Read the book: «Summer on Blossom Street»

Make time for friends. Make time for Debbie Macomber.

Cedar Cove 16 Lighthouse Road 204 Rosewood Lane 311 Pelican Court 44 Cranberry Point 50 Harbor Street 6 Rainier Drive 74 Seaside Avenue 8 Sandpiper Way 92 Pacific Boulevard 1022 Evergreen Place 1105 Yakima Street 1225 Christmas Tree Lane

Blossom Street The Shop on Blossom Street A Good Yarn Susannah’s Garden

(previously published as Old Boyfriends)

Back on Blossom Street

(previously published as Wednesdays at Four)

Twenty Wishes

Summer on Blossom Street

Hannah’s List

A Turn in the Road

Thursdays at Eight

Christmas in Seattle

Falling for Christmas

A Mother’s Gift

Angels at Christmas

A Mother’s Wish

The Manning Sisters

The Manning Brides

The Manning Grooms

Summer in Orchard Valley

My Dear Friends,

Welcome back to Blossom Street and to Lydia Goetz’s knitting shop, A Good Yarn. Lydia’s family and friends are eager to update you on what’s been happening on this Seattle street.

A couple of years ago, while I was in Australia and everyone else was busy exploring Sydney, I sought out a yarn store. As I stepped up to pay for my purchase (you didn’t honestly think I wouldn’t buy yarn, did you?) I noticed a sign-up sheet for a class that taught knitting as a way to help people quit smoking. What a great idea, I thought – for a book. I grabbed hold of that plot premise, expanded it (Lydia’s class is for people who want to quit any kind of bad habit, not just smoking) and waited for the right story to come along. I’m pleased to tell you it’s the very one you’re holding in your hands. My Knit to Quit class idea evolved into Summer on Blossom Street. You’ll meet a few new characters and connect with some you’re already familiar with. and yes, anne marie, Ellen and Baxter are back – and Ellen is still working on her twenty wishes, so be prepared for a surprise there.

When I wrote The Shop on Blossom Street, the first story about Lydia and her yarn shop, I hadn’t expected or intended it to become a series. Who knew? Obviously not me! Although in retrospect it makes perfect sense, since any book that involves my passions (in this case for yarn and knitting) was sure to resonate with my readers as well.

My hope is that you’re as eager to catch up with Lydia’s friends as she is to turn over the Open sign on her shop door. Enjoy your visit! And rest assured: she has more classes to teach, more lessons to learn and more friends to make.

Warmest regards,

PS I love to hear from my readers. You can reach me at www.debbiemacomber.com or write to me at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA.

Debbie

Macomber

Summer on
Blossom Street

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To Delilah

My God-given friend

KNITTING PATTERN

CABLE SAMPLER SCARF

© 2009 Bev Galeskas/Fiber Trends, Inc.

www.Fibertrends.com

Size: About 8" wide by 60" long, relaxed after blocking.

Materials and Supplies: 5 skeins Harmony 8 ply 100% merino wool (50gr–130 yds per skein) or other DK weight yarn to equal gauge.

U.S. size 6 needles; cable needle.

Gauge: 21 sts = 4" (10 cm) in garter stitch.

Stitches and Abbreviations:

Sl-1 (Slip 1): All slip stitches on this pattern should be slipped purlwise with yarn in front of work.

k2tog: Knit 2 sts together as one.

Inc (increase): Lift the stitch below the stitch on left needle and place the loop on the point of left needle. Knit this loop, then knit the stitch. (1 st increased)

Brackets: Work all stitches within the brackets the specified number of times (x).

Asterisks: Repeat stitches between the asterisks, including any repeats within.

C6B (Cable 6 back): Slip 3 sts to the cable needle and hold in back of work. Knit next 3 sts from left needle, then k3 from cable needle.

C6F (Cable 6 front): Slip 3 sts to the cable needle and hold in front of work. Knit next 3 sts from left needle, then k3 from cable needle.

C4B (Cable 4 back): Slip 2 sts to the cable needle and hold in back of work. Knit next 2 sts from left needle, then k2 from cable needle.

C4F (Cable 4 front): Slip 2 sts to the cable needle and hold in front of work. Knit next 2 sts from left needle, then k2 from cable needle.

Notes: Scarf is bordered in garter stitch. These stitches are included in the directions, so there should not be a need to use markers.

Slip the first stitch of every row as if to purl with the yarn held in front of work.

Instructions:

Loosely cast on 43 sts.

Knit 10 rows (5 ridges of garter stitch).

Cable Pattern 1:

Set Up Row 1: (WS) Sl-1, k7, [p3, k3] 5x, k5.

Set Up Row 2: (RS) Sl-1, k4, p3, [inc in next 3 sts (see above for method), p3] 5x, k5. (58 sts)

Begin Cable Pattern:

Row 1 and all WS rows: Sl-1, k7, [p6, k3] 5x, k5.

Row 2: Sl-1, k4, p3, [k6, p3] 5x, k5.

Row 4: Sl-1, k4, p3, [C6B, p3] 5x, k5.

Rows 6 & 8: Repeat Row 2.

Work Rows 1 through 8 a total of 6 times, then Rows 1 through 5 once more.

Final Row: (RS) Sl-1, k7, *[k2tog] 3x, k3,* repeat to last 5 sts, k5. (43 sts)

Knit 10 rows (5 ridges of garter stitch), ending ready to begin a WS row.

Cable Pattern 2:

Set Up Row 1: (WS) Sl-1, k4, p33, k5.

Set Up Row 2: (RS) Sl-1, k4, p6, [k1, inc in next st, k1, p6] 3x, k5. (46 sts)

Begin Cable Pattern:

Rows 1, 3, 5 & 7: (WS) Sl-1, k10, [p4, k6] 3x, k5.

Row 2: (RS) Sl-1, [k4, p6] 4x, k5.

Row 4: Sl-1, k4, [p6, C4F] 3x, p6, k5.

Row 6: Repeat Row 2.

Rows 8 & 10: Sl-1, k4, p1, [k4, p6] 3x, k4, p1, k5.

Rows 9, 11, 13 & 15: Sl-1, k5, [p4, k6] 4x.

Row 12: Sl-1, k4, p1, [C4F, p6] 3x, C4F, p1, k5.

Row 14: Repeat Row 10.

Row 16: Repeat Row 2.

Work Rows 1 through 16 a total of 3 times, then Rows 1 through 7 once more.

Final Row: (RS) Sl-1, k11, k2tog, [k8, k2tog] 2x, k12. (43 sts)

Knit 10 rows (5 ridges of garter stitch), ending ready to begin a WS row.

Cable Pattern 3:

Set Up Rows 1 & 2: Work as for Cable Pattern 1. (58 sts)

Begin Cable Pattern:

Row 1 and all WS rows: Sl-1, k7, [p6, k3] 5x, k5.

Row 2: Sl-1, k4, p3, [k6, p3] 5x, k5.

Row 4: Sl-1, k4, p3, [C6B, p3] 5x, k5.

Rows 6, 8 & 10: Repeat Row 2.

Row 12: Sl-1, k4, p3, [C6F, p3] 5x, k5.

Rows 14 & 16: Repeat Row 2.

Work Rows 1 through 16 a total of 3 times, then Rows 1 through 5 once more.

Final Row: (RS) Sl-1, k7, *[k2tog] 3x, k3,* repeat to last 5 sts, k5. (43 sts)

Knit 10 rows (5 ridges of garter stitch), ending ready to begin a WS row.

Cable Pattern 4:

Set Up Row 1: Purl.

Set Up Row 2: Sl-1, k5, inc in next st, k3, [inc in next 2 sts, k2] 7x, k5. (58 sts)

Begin Cable Pattern:

Row 1 and all WS rows: Sl-1, k4, purl to last 5 sts, k5.

Row 2: Sl-1, k4, *C4F, k2,* repeat to last 5 sts, k5.

Row 4: Knit.

Row 6: Sl-1, k6, *C4B, k2,* repeat to last 9 sts, C4B, k5.

Row 8: Knit.

Work Rows 1 through 8 a total of 6 times, then Rows 1 through 7 once more.

Final Row: (RS) Sl-1, k5, k2tog, k4, *[k2tog] 2x, k2,* repeat to last 10 sts, [k2tog] 2x, k6. (43 sts)

Knit 10 rows (5 ridges of garter stitch), ending ready to begin a WS row.

Cable Pattern 5:

Work Set Up Rows 1 & 2 as for Cable Pattern 1. (58 sts)

Begin Cable Pattern:

Row 1 and all WS Rows: Sl-1, k7, [p6, k3] 5x, k5.

Row 2: Sl-1, k4, [p3, C4B, k2] 5x, p3, k5.

Row 4: Sl-1, k4, [p3, k2, C4F] 5x, p3, k5.

Work Rows 1 through 4 a total of 13 times, then work Row 1 once more.

Final Row: (RS) Sl-1, k7, *[k2tog] 3x, k3,* repeat to last 5 sts, k5. (43 sts)

Knit 10 rows (5 ridges of garter stitch), ending ready to begin a WS row.

Cable Pattern 6:

Set Up Row 1: (WS) Sl-1, k4, p33, k5.

Set Up Row 2: (RS) Sl-1, k8, inc in next st, k5, [inc in next 2 sts, k4] 4x, k4. (52 sts)

Begin Cable Pattern:

Row 1 and all WS rows: Sl-1, k4, p42, k5.

Row 2: Sl-1, k7, C4B, [k4, C4B] 4x, k8.

Row 4: Sl-1, k5, C4B, C4F, [k8, C4B, C4F] 2x, k6.

Row 6: Sl-1, knit to end.

Row 8: Sl-1, k5, C4F, C4B, [k8, C4F, C4B] 2x, k6.

Row 10: Repeat Row 2.

Row 12: Sl-1, k13, C4B, C4F, k8, C4B, C4F, k14.

Row 14: Repeat Row 6.

Row 16: Sl-1, k13, C4F, C4B, k8, C4F, C4B, k14.

Work Rows 1 through 16 a total of 3 times, then Rows 1 through 9 once more.

Final Row: (RS) Sl-1, k6, *[k2tog] 2x, k5, k2tog, k5,* repeat once, [k2tog] 2x, k9. (44 sts)

Knit 10 rows (5 ridges of garter stitch), ending ready to begin a WS row.

Cable Pattern 7:

Set Up Row 1: (WS) Sl-1, k7, [p4, k3, p2, k3] 2x, p4, k8.

Set Up Row 2: (RS) Sl-1, k4, p3, [inc in next 4 sts, p3, inc in next 2 sts, p3] 2x, inc in next 4 sts, p3, k5. (60 sts)

Begin Cable Pattern:

Row 1 and all WS rows: Sl-1, k7, [p8, k3, p4, k3] 2x, p8, k8.

Row 2: (RS) Sl-1, k4, p3, C4F, C4B, p3, C4F, p3, C4F, C4B, p3, C4B, p3, C4F, C4B, p3, k5.

Row 4: Sl-1, k4, p3, [k8, p3, k4, p3] 2x, k8, p3, k5.

Row 6: Sl-1, k4, p3, C4B, C4F, p3, C4F, p3, C4B, C4F, p3, C4B, p3, C4B, C4F, p3, k5.

Row 8: Repeat Row 4.

Row 10: Repeat Row 6.

Row 12: Repeat Row 4.

Row 14: Repeat Row 2.

Row 16: Repeat Row 4.

Work Rows 1 through 16 a total of 3 times, then Rows 1 through 7 once more.

Final Row: (RS) Sl-1, k4, k2tog, k1, *[k2tog] 4x, k3, [k2tog] 2x, k3,* repeat once, [k2tog] 4x, k8. (43 sts)

Knit 10 rows (5 ridges of garter stitch), ending ready to begin a WS row.

Cast off loosely, knitwise.

Work in yarn ends neatly. Rinse in cool water and roll in a towel to remove excess water. Lay scarf out on a flat surface and pull into shape. Blocking wires are helpful for nice straight edges.

Pin as needed and leave until completely dry. Note that while the scarf may pull out to about 9" wide while wet, it will relax back to about 8" wide afterward.

Enjoy!

CHAPTER

1

In knitting, as in life, we grow when we challenge ourselves. The concentration required to learn a new stitch or technique is good for both our hands and our brains.

—Bev Galeskas, Fiber Trends Patterns and U.S.

distributor of Naturally New Zealand Yarns.

www.fibertrends.com

Lydia Goetz

Wednesday morning, a not-so-perfect June day, I turned over the Open sign at my yarn store on Blossom Street. Standing in the doorway I breathed in the sweet scent of day lilies, gladiolas, roses and lavender from Susannah’s Garden, the flower shop next door.

It was the beginning of summer, and although the sky was overcast and rain threatened to fall at any moment, the sun shone brightly in my heart. (My husband, Brad, always laughs when I say things like that. But I don’t care. As a woman who’s survived cancer not once but twice, I feel entitled to the occasional sentimental remark. Especially today…)

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, enjoying the early-morning peace. I just don’t think there’s anyplace more beautiful than Seattle in the summer. All the flowers spilling out of Susannah’s Garden are one of the benefits. The array of colors, as well as the heady perfume drifting in my direction, makes me so glad A Good Yarn is located where it is.

Whiskers, my shop cat, as Brad calls him, ambled across the hardwood floor and leaped into the window display, nestling among the skeins of pastel yarns. He takes up residence there most days and has long been a neighborhood favorite. The apartment upstairs is an extra storeroom for yarn at the moment; perhaps one day I’ll rent it out again but that isn’t in the plans yet.

The French Café across the street was already busy, as it is every morning. The windows were filled with pastries, breads and croissants warm from the oven, and their delectable aroma added to the scents I associate with summer on Blossom Street. Alix Turner is usually there by five to bake many of these wonderful temptations. She’s one of my dearest friends—and was among my first customers. I’m so proud of everything she’s accomplished in the past few years. It’s fair to say she reinvented her life—with a little help from her friends. She has an education and a career now, and she’s married to a man who seems completely right for her.

Blossom Street Books down the street was ready for business, too. Anne Marie Roche and her staff often leave the front door open as a welcoming gesture, inviting those who wander past to come inside and browse. She and her daughter, Ellen, would be coming home from Paris later today.

Nearly every afternoon Ellen walks their Yorkie past the window so Whiskers and Baxter can stare fiercely at each other. Ellen insists it’s all for show, that the cat and dog are actually good friends but don’t want any of us to know that.

I grinned at Whiskers because I couldn’t resist sharing my joy and excitement—even with the cat. In fact, I wanted to tell the whole world my news. Yesterday, we found out that we’d been approved for adoption. I hadn’t yet shared this information with anyone, including my sister, Margaret. We’ve been through the interviews, the home test and fingerprinting. And last night we heard.

We’re going to adopt a baby.

Because of my cancer, pregnancy is out of the question. While the ability to conceive has been taken from me, the desire for a baby hasn’t. It’s like an ache that never quite goes away. As much as possible I’ve tried to hide this from Brad. Whenever thoughts of what cancer has stolen from me enter my head, I try hard to counter them by remembering all the blessings I’ve received in my life. I want to celebrate every day, savor every minute, without resentment or regret.

I have so much for which to be grateful. I’m alive and cancer-free. I’m married to a man I adore. His son, Cody, now nine years old, has become my son, too. And I have a successful business, one that brings me great pleasure and satisfaction. When I first opened A Good Yarn, it was my way of shouting to the world that I refused to let cancer rob me of anything else. I was going to live and I was going to do it without the constant threat of illness and death. I was determined to bask in the sunshine. I still am.

So A Good Yarn was the start of my new life. Within a year of opening the store, I met Brad Goetz and we were married the following spring. Because of what I’d been through in my teens and again in my twenties, I didn’t have a lot of experience with men or relationships. At first, Brad’s love terrified me. Then I learned not to reject something good just because I was afraid of its loss. I learned that I could trust this man—and myself.

How blessed I am to be loved by him and Cody. Each and every day I thank God for the two men in my life.

Even with all I have, my arms ached to hold a baby. Our baby. Brad, who knows me so well, understood my need. After discussing the subject for weeks on end, after vacillating, weighing the pros and cons, we’d reached our decision.

Yes, we were going to adopt. The catalyst for all this happened when Anne Marie Roche adopted eight-year-old Ellen.

I realized the wait for a newborn might be lengthy but we were both prepared for that. Although we’d be thrilled with an infant of either sex, I secretly longed for a little girl.

I heard the back door close and turned to see my sister, Margaret. She’s worked with me almost from the first day I opened the shop. Although we’re as different as any two sisters could be, we’ve become close. Margaret is a good balance for me, ever practical and pragmatic, and I think I balance her, too, since I’m much more optimistic and given to occasional whimsy.

“Good morning!” I greeted her cheerfully, unable to disguise my happiness.

“It’s going to pour,” she muttered, taking off her raincoat and hanging it in the back storeroom.

My sister tends to see the negative. The glass would always be half-empty to Margaret. Or completely empty—if not shattered on the floor. Over the years I’ve grown accustomed to her attitude and simply ignore it.

When she’d finished removing her coat, Margaret stared at me, then frowned. “Why are you so happy?” she demanded. “Anybody can see we’re about to have a downpour.”

“Me? Happy?” There wasn’t much point in trying to hold back my news, even though I knew Margaret was the one person who wouldn’t understand my pleasure. She’d disapprove and would have no qualms about imparting her opinion. It’s her pessimistic nature, I suppose, and the fact that she worries about me, although she’d never admit that.

Margaret continued to glare. “You’re grinning from ear to ear.”

I made busy work at the cash register in order to avoid eye contact. I might as well tell her, although I dreaded her response. “Brad and I have applied for adoption,” I blurted out, unable to stop myself. “And our application’s been accepted.”

A startled silence followed.

“I know you think we’re making a mistake,” I rushed to add.

“I didn’t say that.” Margaret walked slowly toward me.

“You didn’t need to say anything,” I told her. Just once I wanted Margaret to be happy for me, without doubts and objections and concerns. “Your silence said it all.”

Margaret joined me at the counter next to the cash register. She seemed to sense that her reaction had hurt me. “I’m only wondering if adoption’s a wise choice for you.”

“Margaret,” I began, sighing as I spoke. “Brad and I know what we’re doing.” Although Margaret hadn’t said it openly, I could guess what concerned her most. She was afraid the cancer would return. I’m well aware of the possibility and have been ever since its recurrence ten years ago. It was a serious consideration and one that neither Brad nor I took lightly.

“Brad agrees?” My sister sounded skeptical.

“Of course he agrees! I’d never go against his wishes.”

Margaret still didn’t look convinced. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Yes.” I was adamant. Sometimes that’s the only way to reach her. “Brad knows the risks as well as I do. You don’t need to spell it out, Margaret. I understand why you’re afraid for me, but I’m through with living in fear.”

Margaret’s eyes revealed her apprehensions. She studied me and after a moment asked, “What if the adoption agency doesn’t find you a child?”

This was something Brad and I had discussed and it could certainly happen. I shrugged. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. We’ll take the chance.”

“You want an infant?”

“Yes.” I pictured a newborn, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, gently placed in my waiting arms. I held on to the image, allowing it to bring me comfort, to fill me with hope.

To my surprise Margaret didn’t immediately voice another objection. After a thoughtful minute or two, she said in low tones, “You’d be a good mother…you already are.”

I’m sure my jaw fell open. The shock of Margaret’s endorsement was almost more than I could take in. This was as close as Margaret had ever come to bestowing her approval on anything regarding my personal life. No, that wasn’t fair. She’d been partially responsible for Brad and me getting back together when I’d pushed him away—a reconciliation that led directly to our marriage.

“Thank you,” I whispered and touched her arm.

Margaret made some gruff, unintelligible reply and moved to the table at the back of the store. She pulled out a chair, sat down and took out her crocheting.

“I put up the poster you made for our new class,” I told her, doing my best to conceal the emotion that crept into my voice. The last thing I’d expected from Margaret had been her blessing, and I was deeply touched by her words.

She acknowledged my comment with a nod.

The idea for our new knitting class had been Margaret’s. “Knit to Quit,” she called it, and I loved her suggestion. Since opening the yarn store five years earlier, I’d noticed how many different reasons my customers—mostly women but also a few men—had for learning to knit. Some came looking for a distraction or an escape, a focus to take their minds off some habit or preoccupation. Others were there because of a passion for the craft and still others hoped to express their love or creativity—or both—with something handmade.

Four years ago, Courtney Pulanski, a high school girl, had signed up for my sock-knitting class, which contributed to her successful attempt to lose weight. Hard to believe Courtney was a college senior now and still a knitter. More importantly, she’d kept off the weight she lost that summer.

“I hope Alix takes the hint,” Margaret said, cutting into my thoughts.

I missed the connection. “I beg your pardon?”

“Alix is smoking again.”

It wasn’t as if I’d missed that. She smelled of cigarettes every time she walked into the store. There was no disguising the way smoke clung to her clothes and her hair. And yet Alix seemed to think no one noticed, although of course everyone did.

“My guess is she’d like to quit.”

“Then she should sign up for the class,” Margaret said emphatically. “She could use it.”

How typical of Margaret to feel she knew what was best for everyone. Currently, though, I was more amused than annoyed by her take-charge attitude.

My first customer of the morning—a woman I’d never met before—stepped into the shop and fifteen minutes later, I rang up a hundred-dollar yarn sale. A promising start to the day.

As soon as the door closed, Margaret set aside her project, an afghan for our mother who resides at a nearby assisted-living complex. “You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?”

“Happen with what?” I asked.

“This adoption thing.”

I froze. I should’ve known Margaret wouldn’t leave the subject alone. At least not until she’d cast a net of dire predictions. I understood that this impulse was one she couldn’t resist, just as I understood that it was motivated by her protectiveness toward me. But I didn’t need to hear it right now.

“What’s that?” I asked, hoping my irritation didn’t show.

“Have you talked to a social worker yet?”

“Well, of course.” I’d spoken to Anne Marie, and she’d recommended Evelyn Boyle, the social worker who’d been assigned to Ellen and had handled her adoption. Anne Marie and Ellen fit so perfectly together that their story had inspired me to look beyond my fears. So Brad and I had approached Evelyn.

Margaret shook her head, which annoyed me even more.

“Anne Marie gave me the phone number of the woman who helped her adopt Ellen,” I said.

Margaret’s brows came together in consternation and she tightened her lips.

“What now?” I asked, trying to remain calm.

“I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“Why not? It’s too late anyway.”

“This social worker deals with foster kids, right?”

“I guess so.” I knew so, but didn’t see how that was relevant. “Why should it matter?”

My sister rolled her eyes, as though it should be obvious. “Because she’s got children in her case files,” Margaret said with exaggerated patience. “She probably has lots of kids and nowhere to place them. Mark my words, she’ll find a reason to leave some needy child with you. And not a baby, either.”

“Margaret,” I said pointedly, “Brad and I are going to adopt an infant. This social worker, Evelyn, is helping us through the process, nothing more.”

Margaret didn’t respond for several minutes. Just when it seemed she was prepared to drop the subject, she added, “Finding an infant might not be that easy.”

“Perhaps not,” I agreed, unwilling to argue. “We’ll have to wait and see what the adoption agency has to say.”

“It might be expensive, what with lawyers and everything.”

“Brad and I will cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Margaret looked away, frowning slightly, as if she needed to consider every negative aspect of this process. “There are private adoption agencies, too, you know.”

I did know about them, but it made better financial sense to approach the state agency first.

“What about adopting from outside the country?”

Margaret was apparently trying to be helpful, but I wasn’t convinced I should let down my guard.

“We’re holding that in reserve,” I said.

“I hear it’s even more expensive than private adoptions.”

“Yes, well, it’s another option to investigate….”

Margaret’s shoulders rose in a deep sigh. “Are you going to tell Mom?”

With our mother’s fragile health and declining mental condition it wasn’t something I’d considered doing. “Probably not…”

Margaret nodded, her mouth a tight line.

“Mom has a hard enough time remembering that Cody’s my stepson,” I reminded her. On our last visit she’d asked copious questions about the “young man” I’d brought with me.

My sister swallowed visibly. “Mom didn’t recognize Julia when we went to see her a few days ago.”

I felt a jolt of pain—for Margaret, for her daughter, Julia, for Mom. This was the first time Margaret had mentioned it. Our mother’s mental state had declined rapidly over the past two years and I suspected that in a little while she wouldn’t recognize me anymore, either. Margaret and I shared responsibility for checking in on her and making sure she was well and contented. These days my sister and I had taken over the parental role, looking after our mother.

I could pinpoint exactly when that role reversal had taken place. It’d been the day Mom’s neighbor found her unconscious in the garden. She’d collapsed while watering her flowers. Everything had changed from that moment on.

Our mother had ceased to be the woman we’d always known. Living in a care facility now, she was increasingly confused and uncertain. It broke my heart to see Mom struggling so hard to hide her bewilderment at what was happening to her.

“Mom will be happy for you,” Margaret mumbled. “At some point her mind will clear and she’ll realize you have an infant.”

I smiled and hoped this was true, although I had my doubts… and I knew Margaret did, too.

The bell above the door chimed before we could discuss it further, and I glanced up at an attractive young woman who’d entered the shop. I hadn’t seen her before.

“Hello,” I said, welcoming her with an encouraging smile. “Can I help you?”

The woman nodded and toyed nervously with the cell phone in her hand. “Yes…I saw the notice in the window for the Knit to Quit class.”

“Do you know how to knit?”

She shook her head. “No…well, some. I learned years ago but I’ve forgotten. Would this class be too advanced for someone like me?”

“Not at all. I’m sure you’ll pick it up in no time. I’ll be happy to help you refresh your skills.” I went on to explain that there’d be seven sessions and told her the price of the class.

She nodded again. “You can sign up for the class no matter what you want to quit?” She stared down at the floor as she spoke.

“Of course,” I assured her.

“Good.” She set her bag and cell phone on the counter. “I’d like to pay now.” She handed me a credit card and I read her name—Phoebe Rylander.

“You’re our very first class member,” I told her.

“So the class starts next week?”

“Yes.”

“The sign said Wednesdays from six to eight?”

“Yes. I’m keeping the store open late. It’ll be my first night class.”

I processed her payment and wrote her name on the sign-up sheet. “What are you trying to quit?” I asked in a friendly voice.

“Not what, who,” she whispered.

“Oh…” Her answer took me by surprise.

“There’s a man I need to get over,” she said with tears in her eyes. “A man I…once loved.”

CHAPTER

2

Phoebe Rylander

Clark made their breakup far more difficult than it needed to be. Phoebe had just stepped out of A Good Yarn when her cell phone chirped again. She didn’t have to check Caller ID to know it was Clark Snowden, her fiancé. No…ex-fiancé.

The man she still loved, despite everything.

She’d had no choice except to end their engagement, no matter how much her heart ached. When she thought about what he’d done, she knew she couldn’t allow him to dissuade her again. Not this time. It was final. She told herself that nothing he could say or do would change her mind. But soon she’d be walking into an empty condo and it would feel so lonely and isolated that she was afraid her resolve would weaken. This afternoon she’d felt stronger and more in control of her emotions. The knitting class would help, too.

Knowing what she had to do didn’t make it easy. Clark’s efforts to win her back turned the whole ordeal into an even bigger mess. He’d gone so far as to involve their families. But she couldn’t, she simply couldn’t, let herself give in.

Her cell phone continued to make its little chirping noises, announcing his call.

If Phoebe didn’t answer, Clark would just leave a message and then try again. She flipped open her phone. “Don’t call me anymore,” she said emphatically, surprised at the conviction in her voice. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Phoebe, please…don’t. Let me—”

“This conversation is over.” She started to hang up.

“Phoebe, please, the least you can do is hear me out.”

“I already have.” She hesitated. “There’s nothing more to say.”

“I’m begging you.”

“Clark, I returned your engagement ring. It’s over. We’re through.”

“You’re angry and you have every right to be. But if you’d give me five minutes, just five minutes, I could explain everything.”

Oh, he was good—as plenty of juries had discovered. “No, Clark, I fell for that the first time. This is it. I’m done. As of a week ago we are officially unengaged.”

“You don’t mean that! You can’t. You love me and I’m crazy about you…. You know that, Phoebe. You have to know that. I’d never, ever do anything to hurt you. I’d rather die.”

“If that was the case, I’d be picking out a coffin for you because you have hurt me, Clark.” Her voice faltered and she hated the fact that she’d shown even this small weakness. Rather than continue the conversation, she closed her cell.

Walking at a clipped pace, she hurried down Blossom Street, her vision blurred by tears. At the intersection, she swiped one hand across her cheek, sniffling despite herself. She’d gone for a walk on her lunch hour and ventured much farther than she normally did. In fact, she’d never set foot on Blossom Street before today. But by now she was late; she had to get back to work. Her boss at Madison Avenue Physical Therapy was understanding, but he wouldn’t appreciate it if she kept a patient waiting.

When she got to the clinic, Phoebe was breathless. She hadn’t eaten lunch and her stomach was already in knots. Well, there was nothing she could do about that.

Mrs. Dover was in the clinic’s waiting room as Phoebe rushed in the front door. Her patient lowered the magazine and smiled at Phoebe, who did her best to smile back. Caroline Dover had undergone a complete knee replacement and she had a regularly scheduled appointment at one o’clock every Wednesday. She’d been seeing Phoebe for the past six weeks; they were making progress, although it was slow.

“Come on back,” Phoebe told the older woman. She hurried ahead of her and drew in a deep breath. It would take a lot of resolve to get through the afternoon.

By concentrating strictly on her patients, she made it to the end of the day. At five-ten, she pulled on her jacket and grabbed her purse, eager to escape. Because she couldn’t resist, she checked her cell phone. Clark had left three messages. Refusing to be swayed, she erased each one without listening.

She dared not let herself hear his voice; she was too susceptible. The problem was, she wanted to believe him. …She so badly wanted all of this to go away. That was why she’d impulsively signed up for the knitting class. Knit to Quit. The sign in the yarn shop window had been like a flashing neon light. If she was going to convince Clark that she was serious—and she was—she’d need a distraction to help her through the next few weeks.

Her hand tightened on her cell phone. Even as her fingers pushed the buttons to erase Clark’s messages, she yearned to talk to him. She wanted to be reassured of his love, wanted him to offer some plausible reason that would explain his need to seek out other women. However, there were no reasons. No excuses. Nothing he could say would change what he’d done.

“Did you and Clark have another spat?” Bill Boyington, her boss, asked as she started out the door.

The question caught her unawares.

“What makes you ask?” Phoebe had done her utmost to remain professional and therefore unemotional all week. She hadn’t revealed to anyone at work that she’d ended her engagement.

“There were flowers delivered for you.” He motioned to the receptionist’s desk.

Sure enough, a huge floral arrangement sat on the corner. She wondered how she’d missed seeing it. Orchids, lilies and roses were interspersed among white hydrangeas; obviously Clark had spared no expense. It occurred to her that they were more fitting for a funeral than a reconciliation. But in many ways this was a funeral and Phoebe felt like weeping all over again.

Determined to be strong, she squared her shoulders. “I don’t want them.”

Bill looked at her oddly.

“Take them home to Louise,” she suggested, knowing Bill’s wife would enjoy them.

Her boss didn’t seem convinced. “I’ll bet he spent two hundred bucks on that.”

For a second Phoebe was tempted to forgive him. Clark was so determined, so intent on overcoming her resistance. Still, she couldn’t allow even a small crack in her defenses. She shook her head. “I…I don’t want them. Either give them to Louise or throw them away.”

“You’re serious?” Bill asked, frowning as if this was some weird joke.

“It’s over between Clark and me,” she said bleakly.

“No patching it up this time?”

Phoebe blinked back tears. “No…I really don’t have any choice.”

Her boss patted her shoulder gently. “Do you want to talk about it with anyone? Me or…” He nodded at the receptionist’s desk. Claudia was around the same age as Phoebe’s mother.

“Thanks, but…I don’t think so. I’m still feeling pretty raw.”

Again Bill patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know how much you loved him.”

With a trembling hand, Phoebe reached into her purse for a tissue and blew her nose. Anger and indignation would only carry her so far and then the regrets would take over. Experience had taught her that she needed to be prepared, that she needed an action plan to combat the depression she knew would follow.

“Bill, would you do something for me?”

“Of course.” His unquestioning allegiance and willingness to help made it harder to hold back the emotion.

“I’d appreciate it if you told Claudia to refuse anything else Clark Snowden has delivered here.” Her voice broke just a bit when she said it. If she forgave Clark this time she’d lose all self-respect. Shunning him would take real effort. She’d have to work at it, just like Caroline Dover worked at making her knee function properly. But eventually Phoebe would learn to stop loving Clark. Eventually her heart would stop aching.

Bill hugged her as she left, and that brought fresh tears to her eyes. On her way to the parking garage her cell phone chirped again. She didn’t bother to see who it was. A cheery jingle announced that she had a message.

As she walked, her feet slowed. Clark wouldn’t give up easily. He would hound her, send her gifts, plead with her until she weakened. And she just might. She had before.

It was hard to turn away from the man you loved, hard to fight the desire to accept his excuses. This was familiar ground—territory she’d sworn she’d never travel again and yet…here she was.

No, she couldn’t give in. She couldn’t falter.

Walking by the phone shop, the same shop she passed five days a week, she really noticed it for the first time. After a short hesitation, Phoebe turned back. Staring in the window, she saw the latest cell phone accessories.

It went without saying that Clark would continue to call her until he made a dent in her resolve. She knew his plan and had fallen for it once before. If she was truly serious about avoiding Clark she had to send him the right signals.

Stepping inside the store, Phoebe looked around.

“You’ll need to take a number,” a harried saleswoman instructed her.

“I have a question.”

“You’ll still need to take a number.”

“Okay.” She got a ticket that read 57 and leaned casually against the wall. There was no reason to rush home. All that awaited her was an empty apartment—well, empty except for her cat, Princess.

The cat had more common sense than Phoebe did. Princess had never cared for Clark and the feeling was mutual. He’d said that when they were married, he wanted her to give Princess to her widowed mother. To her own disgust, Phoebe had tentatively agreed.

The saleswoman called out “Fifty-seven!” twice before Phoebe realized it was her turn. The process of changing her cell phone number was relatively easy, although it would be a nuisance to notify her family and friends.

Family.

One person she hadn’t updated so far was her mother, who loved Clark and had championed him after the first…indiscretion. All Phoebe could do was pray that her mother would take her side this time around.

When she got home, she was feeling less vulnerable. Princess greeted her at the door of her condo, purring as she rubbed Phoebe’s ankles.

Bending down and scooping Princess into her arms, Phoebe buried her face in the soft gray fur. “You were right all along,” she whispered. “I should have trusted your character assessment. It would’ve saved me a lot of grief.”

The light on her phone blinked madly; Phoebe could guess who’d made most of the calls. So she was surprised to discover that the first message was from her mother.

“Call me as soon as you’re home,” Leanne Rylander implored. “This is important, Phoebe. I have to speak to you.”

Phoebe rested her forehead against the cupboard door. Sooner or later, she’d need to tell her mother, although from the tone of Leanne’s voice, Phoebe suspected she’d already heard.

Taking a moment to gather her resolve, she reached for the phone.

“Is that you, Phoebe?” Leanne asked urgently.

“I assume Clark’s contacted you?” Phoebe asked with resignation.

“He did. Oh, Phoebe, he’s beside himself.”

“He should be,” she snapped. “Mother, please don’t tell me you’re on his side.” It was difficult enough to withstand Clark’s pleas—and nearly impossible to ignore them when her mother’s voice joined his.

“Well, no… What he did was inexcusable.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You have every right to be upset,” her mother continued soothingly.

“Every right!” Phoebe thought fleetingly that Clark had used the same words. She wondered if Leanne knew the full story. “Mom, do you realize Clark was arrested for solicitation?”

“Yes, he told me. It’s no excuse but he said he just didn’t think being with a prostitute was really cheating.”

The fact that Clark had told her mother the truth, or part of it, anyway, shocked her. “But…he tried to hire a hooker!”

She heard sympathy in her mother’s voice. “Yes, I know.”

“This isn’t his first arrest, either.”

Her mother released a long sigh. “I can only imagine how upset you are.”

“No, you can’t!” she cried. “You can’t begin to imagine how upset and humiliated I am.”

“But, Phoebe, sweetheart, you don’t understand. There are extenuating circumstances. Clark was set up. This is a clear case of entrapment. He assured me it’ll never go to trial. In fact, Clark is considering a lawsuit against the Seattle Police Department for causing him this embarrassment.”

Phoebe closed her eyes. “Mother. Please listen to what you’re saying. It doesn’t matter if this was entrapment. It doesn’t matter that the girl he tried to hire was an undercover policewoman. It doesn’t matter if this goes to court or not. What does matter is that the man I was going to marry has this…this weakness. This need for other women. Not even for a relationship. Just for sex. How humiliating is that? I don’t know if he’s excited by the danger of picking someone up on the street or what. All I know is that I can’t and won’t marry a man who’s betrayed me like this.”

Her mother sighed again. “Phoebe, listen to me. You’re my daughter and I want you to be happy—but you should consider the circumstances.”

The conversation was becoming painful. “The bottom line is that Clark was willing to pay another woman for sex. Can I say it any plainer than that?”

“Oh, Phoebe, enough of that kind of talk. There’s no need to be crude.”

“How would you like me to pretty it up?” she cried. “Clark wanted to sleep with another woman? A woman he paid! Does that make it any less offensive to you?”

“Oh, dear. You are angry, aren’t you?”

“Angry? Angry?” Yes, she was angry, and at the moment outrage was good therapy. “I’m furious, Mom. I’m also hurt, disillusioned, humiliated, devastated and brokenhearted—and that only scratches the surface.”

Her mother didn’t immediately respond. “You should sleep on it before you do anything drastic,” she finally said.

“Sleep on what? The fact that the man I love is a cheat? Mom, do you actually believe this behavior will stop once we’re married?”

“Men—”

“Mom,” she wailed, cutting her off. “Don’t make excuses for Clark.”

“But, honey, he explained it to me. I know it’s bad but he really doesn’t feel that being with a…you know, call girl is cheating.”

“So that makes it all right? You can’t be serious!”

Her mother paused. “It’s just that Clark’s so well-connected and his mother and I—”

“His mother invited you to the country club and you met all the people you read about in the paper.” It was hard to even say the words, but it was the truth. Leanne enjoyed being affiliated with the Snowdens. They were a wealthy, well-known family.

“Don’t you remember how excited I was when you mentioned your new patient?” her mother said, sounding as brokenhearted now as Phoebe felt.

Phoebe did. Her mother’s favorite section of the paper had always been the society pages. When Clark damaged his knee in a skiing accident, she’d been his physical therapist. He’d asked her out after their very first session. Phoebe had declined; it was against company policy to date a patient.

Clark had courted her for weeks, sending her flowers, bringing her gifts, charming her. Despite his efforts, she resisted every attempt he made and refused to see him outside the clinic—until he’d finished his therapy. She should’ve learned her lesson then. Clark didn’t take rejection well. She’d broken off the engagement, and that had injured his pride. He wasn’t about to let her walk away. In his view of the world, he was in control; he did the leaving.

The minute her mother had heard Clark’s name, she’d been ecstatic. Early on, Leanne hinted that it would be fine to bend the rules just a bit for someone of his stature. As soon as they’d started dating, Leanne had told all her friends that her daughter was seeing Max and Marlene Snowden’s only son. Clark was part of his father’s prestigious legal firm and destined to become a full partner within the next five years. As far as Leanne Rylander was concerned, Phoebe had struck gold.

And Clark had swept her off her feet. Just like a romantic hero. He’d escorted her to parties and concerts. He’d lavished gifts on her, flattered her—and asked her to marry him.

The first sign of trouble came when a woman from his office stopped by the clinic and asked to speak to Phoebe privately. Kellie Kramer warned her that Clark had a nasty habit of paying for sex. Phoebe hadn’t believed it. Why should she? This woman obviously had a vendetta against Clark. Then Kellie had provided proof, showing her a copy of the warrant issued when Clark was arrested—the first time. She’d risked her job removing it from the file because she felt Phoebe had a right to know. Kellie claimed, as well, that there’d been plenty of other occasions. Clark just hadn’t been caught.

Stunned, Phoebe had confronted Clark, who seemed genuinely surprised that she was upset. According to her fiancé this was something practically all men did. Sex with a prostitute didn’t mean anything, he said.

Phoebe had found it difficult to listen to these inadequate excuses. She’d wanted to break off the engagement immediately. Clark had begged for a second chance. He’d called her at all hours of the day and night. He’d sent flowers and left pleading messages, until she’d weakened enough to agree. But the person who’d really convinced her to give him a second chance had been her own mother.

Leanne felt Phoebe needed to let Clark prove himself. Now that he understood such behavior was unacceptable, she’d argued, it would stop.

Clark had said all the right things. He’d vowed with tears in his eyes that nothing like this would ever happen again. He loved her. If Phoebe walked out on him, his life would be ruined.

He’d also told her that Kellie Kramer had been fired. She’d overstepped her bounds, and her insubordination wouldn’t be tolerated. Her motive had been to hurt Clark and his father. If Phoebe ended their engagement, Kellie would succeed. He’d begged for another chance and, with her mother’s encouragement ringing in her ears, Phoebe had let him convince her.

“Phoebe? Phoebe, are you still there?” her mother asked plaintively.

“I’m here, Mom.”

“Promise me you’ll sleep on this,” she said again. “Your entire future is at stake.”

“I already told you, Mother. There’s nothing to sleep on. Clark was with this other woman. He admitted it!”

“Yes, but she entrapped him.”

“That doesn’t matter. What does is that he broke his word.”

“I’m so afraid you’re going to do something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”

You mean something you’re going to regret, Phoebe thought but didn’t say. She closed her eyes. “I…I can’t talk about this anymore. Good night, Mom.”

She had to persevere, not only against Clark but against her own mother, who’d rather see Phoebe sacrifice her happiness and integrity than end a socially advantageous—but emotionally corrupt—relationship.

She couldn’t get to that knitting class fast enough, she told herself wryly. She had to banish Clark Snowden from her life and that meant she needed all the fortification she could get.

CHAPTER

3

Bryan “Hutch” Hutchinson

Hutch sat in Dr. Dave Wellington’s office, waiting. His physician and former classmate wanted to speak to him and that couldn’t be good. He’d gone in for his annual physical, except that it wasn’t so annual, and following a series of tests, Dave’s nurse had ushered him into his office.

Hutch and Dave had been friends for years; they’d gone to high school and college together, both star football players. Before Hutch took over the family business, they’d golfed together every Wednesday afternoon. Golf. Like so much else, he’d given it up after his father’s sudden death. Hutch had assumed the position of CEO at Mount Rainier Chocolates, and his life hadn’t been the same since.

There was no longer time for golf in the middle of the day. And now, with the pending lawsuit…

Hutch didn’t want to think about that because whenever he did he grew irritated. He figured that was bad for his blood pressure, which the nurse had told him was elevated. Little wonder. So okay, he probably wasn’t as fit as he’d been in college. He didn’t have time to work out. The company’s demands made it impossible.

“Am I going to live?” Hutch joked as his friend walked in. Dave strode to the other side of his desk and pulled out the chair.

“That depends.”

The smiled died on Hutch’s lips. “You’re joking, right?”

Dave leaned toward him. “Your blood pressure is far too high.”

“Yeah, but…” He frowned. These days his stress level was through the roof, thanks largely to a frivolous lawsuit recently filed against the company. Some woman claimed that eating Mount Rainier Chocolates had made her fat. Oh, the lawsuit dressed it up with fancy words about “psychological dependence” and “exploitive advertising” but the plaintiff’s weight gain was the basis of her legal action. Talk about stupid! And yet it was just the kind of case he’d often read about, in which a jury awarded huge sums as punitive damages. The plaintiff shouldn’t have stood a chance of winning, but she had a crackerjack attorney who’d charged Mount Rainier Chocolates with malicious and willful misconduct and obviously hoped to create a precedent that would make his name. Every time Hutch thought about it, he became more agitated. Whatever happened to personal responsibility? To common sense? To accountability?

Hutch didn’t care what it cost; he wasn’t caving in, not to blackmail, and that was what he considered this. Okay, so his blood pressure was high; he’d deal with it. “Fine, I’ll take a pill.”

Dave shook his head. “It’s more than that. You’re working too hard, not exercising enough and I’m well aware that your diet is atrocious. You have all the classic symptoms of a man headed for a heart attack.”

“Hey, I’m only thirty-five.”

“Unmarried. And you know what the statistics say about the benefits of marriage—especially for men.”

The fact that he didn’t have a wife was also an issue with his mother. “I don’t have time to meet women,” he grumbled.

Dave talked right over that. “You also have a family history of heart disease.”

“Yes, but—”

“How old was your father when he died?”

Hutch exhaled. “Fifty-eight.” He’d never forget the day he lost his father. He’d been twenty-five, carefree, selfish and a little arrogant. Back in those days, he had time for golf and dating and friends. That had all changed, literally overnight.

He’d always accepted that eventually he’d step into his father’s shoes as head of the family enterprise. But he’d figured it would be years before Bryan Sr. retired and he hadn’t concerned himself with details about the business. Although Hutch had showed up for work every day, he hadn’t paid much attention. Certainly not enough to assume the company’s leadership on such short notice.

It had taken him two years to learn everything he needed to know about the business and the CEO’s role. He’d made mistakes and the company had floundered. Not only did he have responsibilities to their employees, his mother depended on the income. Mount Rainier Chocolates had lost market share, and those lessons had been hard, but Hutch had slowly found his way. Over the next few years, the company did marginally better and then, gradually, there’d been a turnaround. His confidence increased. Hutch had encouraged the development of new products, which he wanted to test. He’d switched distributors. He was involved in every aspect of the business, from research to hiring to advertising and everything in between. And because of all that, he worked twelve-and fourteen-hour days. This wasn’t a good time to be sued, in other words. Then again, was there ever?

“I’ll write you a prescription,” Dave said sternly, “but what you really need is a change in lifestyle.”

Hutch resisted the urge to groan aloud. He couldn’t add one more thing to his already crowded schedule. “Like what?”

“Diet.”

Now, that rankled—although he agreed that he skipped too many meals and ate too much junk food on the run. “I’m not overweight,” he argued.

“True, but you’re close to being anemic, your potassium is low and you’re putting your immune system at risk. That’s one of the reasons it’s taking your thumb so long to heal.”

More than a month ago Hutch had sliced open the flesh between his thumb and index finger while he was trying to cut a rubbery, two-day-old piece of pizza. The injury had required several stitches. To this day it continued to bother him. His improperly healed thumb was what had prompted him to make the appointment for his physical. It’d been a year and a half since he’d last seen Dave in a professional capacity. Or any capacity, really, except for a drink at Christmas.

“What about vitamins?” Hutch asked hopefully.

“I’m going to recommend one and put you on iron tablets, as well as blood pressure medication, but that isn’t enough. You need to start taking better care of yourself.” The unspoken words hung in the air between them. Otherwise Hutch would end up like his father—prematurely dead of a heart attack.

And this time, there wouldn’t be anyone to take over the business.

“Okay, I’ll sign up for a gym.”

Dave shrugged as if this wasn’t a big enough concession. “You’ve got to do more than sign up. You’ve got to work out at least three times a week.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

“You might also join a class or two.”

There was more? “What kind of class?”

Dave leaned back, grinning as he studied Hutch. “Don’t laugh,” he said.

“Why should I laugh?”

“Because I’m going to suggest you take up knitting.”

Hutch shook his head. “This is a joke, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not. I had a male patient come in to my office with sky-high blood pressure. He decided to start knitting—I think his wife talked him into it. I have to tell you I was shocked at the difference in him. I’m not kidding. I saw the evidence myself.”

What a ridiculous idea. “Like I have time for… crafts?”

“It’s only a suggestion, but it’ll help your thumb, too.”

Hutch jerked his thumb back and forth and felt it tighten. It was especially stiff in the morning. But knitting? Him? The gym he could handle, but knitting? If any of his friends or employees heard about that, he’d be a laughingstock.

“How about you?” Hutch asked, suddenly suspicious. “Do you knit?”

“Yeah.” Dave grinned again. “My wife taught me.”

“Get outta here!”

“It works, Hutch. Give it a try.” Dave reached for his pad, wrote out the prescriptions and handed it to him.

Hutch stared down at the small sheet of paper. He never would’ve believed he’d be on blood pressure medication in his thirties. Dave was right; this didn’t bode well.

“I want to see you again in two months.”

Hutch nodded. He stood and pulled a candy bar from his inside pocket. “I brought you something.”

Dave accepted it and looked up expectantly.

“We’re about to launch this nationwide. It’s called the Mount Saint Helens bar.”

Dave turned it over and read the description. “Coconut covered with dark chocolate and a liquid chocolate center. An explosion of flavor.”

“That’s what I’ve been working on for the last eighteen months. We finally have a national distributor willing to give us a shot.” His friend couldn’t appreciate how difficult it was to get into the bigger markets when he was up against the huge candy companies. Hutch believed in this new product and was prepared to gamble on the future of the business. So far, everything seemed positive—if he didn’t end up forking out millions over a frivolous lawsuit.

Dave examined the packaging and Hutch could tell he was impressed. “Sugar’s not too high,” he murmured, “and 70 percent cocoa is good.”

“Practically health food,” Hutch said with a smile. He began to turn away.

Dave stopped him. “Two months, Hutch. Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t.” He walked out of the office and galloped down four flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator. He couldn’t disagree with Dave about getting more exercise. But there just weren’t enough hours in the day. He delegated whatever he could but so much still demanded his personal attention.

By the time he returned to his office, Dave was fifteen minutes behind schedule. Gail Wendell, his personal assistant, relaxed her anxious face the moment he walked in the door. She stood as if expecting him to need something right away.

“Mr. Williams is waiting in your office,” she told him.

Hutch glanced at his watch. It was past one and he’d skipped breakfast and was feeling light-headed. Hardly surprising, considering all the blood Dave had taken earlier. “Can you order me lunch?”

“Teriyaki chicken?” Gail asked.

It was one of his favorites. High sodium, though. “Could you get me a salad with a side of cottage cheese?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t like cottage cheese.”

“I don’t, but it’s supposed to be good for you. Doc said I need a more balanced diet.”

“Okay, cottage cheese it is. Anything else?”

Hutch nodded. “Find a gym close to my place and sign me up.”

His assistant made a note on her pad.

“And…” He hesitated, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I need a knitting class.”

He watched, but Gail didn’t bat an eye.

“See if you can find an evening class somewhere in the downtown Seattle area.” His condo was in a central location and he didn’t want to travel far for this craziness. Actually, he’d be astonished if Gail found such a class, which would be fine by him. He could tell Dave he’d tried and leave it at that.