Blossom Street

19
CHAPTER

“Handknitting is a soothing and comforting means of creative expression that can result in a warm, useful and lovingly knitted garment … what a bonus.”

—Meg Swansen, Schoolhouse Press

LYDIA HOFFMAN

The three women in my knitting class sat around the table, eager for the last scheduled lesson. Before I could start, however, Jacqueline spoke up.

“I’d like to let everyone know I’ve decided against returning for the new session.” She meant our knitting “support group,” for which I charged five dollars a week.

No one made any protest, so I felt I should say something. “I’m sorry to hear that, Jacqueline.” I was, and my feelings weren’t entirely mercenary, although I knew if she stayed, Jacqueline would be inclined to purchase the higher-end yarns.

“I’m not,” Alix said without so much as a second’s hesitation.

“I didn’t expect anything different from you,” Jacqueline muttered, not hiding her scorn.

Truth be known, I was just as glad not to be stuck refereeing those two, although it did make for an amusing moment now and then. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two women who disliked each other more intensely. I’d believed that their animosity had lessened in the past few weeks, but apparently I’d read the situation completely wrong. Once again, my lack of experience when it came to relationships was showing.

Jacqueline was difficult to know—and to like. I did give her credit, though; she’d made a genuine effort to learn to knit and had nearly completed the baby blanket she was making for her first grandchild.

“I felt I should attend the last class and tell everyone what I’d decided.”

“Like we’d care,” Alix mumbled under her breath.

Standing behind Alix, I placed my hand on her shoulder as a way of asking her to keep her comments to herself. Through the last six weeks, I’d discovered that for all her crusty exterior the girl was actually quite sensitive. Even a hint of criticism was enough to make her withdraw.

“I don’t think I could stop knitting now if I wanted to,” Carol said. She was working on a sweater for her brother. The cashmere yarn was the most expensive in the shop and she’d bought it in a creamy gray.

“I’m going to continue, too,” Alix said, glaring across the table at Jacqueline as if to suggest the older woman lacked willpower. “I’m gonna get this blanket right no matter what it takes.”

I had to admire Alix’s determination. She was still rather clumsy in her handling of the yarn and needles, but she refused to give up. I suspect she undid as many rows as she knit in the first few weeks. Thankfully, she’d learned what she was doing wrong and was progressing nicely. Her biggest hindrance was lack of time.

“Are you saying I’m a quitter?” Jacqueline asked, challenging Alix.

“If the fancy shoe fits, then walk in it. It’s no biggie, right? You certainly won’t be missed by me.”

Jacqueline and Alix’s constant bickering wore on my nerves. But before I could react, Carol leaped in.

“I have news,” she said in a blatant effort to change the subject. I was grateful to her.

“Oh, good.” I didn’t bother to hide the relief in my voice.

“Monday morning Doug’s taking me in for the last IVF attempt.”

Although she presented a cheerful facade, I sensed—and I’m sure the others did, too—a deep-seated fear. I hoped everything would work this time and Carol would carry the pregnancy full-term. She’d been going in for regular appointments, although she hadn’t given us details. She’d talked briefly to the group about her fertility problems and a bit more to me privately, but not much. My heart ached for her.

To my surprise, it was Jacqueline who spoke first. “Oh, my dear, I certainly wish you success. Reese and I only had the one child and we longed for a second.”

“At this point Doug and I would be ecstatic with just one.” Her smile trembled.

“I so wished for a daughter.”

“Didn’t you mention that your son and his wife are having a girl?” I seemed to remember that from an earlier conversation with Jacqueline.

“Yes.”

Jacqueline had been suspiciously quiet about her son and Tammie Lee lately. It made me wonder if something had happened that she preferred not to discuss. With her it was hard to tell. While Carol and Alix had grown comfortable with each other, Jacqueline remained emotionally distant. I had the impression that the only women she allowed into her life were her country club friends.

Alix kept her head lowered and concentrated on her knitting. “I think only people who really want kids should have them.” She’d said something similar to this earlier, I recalled. She seemed to have strong feelings about it. I could only assume that was because of her own experience.

“I do, too,” Carol agreed. “What I don’t understand is why so many couples who love children seem to have such difficulty getting pregnant. When I think back on all the years I put off having a family, I want to weep. I thought I had lots of time, but how was I to know?” A pained look came over her.

“What about you?” Alix asked, glancing in my direction.

I was sure my face went scarlet, although why the subject of children should bother me, I don’t know. In response I shook my head.

“What?” Alix demanded. “You don’t want kids?”

“I’m not married.”

“That didn’t worry my mother. She was six months pregnant with my brother before she got around to marrying my father. It was the worst mistake of her life, she claims, but that didn’t stop her from having me.”

“A child can’t be blamed for the circumstances of his or her birth,” Carol said.

“Yeah, well, that’s not the way I heard it.” Alix jerked viciously on the ball of yarn. “It’s no big deal. I survived.”

“Surely a lovely young woman like you will marry one day,” Jacqueline said, directing the comment at me.

Jacqueline had a tendency to catch me off guard once in a while. Only moments earlier she’d expressed compassion and understanding for Carol, and her comment about me being lovely—well, that was an unexpected compliment.

“Thank you, but …” I let the rest fade. I’d rather not reveal the details of my life if I can help it.

“But what?” Carol pressed.

“But—well, I don’t think I’d make a very good wife.”

“Why not?” Alix again. “You’d sure as hell be a better wife than my mother ever was.”

This conversation was fast becoming uncomfortable. “Husbands have … expectations.”

Alix looked up with a puzzled frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I could see the other two were equally curious. “I’ve already gone through two bouts of cancer. It’s possible that our family has a predisposition to it.”

“Do you have it now?”

“No, thank God, but my older sister had a recent scare.” Thankfully Margaret’s second mammogram had been clear. I’d gone to the doctor’s office with her and given her the support she needed. Afterward she’d invited me to lunch to celebrate the results.

This was the closest I’d felt to my sister since I was a teenager. Perverse as it sounds, I’m grateful for the alarm that initial mammogram caused. For the first time in years, my sister and I had something in common—fear. And for the first time ever, I was the one who had the greater knowledge … and the authority of personal experience.

“Why can’t you get married?” Alix asked.

I sighed. I really didn’t want to get into this. “There’s no guarantee the cancer won’t come back,” I said simply.

I discovered all three women staring at me with blank expressions.

“In case you haven’t noticed, life doesn’t exactly come with guarantees,” Alix said. “I should know about that.”

“If it did, I’d be a mother by now,” Carol added.

“She’s right,” Jacqueline said, gesturing toward Carol.

My sister had been saying the same thing. Our lunch had gone well until she’d mentioned Brad. I hadn’t seen the UPS guy for several days and as far as I was concerned, the question of my dating him was a moot point. After two rejections, I doubted he’d ask me out again. Really, why should he? I’d made it plain that I wasn’t interested.

“I haven’t been on a date in so long, I’m not sure how to act,” I told my friends. It was the truth.

“You just act normal,” Carol said as if that was understood.

“Just be yourself,” Jacqueline threw in. To my astonishment, she drew out her knitting. I’d had the impression earlier that she intended to make her big announcement and leave. I was glad to see her join the others.

“Hey, do you have the hots for some guy?”

Naturally Alix would ask such a question. “Of course not.” My denial was fast and firm. Once again, the heat in my face reflected my embarrassment.

“You do so,” Carol said, watching me. She laughed softly. “All right, give. Who is he?”

I shook my head, refusing to answer. “It’s too late.”

“It’s never too late.” Jacqueline leaned toward me.

“Tell us the name,” Alix encouraged.

They wouldn’t drop the matter and I could think of nothing to say or do that would take the conversation elsewhere.

“Come on, Lydia,” Alix insisted again. “Tell us.”

I hesitated, then with a deep sigh told them about Brad. “He won’t ask me out again,” I said when I’d finished.

“Probably not,” Alix agreed. “What you have to do now is ask him out.”

Both Jacqueline and Carol nodded. It seemed Brad had won Margaret to his side and now my entire knitting class, too.

20
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

Sunday night before the IVF procedure, Carol waited until she was sure Doug had fallen asleep. When she heard the heavy, even cadence of his breathing, she slipped out of bed and crept silently into the living room.

She loved the view of Puget Sound at night. From her living room window, she could see the dark, shimmering water. Beyond West Seattle was Vashon Island and the lights of the Kitsap Peninsula.

Sinking into her favorite chair, she dropped her head back and ordered her mind and her body to relax. She couldn’t go into this procedure tense; she had to will her body to accept the fertilized eggs, to accept the baby or babies she yearned for.

She didn’t understand what was happening to her. If she wanted a child so much, then why did her body reject pregnancy after pregnancy? Nothing added up, nothing made sense, no matter how often she tried to analyze the situation.

Her own body had become her worst enemy, it seemed; her womb had betrayed her in the most fundamental way, by denying her the ability to reproduce. She was fast approaching a time when her age would make it impossible to conceive. Already her egg production had started to fall off.

While outwardly everyone was sympathetic, Carol knew her friends were bored with the subject. She also knew how badly her mother wanted grandchildren. All her mother’s friends carried around purseloads of pictures of their grandkids, while her own mother sat by, silent and depressed. Neither Carol nor Rick had given her bragging rights. She said it jokingly, but Carol felt her mother’s disappointment as keenly as she felt her own.

To this point, Doug’s parents had been supportive and encouraging, but they too were weary of waiting. Thankfully, his younger sister had made them grandparents twice over, but his father was hoping for a grandson to carry on the family name. The pressure wasn’t explicit but it was there and Carol nearly suffocated under the weight of it.

Tears filled her eyes. Never in all her life had she wept as much as she had in these last few years. Before long, she had a thick wad of tissues in her hand.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. She’d submitted to every therapy available and ingested a pharmacy full of drugs. All those drugs. God only knew what she’d done to her body or what risks she’d taken, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Nothing mattered except having a baby. She was willing to swallow anything, inject her stomach with drugs, volunteer for any experimental program, if there was even the slightest possibility it would help her get pregnant—and stay pregnant.

“What are you doing out here?” Doug came into the room wearing striped pajama bottoms and no top; it was how he always slept. He sat down across from her. “What’s the matter? Can’t you sleep?”

Afraid that he might hear the tears in her voice, she shook her head.

He didn’t say anything and they sat together in silence. After a few minutes, her husband stood up and stretched out his arm to her and pulled her into his embrace.

“You should try to sleep,” he said.

“I know.”

He didn’t try to lead her back to bed and she was grateful.

“What about you?” she asked.

“I don’t think I can sleep without you.”

She smiled, comforted by the knowledge that she was as much a part of him as he was of her.

A ferry glided toward Vashon Island and Carol forced her attention onto its slow progress from Fauntleroy to Southworth. The terrible tension returned and she had to ask the one question that had hounded her for months. “What are we going to do if I don’t get pregnant this time?” Her words came out a broken whisper. “Adopt?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“I can’t wait. I need to know now.”

“Why?”

“What if the adoption agencies decide we aren’t fit parents? What if we can’t get an infant the way we want? What … what if the IVF fails again? Oh, Doug, I shouldn’t think like that and yet I can’t stop myself.”

Doug’s sigh rumbled from deep within his chest. “Then don’t think like that. If the IVF fails, we’ll adopt and if we aren’t accepted by the agency, then we won’t have children. Other couples have survived and we will, too.”

“No … we won’t.”

“Carol.”

“It might be all right between us for a while, but then one day you’ll look at some little boy or girl and—” The lump in her throat made it impossible to continue.

Doug didn’t try to deny it. “Don’t say that.”

She gave a helpless shrug.

“What makes you think we won’t be able to adopt? Other couples our age adopt. Why can’t we?”

“Because we’re too late.”

“Too late? Why is it too late?”

“Because the waiting lists are years long. By the time they get to our name, we’ll be in our midforties.”

“You’re erecting roadblocks where there aren’t any.”

Carol couldn’t respond. Her misery was too great. It was easy for Doug to say she was agonizing over nonexistent problems; it wasn’t his body that failed them month after month.

“We’re going to have a baby,” Doug said.

“Don’t say that,” she cried.

“Carol, stop it. You’re getting hysterical.”

“I’m hysterical and frightened and depressed and—”

“Defeated. Why go through with the procedure if you’ve already decided it isn’t going to work?”

“Because I have to know.”

“You want to know that you can’t get pregnant?” he asked gently.

Doug thought he was helping but he wasn’t. In fact, he was making everything worse. “Just leave me alone.”

“Carol, for heaven’s sake …”

“I don’t want you here. I need some time by myself.” It was like this with the drugs, these wild mood swings. They’d been warned; nevertheless, Carol was caught unprepared.

Doug stood up and walked over to the window. Gazing into the moonlit night, he rubbed his hand over his face as though considering his options. “I don’t think I should leave you alone.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke.

“Please just go.”

“You need me.”

“Not now … I need to be by myself.”

“Carol …” He turned toward her.

“Please, Doug.”

He hesitated and then reluctantly walked into the bedroom.

As soon as he was gone, Carol wanted him back. She wanted him to take her in his arms and reassure her of his love. She wanted him to tell her he’d love her to the end of time, with or without a child.

Closing her eyes, she fought off the ugly negative voices that harassed her from all sides and tried to think positive thoughts. It was a technique she’d learned from her online support group—creating the image of what you want and seeing it in such clear detail that you begin to accept the possibility … the reality.

She pictured herself pregnant, her stomach extended, wearing a cheerful maternity top. Doug’s hands rested on her tummy and he bent over and kissed her belly. When he straightened, his eyes were full of love and pride. That was the image she held on to, the picture she framed in her mind. She refused to let her doubts defeat her.

At some point during the night, she must have fallen asleep on the sofa. Before dawn, she stirred and climbed back into bed. Pressing her body against Doug’s, she cuddled him close and draped her arm across his waist.

When she woke again, Doug was cuddling her. “Are you awake?” he whispered.

“I am now.” She groaned and rolled onto her back.

“What time did you come to bed?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t look.”

He nibbled on her ear. “Do you feel better?”

She managed a soft smile. “Yes.”

“Good.”

She could hear coffee brewing in the background. “Is it time to get up already?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She struggled into a sitting position and offered Doug a tired smile.

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” he asked.

He told her in a thousand different ways. “Yup,” she said in the middle of a loud yawn.

“This is a very important day, you know,” Doug said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I do know,” Carol whispered. This was the day she’d welcome Doug’s child into her womb.

21
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

Alix stepped outside the video store and lit up a cigarette. She was cutting back, but giving up smoking was difficult. Taking a long drag, she savored the immediate soothing effect and exhaled, tilting her head upward. It was when she started to take a second puff that she noticed Jordan Turner walking down the opposite side of the street. A sense of dread filled her; she didn’t want to talk to him.

What was the point? He obviously wasn’t interested in her. Oh sure, she amused him, but he saw her as a leftover challenge from the sixth grade—the girl he wanted to save. Another notch in his ministerial belt. Preachers couldn’t accept that Alix wasn’t looking for salvation. Oh, sure she’d ridden the church bus to Sunday School. Her parents would’ve been willing to let her go anywhere if it meant she was out of their hair for an hour or two. She’d done the Jesus thing at ten and eleven, but it hadn’t gotten her anywhere. Been there, done that, and been awarded the prize Bible for memorizing scripture.

She’d been on her own since she was sixteen and one of the hardest lessons life had taught her was that the only person she could rely on was herself. It wasn’t a lesson she was likely to forget.

Crushing out her half-smoked cigarette, Alix went back inside the store, hoping Jordan would take the hint and leave her alone.

“That was quick,” Laurel muttered as Alix joined her behind the counter.

“I’m going into the back room.”

Laurel frowned. “Why?”

“If you-know-who comes in, tell him I’m not working tonight.”

“Are you still avoiding Jordan?”

“Just do it,” Alix snapped and hurried to the back of the store before the preacher man caught up with her. It’d been two weeks since they’d bumped into each other at Starbucks and he’d dropped his bomb. The explosion still reverberated in her ears. Jordan was a minister—and she wanted nothing to do with him or his God.

No more than a minute later, Laurel appeared, and she didn’t look any too pleased. “He saw you.”

Alix whirled around. “Then tell him I’m busy.”

“I already tried that.”

This was getting irritating. “So tell him something else. I don’t want to talk to him.”

“You can’t hide forever.”

“I’m not hiding,” Alix insisted, which was a pretty weak argument.

“Do what you want,” Laurel said. “But he told me he was going to wait until you came out.” With that, her roommate and supposed friend returned to the front of the store.

Alix waited an agonizing ten minutes and figured that by then Jordan would’ve given up on her. No such luck. Arms crossed, he stood by the microwave popcorn display next to the cash register. His eyes narrowed when he saw her.

Rather than try to avoid him anymore, she strolled purposely toward Jordan. “You don’t take a hint, do you?” she asked bluntly.

“Not easily,” he admitted. “Let’s talk.”

“I can’t.” She’d already squandered her fifteen-minute break and that was her last of the evening. The video store wasn’t doing a robust business, but they were busy enough.

“Meet me after work.”

Alix shrugged. She might as well get this over with. “All right.”

“Your word is good?”

The challenge in his voice offended her sense of pride. “Damn straight it is! I’ll be at Starbucks ten minutes after closing.”

“Make it Annie’s Café.”

“Fine, Annie’s.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

It could’ve been Alix’s imagination, but she thought she saw Jordan wink at Laurel on his way out the door. She wondered what the hell that was about and then decided it didn’t matter. If he was interested in her friend, then fine. She hoped the two of them would be very happy. Jordan was a damn sight better than that slimy used-car salesman.

Only Alix did care, and she was in a bitch of a mood for the rest of her shift. By eleven o’clock Laurel was no longer speaking to her and left in a huff. Alix was just as glad to be rid of her.

Exactly ten minutes after closing out the till, locking up the store and making the deposit, Alix walked into Annie’s. The café was half a block down from the video store. As a treat every payday, Alix bought herself dinner there. The food was good, plentiful and cheap.

Jordan was in a booth reading the menu when she approached. She scowled at him and said, “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Yeah? And your point is?”

“I don’t have to be here.”

He raised his eyebrows. “True, but I figure you owe me an explanation as to why you ditched me in sixth grade.”

“I didn’t ditch you. I … I got caught up in circumstances beyond my control.”

“All right, but consider it common courtesy to explain what happened.”

He’d obviously been taught etiquette. She, on the other hand, didn’t know anything about it.

“Listen,” she said aggressively, “we can spend the rest of the evening arguing about something that happened in grade school or we can talk. You decide.”

It was all too apparent that Jordan intended to pester her until he got the answers he wanted. She’d already decided she’d rather not get involved with a minister, but he was making that difficult. Frowning, she slid into the booth across from him.

“What’s wrong, Alix?” Jordan asked.

This was an interesting approach but before she could answer, the waitress appeared. Alix knew Jenny, who worked swing shift, and she watched as the older woman glanced between them, not bothering to hide her surprise.

Folding over the top sheet of her pad, Jenny asked, “What can I get you two?”

Jordan closed the plastic-coated menu. “I’m thinking about a bacon cheeseburger with the works.” Then he looked at Alix. “How about you?”

Her mouth watered at the thought of one of Annie’s mammoth cheeseburgers. But first she had to find out who was paying for it. “You buying? Or am I getting my own?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

Alix tucked the menu behind the sugar canister. “I’ll have the same.”

“Two bacon cheeseburgers,” Jordan said. “And two Cokes.” He gave Alix a questioning smile and she nodded.

Jenny wrote down the order and left.

As soon as the waitress was gone, Jordan rested his hands on the table. “So,” he began.

Squarely meeting his gaze, Alix sighed heavily. “So I’m not interested in church,” she said.

“Why not?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the church-going kind.”

“And what kind is that?”

Alix rolled her eyes. “Ladies who wear hats and gloves and exchange polite conversation with a few ‘praise the Lords’ thrown in.”

Jordan’s head reared back and he snorted with laughter. “You’re describing a garden party, not church. I can tell you haven’t attended in a while.”

“I went to Sunday School back in grade school but skipped the church part,” she told him. The truth was, she’d gone a few times but left early, bored by all the preaching. “Like I said, I’m not interested.”

Jenny brought their Cokes and Jordan waited impatiently before he responded.

“How do you know?” he burst out when she was gone.

“Jordan, I think you’re great.” She took a long sip of her drink. “I remember your dad and he was nice, too.” Jordan’s father had come to the house once to talk to her mother, after Alix had been awarded that prize Bible. It was the one and only time he’d stopped by, and she didn’t blame him for never visiting again.

“How do you know you’re not interested in church unless you try it? Why don’t you come one Sunday and see?”

“Listen,” Alix said, trying to be as honest as possible. “I don’t need anyone to save me.”

He frowned. “So that’s what you think?”

“Damn straight.”

“You’ve certainly got me figured out,” he said, a little sarcastically.

Being rude was natural for her, but she was determined to keep the peace until after she’d eaten the cheeseburger. After all, he was paying for it. And she was hungry.

“Why is it so important for me to go to church?” she demanded, and then answered for him. “It’s because you want to change me.”

“No,” he argued. “I want to see you.”

Sure he did!

“I liked you in sixth grade and I like you now. Do I need an excuse?” He leaned across the table, unwilling to break eye contact.

“I’m not your type.”

“Did you decide that on your own, or did someone else make up your mind for you?”

She bristled at his question. “I make up my own mind.”

She could see he was growing angry. His hand clenched the silverware wrapped in a paper napkin. “Let me see if I understand you. I was all right to hang with until you found out I’m someone you knew ten or twelve years ago—who just happens to be a minister?”

Alix lowered her eyes and refused to answer.

“You liked me just fine in grade school, and now you don’t?”

That bacon cheeseburger had better show up fast, because holding her tongue was damn difficult. Alix bit the inside of her lip.

“The least you can do is answer me.”

“What do you want me to say?” she snapped. “That it doesn’t matter? Well, it does.”

“What changed?”

She opened her mouth and then faltered, unsure of herself. “You’re … You’re …” She gestured toward him, making circular motions with her hands. “You’re … good.”

“Good?” Jordan repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

She folded her arms and searched with growing desperation for Jenny. It never took this long for an order to come up. Her stomach growled and reminded her it’d been midafternoon since her latte and she was hungry. As soon as her meal arrived, she could say what she wanted and take her cheeseburger home. Only he was confusing her. All she could think about was how badly she’d wanted to attend that valentine party. She hadn’t told him, but she’d had a valentine for him, too.

“You know what I mean,” she challenged.

“No, I don’t,” Jordan said, “so you’d better explain it to me. What the hell makes me good?”

She blinked and realized he was serious. “God,” she whispered.

His expression went blank. “God?”

She nodded. “You’re this lily-white guy who grew up with a perfect family. I didn’t. You had parents who loved you. I didn’t. You—”

“None of that’s relevant,” he countered, cutting her off.

“My mother did jail time for shooting my father. Did you know that?”

He nodded slowly. “There was plenty of talk about it, but all I wanted to know was what had happened to you.”

“Oh.” This was unexpected.

Alix nearly sighed in relief when Jenny appeared with two plates. The cheeseburger was left open and the cheese had melted perfectly. The French fries glistened and sizzled, fresh from the fryer. Her mouth watered just looking at her meal.

“I asked my dad to find out where you were. He tried, but didn’t get anywhere. Apparently you and your brother had already been sent to foster homes in another part of the city,” Jordan said.

Alix reached for the salt shaker but her eyes didn’t leave his the whole time she salted her fries. “You did?”

He nodded and picked up a fry.

Hungry though she was, Alix hadn’t touched her food. “What made you decide to go into the ministry? Like father, like son?”

“That’s a story for another night.” He added lettuce and a slice of tomato to his burger and closed it before taking his first bite.

Alix bit into her burger, too. “Just remember I don’t need you to save me,” she said, still chewing.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

She swallowed and drank some more of her Coke.

“Why not?”

“It’s not what I do. I leave the salvation up to God. He saves, I just point the way.” He took another fry, dipping it into a small pool of ketchup he’d squirted onto his plate.

She still didn’t trust him. “I don’t get it.”

“What’s to get?”

“You,” she said. “Wanting to see me.”

He cast her a strange look. “Is there some law that says I’m not supposed to be attracted to you? I liked you in sixth grade and I still think you’re kinda cute.”

He liked her? He thought she was cute? “You do?” she asked and was mortified by the slight quiver in her voice.

“I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t.” He stretched out his hand and stole one of her French fries.

“Hey.” She slapped his hand.

He laughed and gave her his sliced pickle.

They finished eating, talked about movies they’d both seen and then left the café an hour later. “Are you going to stop avoiding me now?” Jordan asked.