On the Rocks(52)
“Well, I joined a club. I meet with a bunch of other women once a week during the school year.” As soon as I said it I wished I hadn’t. A guy would never understand. Especially a guy like Bobby.
“What sort of club? It’s not some male-bashing joyless luck club type thing, is it?” he asked.
“No. It’s not related to men in any way, shape, or form.” I hesitated, biting my lip before I answered, knowing that he’d have something to say about my answer. “It’s a knitting club.”
“I’m sorry, a what?” he asked as he leaned toward me in case he had misheard.
“A knitting club. See, once a week we . . .”
“Shhhh,” he said as he suddenly covered my mouth with his hand. “You cannot ever say that out loud in a public place ever again, do you hear me? If someone hears you say that, you won’t have to worry about what’s out there on the dating circuit because guys will cross the street to stay away from you.”
“What’s so bad about a knitting club? It’s therapeutic.” Sheesh. Apparently I couldn’t do anything right.
“What the hell are you even knitting? An afghan like all the other octogenarians in the Northeast?”
“Of course not. I’m not good enough for that yet,” I admitted.
“Then what? An ice cream cozy?”
“No! Though that’s really not a bad idea now that I think about it.” Bobby’s shock registered all over his face for reasons I didn’t fully understand. There were way worse things than a single thirty-one-year-old girl in a knitting club. If I thought long and hard enough, I was sure I’d come up with something eventually.
“What? Tell me. Please tell me what you’re knitting.”
“Pot-holders,” I said defiantly. “But so far I only have one. I hope to finish the set by Christmas.”
“Okay. The first thing you’re going to do is drop out of that knitting club, pronto,” Bobby ordered, seeming to forget that so far I hadn’t listened to anything he’d said to me.
“Why? I’m a few months away from having a matching set!”
“It’s just too sad for me to even explain the reasons why. If you listen to one single piece of advice I give you, listen to this: you, Abby Wilkes, should not be spending Friday nights sitting in a living room with knitting needles. I’m sorry, I won’t allow it.”
I sighed and laughed a little. He was right. It was yet another hideout, and I knew it. “Okay, I will. I promise. What about you? How come you aren’t dating anyone?”
“I haven’t found anyone special, I guess. Believe it or not, I’m not really into casual dating, and I hate rejecting people. I’ll meet girls and have a good time with them, but unless I find someone I think I could spend a serious amount of time with, I’m fine staying unattached. It’s easier that way. Besides, it’s not high on my list of priorities right now. I need a job, not a girlfriend.”
“I find that to be really sweet, actually,” I said, seeing that there was a lot more to Bobby than I realized.
“Don’t go telling people that. I don’t want word to get out that I’m actually a romantic at heart.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
The bartender returned and placed two more Belgian beers in front of us. Bobby held out his glass and gently clinked the rims together. “Out with the old and in with the new, Abby. I think you’re going to be just fine.” I was beginning to believe that myself.
We sat at the bar for another two hours, talking about life, unemployment, our friends, and our families. It was the kind of basic, easy conversation that seemed impossible to find with any of the other guys I had met so far this summer. I realized that had this been a date, it would have been one of the best first dates I’d ever had in my life. Maybe the best one, period. If nothing else, my night out with Bobby proved that it was possible for me to have pure, unadulterated fun with a guy again, and that was definitely a step in the right direction.
I was just surprised at who was responsible for it.
Chapter 13
The Clam Jam
THE FOURTH OF JULY holiday is always fun no matter where you live (as long as it’s in the United States). Few things make people happier than long weekends, especially people with full-time jobs. I returned from an afternoon jog and had a voicemail from Grace, who sounded especially cheerful. I assumed it was because she was going to have an extra day to work on her tan and the weather forecast was for clear skies for the foreseeable future. She said she was on her way.
I entered the kitchen and found Bobby flipping through the newspaper and drinking a diet iced tea, probably the first time since we had met that I’d seen him consume a nonalcoholic beverage. I opened the cabinet and removed a bag of chips as I sat down next to him and began to read over his shoulder, chomping in his ear.
“That’s not at all annoying,” he said as he continued to read.
“Sorry,” I said, even though I enjoyed bothering Bobby for sport more than I enjoyed just about anything else.
Just then we heard Grace running up the deck stairs, her flip-flops flapping. She burst through the door and threw herself on me. “You guys will never believe what happened!” she squealed, with a look on her face I’d never seen before.