Knitted Hearts: A Small Town Romance (Poplar Falls Book 6)

by Amber Kelly

  “Follow me,” she says as she turns and walks over to a large table off to the side of the booth. It is covered with ribbons of all sizes and colors, small pinecones, berry sprigs, and shiny ornaments.

  “Just pick your wreath size, and then we’ll get a design together for you.”

  I do as she instructed, and then we stand side by side as she makes suggestions on what to include and where to place it. She leans in and rests her hand in the crook of my arm as she guides me while making me do it all myself. Her eyes sparkle in the lights around the table, distracting me.

  “You’re going to burn yourself with that glue gun,” she shouts, and that brings me back to the task at hand.

  “I told you I wasn’t good at this sort of thing.”

  “You’re so great. Look how it’s shaping up. She’s going to love it.”

  I look at the wreath, and she’s right. Mom will love it.

  Once we finish, I pay her mom while Sonia wraps it carefully.

  “Here you go. Let me know what she thinks when you give it to her,” she says as she hands me the package.

  “Can I help you?” I have no idea why I said that.

  “Huh?”

  “I mean, do you guys need help breaking down after the festival?”

  “Mom’s shop is right there.” She gestures to the consignment shop directly behind them.

  “Oh,” I say awkwardly.

  “We could still use help with carrying everything in,” her mother answers from behind her.

  “We could?” she asks her mother.

  “Yes, it’s a lot of stuff. The more hands, the faster we’ll be done.”

  “Okay, I guess we do need help.”

  “I’ll be back after the parade, then.”

  “Sonia, dear, I got this. Why don’t you go watch the parade too?” her mother suggests.

  “I thought you wanted me to run the craft station for you while you sold the premade items?”

  “I’m almost out of skirts, and I think I can handle it now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, go enjoy yourself.” Her mother shoos her off.

  “Make sure Dallas gets the skirt I put back,” she calls as she joins me.

  We walk in silence for a few minutes when Elle spots us.

  “Can I hide something in your apartment?” she asks Sonia.

  “Hide what?”

  “Hi, Foster,” she calls to me before she continues, “I had an axe-throwing target made for Walker for Christmas and a personalized axe handle that says Sexy Beast. I don’t want him to see it, and he’s meeting me here when he leaves the ranch.”

  “You bought him what? Are you insane? He’s going to hurt someone,” Sonia scolds.

  “Probably, but I know he wants one, and he is the hardest person to buy for. He’ll love it.”

  “I guess. Remind me to wear protective gear when you invite me over for barbecues,” she says as she fishes her keys from her pocket.

  “You two mind helping me get it up there? It’s kind of heavy.”

  “Not at all,” I answer.

  We follow her over to the vendor who made the board and axes, and the three of us pick it up and carry it across to Sonia’s apartment and put it in her living room.

  Elle uses the bathroom before we head back.

  “I love this space,” I tell her.

  It’s a small apartment above her mom’s shop. It has one nice-sized bedroom and an open kitchen and living room.

  “It’s not much,” she starts.

  “It’s cozy,” I interrupt.

  “I guess it is that. What about you? Are you still at your mom’s?”

  I bunked on my mother’s couch for a couple of months after my wife and I split.

  “No. I’m renting the silo from Dallas’s folks.”

  “Really? I love that place so much. When Dallas moved in there, I thought it was the coolest,” she states.

  “It is. You’ll have to come by to see it now that I’ve been renovating it. I redid the floor, and I’m adding a fireplace.”

  “I’ll have to do that,” she agrees.

  “I could make dinner,” I offer.

  “Dinner?”

  “Yeah, I mean, if you come by, just let me know you’re coming, and I’ll make enough for two.”

  “You cook?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I love to cook,” I admit.

  “Me, not so much. I help my patients cook all day, so when I get home, I just don’t have it in me.”

  “Then, it’s settled. I’ll cook for you.”

  Elle returns before Sonia accepts or declines. We head back and make it just as the parade is about to start.

  “Oh, I got ya!” we hear as we are looking for a spot to sit along the route.

  Across the street sits an old man with a fishing pole. We look up, and dangling from his line is mistletoe, and he has it perched above Sonia’s head.

  “What are you up to, Mr. Hinson?” she calls.

  “Fishin’ for kisses.” He grins.

  Elle looks at me and urges me forward with her eyes.

  I hesitate for a moment and then decide to just go for it.

  She is still focused on the old man when I press my hand into her lower back and turn her to face me.

  She looks up in surprise as I come in to kiss her cheek, but she bears up on her toes and meets me, her lips planting to mine.

  I bring her in closer, and we part as we are both shocked by the current that ran between us. I lean back in and softly kiss her again. I want so badly to deepen it and kiss her thoroughly, but I don’t think this is the right moment.

  She blinks up at me as I let her go.

  Elle gives me a fist pump behind her.

  “Hey now, you stole my sugar!” Mr. Hinson complains.

  “I’ll give you your sugar,” Elle says as she prances across the street and plants a kiss on the old man’s cheek.

  “That’s more like it.” He grins at her.

  She rejoins us, and we watch as he casts his line again. This time, it stops above Doreen’s head. Emmett keeps batting it away, but the man is persistent. She finally gives in and kisses his cheek as well.

  We walk till we find Brandt, Bellamy, his mom, Ms. Elaine, and Pop Lancaster. They are running a pet adoption booth and offering free initial visits and six months of care to new owners while Ms. Elaine sells her handmade goat’s milk soaps to benefit Annie’s Heart, the charity they set up in honor of Brandt’s late wife. The girls purchase a couple of bars, and then Pop fetches us a blanket, so we can sit with them to watch the parade.

  Truett is across from us, and I can see the confusion on his face as he sees me sitting with the group.

  I shrug and he gallops across the street to join us just before the first float comes by.

  “You ditched me. Not cool, dude.”

  “I found better company,” I tease him.

  “I can see that. I don’t blame you, but it still hurts, man,” he says as he takes a seat.

  We watch the parade, and then everyone gathers around the large tree beside the gazebo outside town hall just as dusk settles in. We sing a couple Christmas carols before Reverend Burr says a few words about the true meaning of Christmas, reminding us all that we are celebrating more than a family holiday, but the birth of our Lord. He urges us all to be at service this Sunday to see the children’s Christmas play and to celebrate together in the house of the Lord before he says a prayer for the town. Then, Pop Lancaster comes up to do the countdown. He waves Beau over to join him, and we all count loudly. When we get to zero, they press the button together to illuminate the gigantic tree. Everyone begins to cheer.

  Sonia leads us over to the tree lot. Everything is picked over, and she finds the scrawniest little tree and decides to buy it.

  “I’ll be getting a new batch tomorrow, and I can bring you one in much better shape,” the owner offers.

  “No, thank you. It looks like it’s been battered by the wind, and all it
needs is a little love to flourish. If it doesn’t, I’ll just love it anyway,” she tells him.

  “I like that way of thinking,” I confess.

  “Yeah, well, some of us know what battered feels like more than others,” she says as she cuts her eyes to me.

  Elle grins and declares, oddly, “Hm, I think I just heard a goat.”

  Sonia gives her a startled look before Elle smiles and leaves us when she spots her brother, Braxton, and his wife.

  Sonia bids me goodbye to return to help her mother for the remainder of the night, but before we part I remind her of my promise to make her a meal.

  “Let me know when you want to come by for that dinner.”

  “Okay,” she says shyly before walking away.

  Truett and I stick around and eat all the things until it’s time to help them close up their booth.

  It is an amazing night.

  February

  Sonia

  “Come on. If I have to go, so do you,” Charlotte commands as she grabs my hand and pulls me from my seat.

  “Technically, I’m still a married woman,” I protest as she drags me toward the dance floor.

  “Semantics,” she says.

  “No, it’s a fact,” I insist.

  “Well, I’m not going to be the only one standing up there, so fact or not, you’re doing it.”

  “You won’t be. See, Truett’s date is coming.”

  I point to where Foster and Truett’s cousin, Katlynn, is approaching the dance floor.

  Charlotte glances her way and scowls.

  “So are you.” She continues to tug at my arm.

  “Ugh, fine,” I relent as I wrench my elbow from her clasp.

  We reach the dance floor, and I take the spot beside her. The three of us are the lone victims of this wedding tradition.

  Elle glances over her shoulder, and her eyes glitter with amusement as she winks at the three of us. Then, she raises the bouquet above her head and tosses it with all she has.

  Charlotte darts her hands out and pushes me forward in an attempt to make me catch the offending omen. I let out a yelp as I lose my balance and my knees buckle under me. I throw my hands out to stop myself from crashing face-first into the wood planks below.

  Charlotte realizes her linebacker move was a little too aggressive and hurries to try to catch me.

  We end up in a pile of twisted dresses and limbs with Elle’s bouquet lying four inches to the left of our wreckage and all of the wedding guests’ eyes on us.

  “It’s a draw! I say, we have them wrestle for it,” Walker yells.

  “I second that. They should mud wrestle,” Truett adds.

  Payne parts the onlookers to come to our aid and reaches and lifts Charlotte off of me.

  As I struggle to stand, a hand extends out to me, and I look up to see Foster’s charming face smiling down at me.

  I blow the hair that has escaped from my chignon from my eyes and groan.

  Great.

  I take his offered hand, and he helps me to my feet before picking up the stupid bouquet and trying to pass it to me.

  “Oh no. I didn’t want it in the first place,” I protest.

  He buries his nose in the flowers and inhales. “Sweet,” he acknowledges, “just like you. You should keep it.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t need that wedding voodoo working on me. I’ve made that mistake once.”

  “You believe in superstitions, huh?” he asks, amusement dancing in his eyes.

  “Elle caught the bouquet at my wedding, and look what happened,” I point out.

  His eyes slide to the front of the tent, where Walker is coaxing Elle onto a stool so he can remove her garter.

  “You’re right. The immense joy looks awful on her,” he muses.

  I sigh.

  Elle is beaming with happiness. The entire day, although a little unconventional, has been nothing but filled with euphoria and seeing my best friend so in love does bring me great joy.

  “She is pretty lucky. Walker might be a mess, but he’s got a heart of gold, and he loves her like crazy,” I agree.

  “And you wouldn’t want that, would you?” he states.

  I turn back to face him. “Of course not. I’m more the heartless-mess magnet myself.”

  He doesn’t laugh; he just watches me. Then, he walks the bouquet over to his cousin, hands it to her, and turns back to me.

  “There. The voodoo is hers to deal with,” he calls before lining up with the other bachelors to watch Walker get handsy with his new bride.

  Truett catches the garter, and he looks at his date, Katlynn, who is also his cousin, who is holding the bouquet. He instantly tosses it back to Walker, who wraps it around his bicep before scooping Elle up into his arms and twirling her around as the music begins.

  “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night.”

  I start at the sound of Bellamy’s voice in my ear.

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Who do you think? Foster.”

  “Yes, he has,” I disagree.

  “Not for very long.”

  I shrug.

  “You know, he’s always had a thing for you,” she says.

  “He has not.”

  “Yes, he has. Don’t tell me you can’t see it too. Every time you come to visit, he finds reasons to come up to the house.”

  “Bells, he’s married, and he works on your ranch. He has legitimate reasons to be there,” I defend.

  “Whatever. I know he likes you. He’s sweet and sexy, and his marriage is over.”

  “So?” I ask, trying to keep the flutter in my stomach at bay.

  “Just planting a seed. Do with it what you will,” she admits before walking off as Foster approaches again.

  As he passes her, she calls, “Hey, Foster, help me get Sonia out there on the dance floor with us, will ya?”

  The traitor.

  He looks at me and grins as he tilts his head in invitation.

  Oh, what the hell?

  I take his hand, and he leads us out into the middle of the floor. Then, he tucks me tight to him as a slow song fills the surrounding air.

  I’m not a fan of love songs at the present time. They seem like sweet lies being whispered in my ear, but it feels good to be in his strong embrace, and after a few moments, I begin to relax and melt into him. He smells good, like the woods after a rain. My head is on his shoulder, and we are swaying to the melody when I feel the press of his lips against my temple.

  I lean back and bring my eyes to his.

  “Was that okay?” he asks.

  I nod.

  His eyes fall to my mouth.

  Involuntarily, my tongue darts out to lick my bottom lip. My breathing stutters as his head moves to the side and he kisses my temple and then the tip of my nose, and finally, my cheek just above the corner of my mouth.

  It’s brief, sweet, and his breath is soft and warm, and for just a second, I let myself get caught up in the romance of the night.

  Our eyes meet and he leans down to kiss me fully, when the song ends, bringing me back into the moment. I take a step back before his lips find mine and look up at the beautiful cowboy standing before me.

  “Thank you for the dance.”

  My hand finds its way to my cheek as I turn to walk off the floor. I can still feel the tingle of that kiss lingering on my skin as I make my way through the sea of bodies. As the thrill fades, an ache starts to take root. As much as I want to be back in Foster Tomlin’s arms, I know that it’s too soon. It would just be a temporary patch to fix the rupture in my soul. He doesn’t deserve that.

  Ricky’s only been gone for a couple of months, and my heart is not ready to move on.

  Not yet.

  October

  Sonia

  “Momma, are you sure you want to sell these?”

  My mother, Kathy Chambers, owns a retail shop, The Cottage Boutique, and the consignment store beside it, Plum Nearly New, on Main Street in our hometown of Poplar Fa
lls, Colorado. The shops are open to one another through the workroom-slash-stockroom and share a counter. My mother is a jack-of-all-trades. She’s a seamstress, she does embroidery, she tailors, she does a plethora of crafts, and she sells new and gently used items in her shops.

  I hold up the two soft, thick cowl-necked sweaters she knitted over the weekend. They are gorgeous.

  “I’m sure—unless you want one for yourself?” she answers.

  I tug on one of the oversize cream-colored pullovers, and it is warm and cozy. I walk over to the standing mirror tucked into the corner of the shop and do a turn-about.

  “I love it. You should keep the other one, and we can be matchy-matchy this winter.”

  I hear her chuckle from behind the counter.

  “If it were up to you, I’d never sell a thing,” she calls out.

  She’s right. Every time I come in to visit, I walk out with something new, and she never charges me a dime. She also lets me live in the tiny one-bedroom apartment above the shop for free.

  “Yeah, I guess I have enough sweaters. Someone is going to love these,” I say as I take it off and hang both of them up in the window beside the door.

  The bell rings as a customer walks in. I greet her and lead her to the counter.

  “Hi, Maisy. I have your husband’s alterations all finished. Let me fetch them for you. I’ll be right back,” Momma says as she slides from the stool and slips into the back.

  I walk behind the counter and start ringing up the ticket for her.

  “How are you doing, Sonia?” Maisy asks.

  I manage to conjure up my brightest smile.

  “I’m fabulous,” I tell her.

  She gives me a look, one I’ve become uncomfortably accustomed to over the last ten months. One of sympathy.

  “Are you really, dear?” she asks as she kindly pats my hand that is sitting on the counter.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m dandy. Turns out, being separated suits me. I might get hitched again someday, just so I get the joy of divorcing him,” I chirp.

  A confused expression overtakes her weathered face, and I feel bad for my outburst. I’m just so sick of the words of sympathy—or worse, words of encouragement—from every person I’ve crossed paths with since my husband, Ricky, and I split last year. Don’t get me wrong. The split was—and still is—painful. I loved Ricky. I thought he was my forever and that we’d be starting our family this year, not filing papers to end our short marriage, but it seems the town is taking it harder than either of us. It’s embarrassing, and I’m tired of the condolences. If I can move on, so can my momma’s friends.