Anything for Her(15)
She wished he’d called today. What if he hadn’t had as good a time as she did? Men always said, “I’ll call.” Frequently they didn’t mean it. What if she didn’t see him again until he came to pick up his son’s completed quilt?
Allie rolled her eyes. Oh, for Pete’s sake! They’d had dinner only last night! It had been one day, and she was already despairing.
Laughing at herself, but still aware of a hollow feeling beneath her breastbone, she went to bed.
* * *
NOLAN TRIED TO figure out how soon he could see Allie again without upsetting Sean or making him feel abandoned. A solution occurred to him during the night on Thursday, and he called her store right after ten Friday morning.
After identifying himself, he said, “Do you slow down enough in the middle of the day to take a lunch break?”
“Yes, but I can’t close the store, so I usually just snatch a bite here and there when I have a slow moment.”
“Could I bring lunch by?” he asked.
There was a brief silence. “That would be nice,” she said. “Can you make it one or one-thirty? I get quite a bit of business during the standard lunch hour, then things go dead afterward.”
He’d be starving by then, as early as he had breakfast, but that was okay. He wanted to see her. He could grab a bite midmorning to sustain him.
He picked up deli sandwiches and cookies at the Pea Patch and walked in the door of Allie’s shop at one-fifteen on the nose. His gaze arrowed in on her, back at her quilt frame, before he scanned the store and saw that they were otherwise alone.
She parked the needle and dropped a thimble on the quilt, standing before he reached her. She looked so pretty, her hair looser today than he’d seen it and her eyes somehow even greener than he remembered. She wore an elbow-length, snug-fitting, peach-colored cardigan sweater that was open over something lacy and white. Her smile tightened the strange knot in his chest.
“Nolan.” Her gaze went to the bags in his hand. “Oh, I love the Pea Patch.”
“I should have asked what you like,” he said gruffly.
“I’m not picky.”
They sat at one end of the long table that presumably was used for the classes Allie taught. He took out the sandwiches and gave her first choice, looking around at the completed quilts and quilt blocks that hung on the walls.
“I’d say I stand out as much as a bull in a china shop, but at least your wares aren’t breakable.”
She laughed, the gold in her eyes shimmering. “The store is rather feminine, isn’t it? And I suppose your workshop is masculine to the nth degree.”
“You could say that. There’s nothing pretty about it.”
“Except what comes out of it.”
“I don’t usually think of anything I make as ‘pretty.’” He pretended to sound insulted. “I go for magnificent.”
“Naturally.” Her expression was merry, her mouth still curved. “Silly of me.”
He asked if all her customers were quilters, and she told him that most were.
“I carry only one hundred percent cotton fabrics that are the right weight and texture for quilts. I debated adding other fabrics, but without having a great deal larger space I wouldn’t have had enough selection to draw a wider clientele. And then I’d also have had to offer patterns, and that would have taken space, too.” She spread her hands in a “what could I do” gesture. “I don’t have any direct competition here in West Fork, but there’s a JoAnn’s Fabric not that far away, and they’re huge. I can’t go head-to-head, and I don’t want to.”
He nodded, understanding. He couldn’t go head-to-head with the kind of place that turned out granite countertops for every subdivision, either, not at a competitive price.
“Mind you,” she said, “JoAnn’s carries quilting fabric, and I know customers sometimes go there because a chain store like that can beat my prices. They have big sales, too. My niche is the dedicated quilter. I find unusual fabrics, ones that will help create a truly distinctive quilt. Also, I can offer a level of service a larger store can’t. Newer quilters need someone to lead them around and show them what works and why. And, of course, the classes are really successful for me.” She grinned at him. “Plus, I have to admit I love converting women into quilters.”
“I suppose quilting is a form of art for women,” he said thoughtfully.