Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(38)

“I’ve really come to enjoy these classes,” Phoebe had said at the end of class as she packed her knitting bag. Hutch continued to keep his supplies in his briefcase. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want anyone to know he was knitting. He just preferred not to walk around carrying an oversize purse, especially one of those quilted ones that looked like a diaper bag. At the end of the second class Phoebe had started to leave f irst. Hutch had hurried forward to open the door for her and she’d smiled her appreciation.

Hutch had smiled back, then stood there like a dope as she’d moved down the sidewalk.

Phoebe had been a half a block away when he’d instinctively begun to follow her. He’d stopped abruptly midstep, uncertain what to say or do next. After that initial statement during the f irst class, she’d said nothing more about her f iancé. Hutch had assumed the other man’s death was recent but couldn’t be sure. He was def initely interested in getting to know Phoebe, but he didn’t want to start a conversation by opening a half-healed wound. He had no idea whether it would be appropriate to refer to her f iancé, yet it seemed heartless to completely ignore this man she’d so obviously loved.

The way he f igured it, he needed to make a move soon or forget it entirely. And forgetting Phoebe was definitely something he didn’t want to do. But if he waited too long, didn’t make his interest clear, the whole thing would become awkward. For both of them. He’d tried to work out the best approach. Unfortunately he’d come up blank. He’d never had trouble starting conversations with women while he was in college and in his twenties. Of course, he’d never encountered a situation like this one, either. It didn’t help that he hadn’t dated anyone in so long his skills had rusted away.

“Would you like me to check your stitches?” Lydia asked, breaking into his thoughts. He’d reviewed what he had—and hadn’t—said to Phoebe a dozen times. In the end, he hadn’t approached her, and regretted it for the rest of the week. This third class was it, he decided. If he didn’t act now he was afraid he never would.

Hutch glanced up at Lydia and found her regarding him expectantly. Thinking he might have missed part of the conversation, he handed her his knitting. She took it from him and frowned.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked. Although his attention had been on Phoebe, he’d carefully tried to follow Lydia’s instructions.

Lydia gave him a reassuring smile. “The pattern’s perfect.”

Hutch had thought so, too, but it felt good to have Lydia conf irm it.

“The problem is your tension, Hutch. See how tight these stitches are?”

It was true that he had diff iculty moving the yarn on the needles, but it’d been like that from the moment he cast on his f irst stitches.

“It’s almost as if you’re knitting armor,” she teased.

“I’ve done it like this from the start.”

“Relax,” Lydia said. “That’s the reason you signed up for this class, isn’t it? To relax?”

Hutch nodded.

He looked quickly at Phoebe. Lydia was right; he’d enrolled in this class to help lower his blood pressure and learn new techniques for dealing with stress. However…he’d met Phoebe, and she’d inadvertently increased his stress. At least his thumb was improving. The knitting had benef itted him there.

“I have just the opposite problem,” Phoebe volunteered after Lydia had left the table. “My stitches are too loose. At the rate I’m going, this scarf is going to be ten feet long.”

“And mine will be ten inches.”

She laughed at his rather lame joke, which encouraged him.

“Are you enjoying the class?” he asked, then wanted to groan. If his joke was lame, this effort at conversation was even worse. Phoebe smiled at him. “Very much. What about you?”

“A lot.” Hutch didn’t mention that she was responsible for about ninety-nine percent of his pleasure. He’d been looking forward to this evening and dreading it at the same time. His thoughts had been on Phoebe all week and now here she was—

yet he felt as much hesitation as he had before. He was even more reluctant to take a risk with her for fear of offending her so soon after a major loss…and perhaps a fear of being rejected, too, although he hated to admit that. He paused, hoping for further encouraging signs. None came but, determined now, he forged ahead. “I don’t suppose…I mean, after class…but if you’ve got other plans, I understand…” That sounded so pathetic, it was all he could do not to get up and walk away. He closed his mouth, deciding he wouldn’t say another word. What was wrong with him? He was a competent businessman who headed a family owned enterprise and commanded the respect of over a hundred employees. Yet around Phoebe he acted like a kid in junior high.

“Other plans for what?” she asked curiously. Well, he’d bungled that, despite his attempt to sound casual.

“Would you like to have coffee?” he asked, his voice gruff now, almost angry. This was going from bad to dismal. To his utter astonishment, Phoebe nodded. “I’d like that.”

He clamped his mouth shut before he could talk her out of it.

“There’s the French Café across the street.” Alix looked up from her knitting. “They’re open until ten tonight.”