Blossom Street. Debbie MacomberЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
Alix figured she’d play it cool. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Decide soon, will you?”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know how much longer I can afford to rent movies.” Alix laughed.
“You coming to church on Sunday?” he asked.
“Probably not.” She didn’t see herself sitting next to any church lady with sagging panty hose and a big purse. Jordan might want her to show up, but she didn’t think those goody-goody types would take kindly to her purple-tinted hair.
Church was for people who had regular lives and who had goals and dreams. Okay, Alix had dreams, too, but damn little chance of ever seeing them come to life. She wanted to be a chef. Not just a cook, but a real chef in some fancy restaurant. She’d worked in a couple of cafés like Annie’s over the years and always liked the kitchen jobs best. The last place she’d worked—before the video store—had closed down, but working there had set the dream in place.
She suspected he was laughing at her. Before she knew what he intended, he pulled her into the shadows of the alley and backed her up against the brick wall.
They stared at each other for a long moment, neither breathing, neither saying anything.
Then his mouth was on hers, and it was all she could do not to crumple at the effect of his kiss. Her head started to spin and her knees actually went weak. The only thing left to do was hold on to him, so she wrapped her arms around Jordan’s neck. From there, her senses took her on a roller-coaster ride more exciting than anything Disney had to offer.
“What was that for?” she asked, her voice sounding like something rattling around in a tin can.
When Jordan finally lifted his head, he whispered. “I figured you owed me that because I had my heart broken in sixth grade.”
Alix moistened her lips. “Yeah … well, you weren’t the only one.”
22
CHAPTER
“In the hands of a knitter, yarn becomes the medium that binds the heart and soul.”
—Robin Villiers-Furze, The Needleworks Company, Port Orchard, Washington
LYDIA HOFFMAN
Another Friday had come to an end. The knitting session was one of the best ever, with Alix laughing a lot and Jacqueline more relaxed and tolerant than I’d ever seen her. Carol was at home—doctor’s orders. By the time I turned over the closed sign on the shop door and headed upstairs to my apartment, I was exhausted. But this was a good kind of tired. When I first opened A Good Yarn, I’d had plenty of empty hours to work on my own projects.
Not anymore. I had a continuous stream of customers and I was intermittently busy most days. I needed to thank Jacqueline the next time I saw her. She’d spread the word about the store, and two of her affluent friends had recently stopped by. Despite all her threats to quit the class, she showed up each and every Friday. And Jacqueline’s country club friends had purchased four hundred dollars’ worth of yarn. With big sales like these I didn’t need to worry about making the rent payment, which was one of my biggest concerns when I opened my door.
I