Real Men Knit by Kwana Jackson
For Will
Casting on with you was the best thing I ever did.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Stories, though seemingly made of imagination and magic dust, when ultimately made into book form are no such thing. As the saying goes, it takes a village, and I’d like to give my deepest, most heartfelt thanks to my little village for helping me along the way.
To my family: my husband, Will, and my twins, no longer babies but now young adults who continually take my breath away and fill my heart with pride.
To Ma, James and my not-so-lil brothers, Ash and Semaj, my own Harlem princes. Thank you for always being in my corner and having my back.
To my editor, Kristine Swartz. I can’t thank you enough for believing in me and Real Men Knit. This is a dream come true and working with you has been a joy. To Fareeda, Jessica and the rest of the incredible publicity team at Berkley. Thank you for riding for Real Men Knit. You all are rock stars!
To my amazing agent, the incomparable Evan Marshall. Having you in my corner makes me feel invincible. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
To Kristan Higgins. Thank you for being my friend and my champion. Who knew superheroes could rock stilettos so well?
Farrah Rochon, Diva, thank you for dragging me over the finish line in the DMs. Your daily words of encouragement and affirmation have been my guiding light. Your friendship can only be described as a gift from God.
To my Destin Divas. What can I say? You all are my home and I love you for it.
Sasha Devlin. My sunshine. Thank you, a thousand times over, for your rays of light. You have always been there with the perfect word and GIF just when I needed it, and boy did I need it!
Penny and Erica, for telling this little butterfly to sit still and focus and for sending encouraging GIFs to make her do so . . . thank you.
To Jamie Beck. Thank you for sharing your expertise. You were right on time at the perfect time. I can’t thank you enough, and the same goes for the rest of my Fiction from the Heart sisters: Falguni, Priscilla, Hope, Sonali, Liz, Sally, Barbara, Tracey, Virginia and Donna. Thank you.
To my NYC chaptermate, Sharae, and her wonderful husband, Matthew. Thank you for being so lovely and inspiring.
To Junior. Though you’re gone, you’re always in my heart, my dear brother, and will never be forgotten.
To my friend and neighbor Mona Swanson. Thank you for sharing your time and knowledge of the foster system. Also, my thanks to the staff at Children’s Village for all they do. Words are not enough.
Wendy, thank you for being my friend, my champion and my ride or die. Your friendship is always a source for me.
To my new readers (woot, woot!—so nice to meet you, and come on back now, ya hear?), and especially to my older K. M. Jackson ones, I can’t thank you enough. The fact that anyone takes the time to sit with me and share in my musings is a privilege and one I’m truly grateful for.
Lastly, but this name is always first and foremost, I’d like to thank God, from whom all my blessings come. I don’t take any of this lightly, and Lord, in the end I just want to do you well.
1
There was nothing cute about the first time Kerry Fuller met Jesse Strong.
He broke her glasses, she bloodied his nose and they both ended up in a tangle of yarn on the floor in the loft space of Strong Knits being scolded by Mama Joy.
What she wouldn’t give to be scolded by the older woman just one more time, Kerry thought as she adjusted her dark-framed glasses and purposefully pushed aside the almost-long-forgotten childhood memory. She glanced over at the front window of Strong Knits, the Harlem yarn shop that had been so much a part of her life growing up.
Any other day Kerry would have loved walking through the doors of Strong Knits. It had been that way since she had first stepped foot in the little knitting shop where she’d worked part-time for the better part of the last ten years and pretty much just hung out for most of her childhood years before that, making it her unlikely sanctuary. A place of calm in the midst of the chaos that was the concrete jungle of upper Manhattan. But this day was anything but normal. Despite the summer sun, warm and glinting off the freshly cleaned windows, showcasing the vintage baskets overflowing with color from the brand-new yarns that Mama Joy had gotten in barely two weeks before, Kerry still felt a chill run through her body that sent goose pimples rippling across her bare forearms.
Even the cute little display to the right of the baskets with fake ice-cream cones made of balls of finely spun cotton in creamy sherbet colors couldn’t bring a smile to her lips, when they’d brought her nothing but delight just a little over a week before. But smiling now, and the memory of Mama Joy and those cones, caused Kerry’s heart to ache way too much.
When she and Mama Joy had put the display together, it was with much happiness and no idea of the sorrow to come. No, all they could think of then was the smiles of the passersby when they saw the new yarns displayed in the whimsical not quite ice-cream cones. Mama Joy knew the children in the neighborhood would love it. And she was right. They did. Folks came in and immediately asked for those yarns. Little faces glowed when they saw the display and brown eyes lit with delight upon seeing the colorful cones.
But like the dynamo she was, Mama Joy had already been anticipating the next display, looking forward to what they would be doing for the fall. She had been excited about showcasing something even better for the neighborhood kids come the end of August with the new shipments on the way.