t.

  They shouldn’t be on a date. They weren’t the kind of people that dated each other. Abigail dated white-collar men, men who enjoyed Chardonnays and quiet sex, and Cade, well, he dated women with big breasts who liked to sing karaoke and had favorite brands of whiskey. Okay, and Betty, who was a mathematician. But who looked like she probably loved karaoke.

  She stared out the truck window. They were getting closer to the shoreline, and he turned south down the coast road. They were going into town. Out to eat. On a date.

  She’d forgotten what this felt like.

  What it felt like when something was important. When someone was important.

  They ate at a small restaurant in Cypress Hollow near the water, an expensive one that she’d heard of but hadn’t been to since she moved to town. It wasn’t the kind of place you went with friends: the dining room was filled with people gazing romantically into each other’s eyes.

  Abigail had a hard time not falling into this demographic.

  Cade looked so good. He looked like he belonged here. In the candlelight, she could make out small laugh or weather lines around his eyes. They suited him, she thought. He’d be too perfect without them.

  They had martinis, crab cakes for an appetizer, steak and lobster for dinner. She went slowly so she didn’t get juice all over her clothes. Sometimes her sweater felt too tight, and too low cut. She tugged at the neckline more than she should have. Every time she did, his eyes followed.

  “Do you mind if I knit?” Abigail pulled a sock-in-progress out of her purse. It might not be the most polite thing to do, knitting in a nice restaurant, but she had to ease these nerves somehow. He shook his head.

  They made small talk.

  “Have you ever traveled?” she asked. “Do you like to?”

  “Never had time. Been working ever since I got out of school. During school, too.” He cleared his throat. “What about you?”

  He was only being polite but she clutched at the question.

  “I love traveling. It’s my favorite thing in the world, I think. Venice. I love Venice best. But Paris is lovely. And Prague. New Zealand! You’d love New Zealand.”

  “Sheep.”

  “Yes, sheep.”

  The food came. She dropped the sock onto her lap.

  Cade ate gracefully. Abigail felt like she was all thumbs.

  She cracked a piece of the lobster tail with her fork. She hit it too hard and a glob of lobster landed on her sweater. She cleaned it off with her napkin, willing him to look away from her red face. But he didn’t. He gazed at her.

  Her hands shook.

  She told him about her father and aunts who raised her, she asked what he did in his leisure time, and she listened as he spoke of his newfound interest in woodcarving.

  It was a quiet restaurant, all dim candlelight and soft edges, the waiters speaking in muted sonorous tones, the patrons matching their tone. But Abigail could hardly hear Cade’s voice over the roar of blood pounding.

  “And Tom? How long have you known him?”

  “Tom’s family. I feel like he’s been around forever. He worked for Eliza before he worked for me….” He trailed off. His eyes rested somewhere over Abigail’s left shoulder.

  “Was he ever married?”

  “What?” Cade looked back at her. It seemed like it took some effort. “Yeah, married once. She died. He was heartbroken. Um…” His eyes left hers again, gazing again over her shoulder.

  Abigail turned. A gorgeous woman, dressed in a low-cut little black dress, sat at the table behind them. Her hair was up in a smooth French knot, emphasizing the length of her neck.

  Her heart hurt. She turned back to Cade. One more try.

  “When was that?”

  “What?”

  “How long ago did she die?”

  Now he wasn’t even trying to hide it, openly staring behind her. He craned his neck to get a better look.

  Abigail took her napkin out of her lap and threw it on the table. “Take me home.”

  He barely glanced at her. He half stood, looking over her shoulder harder.

  “Seriously? No wonder you can’t get a girlfriend!” She sounded as shrill as she felt.

  “Sorry, hang on….”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Cade pushed his chair out from behind him, not seeming to care that it fell over backward, hitting the man at the table behind him.

  “Wha…”

  “Call 911!” Cade yelled to the hovering waiter.

  Abigail turned around again. The man at the table with the beautiful blond was shaking. His lips were blue, the rest of his face mottled. Cade lifted him to a standing position while sweeping his chair out from under him. Cade’s arms went around the man from behind, and using both hands, he jerked his balled fist up under the man’s ribs.

  The man stayed blue. His eyes rolled back in his head. The blond screamed.

  Cade jerked his fist up into the man’s ribs again. A dark-colored piece of food flew out of the man’s mouth. His eyes opened and he gasped like a large fish.

  The following moments were chaotic—the man was embarrassed and grateful and wheezing; the blond cried and clung to the man after kissing Cade on the cheek. The paramedics arrived.

  So did dessert.

  They finished dinner in silence. She was so stupid. He was a hero, and she was a moron.

  Cade paid, dismissing her efforts to give him money.

  He helped her with her coat.

  He opened her door for her, and smiled. He drove in the direction of the boardwalk.

  Abigail wanted to scream with frustration. How long was this date going to take? When could they go home, where she might remember who she was?

  When was he going to touch her again?

  They didn’t speak as he parked, and he took her hand as they walked out onto the sand. They both slipped out of their shoes and carried them, still without speaking.

  She should comment on the beauty of the night. A low harvest moon drooped in the sky, painting a silvery ladder against the water. She should say something about it, something smart about the angle of the moon, or something romantic about the feeling in the air.

  But she had a feeling that if she spoke, she’d either break the mood or she wouldn’t be able to control the wor
ds, and they’d pour out of her.

  And she wasn’t sure what she would end up saying.

  So Abigail stayed quiet as they walked, as he led her down the deserted beach toward the pier. The moon was so bright she could see the ripples in the sand, the footprints of people and dogs who’d walked here earlier today. Had any of them felt as nervous as she did? Had the setting seemed as surreal to them as it did to her?

  Cade took her by the hand and led her under the pier.

  Abigail said, “I’m sorry. About the way I was. In the restaurant.”

  He turned to face her and raised his eyebrows.

  “You were amazing. You saved his life. I didn’t know what you were doing, what you were going to do.”

  “Neither did I. But I know what I’m doing now.”

  He leaned down and kissed her, no part of their bodies touching but their lips. And in the kiss, she could feel every part of him, his strength, his heat. She kissed him back, conveying everything that she couldn’t say. This was what her body needed, wanted, craved.

  Him. Just him.

  For a long moment she was able to hold her body away from his, almost as an experiment. How long could she bear it? To not touch him with anything but her mouth when her whole body craved the intimacy of him pressed against her.

  Cade gave up first, and she was glad to give in. He grasped her by the shoulders and moved her backward, stepping forward against her, until her back was pressed against a piling. Then he was against her, full-length and hard as he’d been before, in the pantry.

  She couldn’t breathe, her head spun. She had no idea where her hands went or where his were going. They moved against each other in the dark in ways that Abigail would have normally found shocking. If she’d been walking the beach and been witness to something like this, she would have been mildly offended. Get a room. Take it somewhere else. Pull your clothes down, up, back into place.

  But it wasn’t someone else, it was her clothing being moved and rearranged. It was her hand pulling at Cade’s belt, loosening the top button….

  His lips moved more quietly now against hers, and his hands stilled hers.

  “We should probably go,” he said.