The Shop on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #1)(35)

Damn, he went to church, too? She really knew how to pick ’em. “Don’t think I’m doing this wonderful deed out of the kindness of my heart,” she said gruffly. “I’m not putting this much effort into a baby blanket out of civic duty.”

“Then why knit it for the Linus Project?”

She might as well admit the truth, and looked up, wanting to gauge his reaction. “It’s a way to serve the community hours the court assigned me.” If that didn’t scare him off, then nothing would. She believed in being honest, and if this clean-cut guy was still interested in her, great. If not, she was better off knowing that now.

“Court-ordered community service? Why?”

“I crossed the law and the law won,” she said, finishing the row and paying less attention to the stitches than she should. “But it was a bogus rap and the judge knew it. I got community service instead of jail time. Does that shock a good boy like you?”

“No.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him but let it slide.

“My mother knits.”

Alix stopped herself just in time from telling him that her mother was in prison. Enough honesty for today, she decided; no need to overload him with the truth. His interest flattered her, and she rather liked the fact that he’d sought her out. Glancing up, she was tempted to ask what grade school he’d attended, still wondering if he was the Jordan Turner she’d once known. She only half remembered what that boy had looked like, although she recalled he’d worn glasses. Unlike this Jordan. She might have asked, except that he posed a question instead.

“Are you hungry?” He looked over his shoulder at the display counter in the front. “They’ve got great scones if there are any left. Want one?”

“I could eat,” she said which wasn’t the most gracious statement she’d ever made.

He got up and walked to the counter. Alix watched him for a moment and tried to calm her pounding heart. She turned back to her knitting and finished the row, then triumphantly counted exactly one hundred and seventy-one stitches. Jordan returned to her table, a coffee cup in one hand, with a plate and scone balanced on top of it. In the other hand he carried a second plate with a scone.

“We’re in luck,” he said as he set everything down on the small round table. “They only had two left.”

She nodded, accepting the scone. “Thanks.”

Jordan took a sip of his drink. “Danny didn’t actually know where you’d be and I just happened to see you in the window as I walked by.”

She broke the scone in half and was grateful this had been the only table available when she’d arrived an hour earlier. Normally she wouldn’t have sat in view of the entire street. It depressed her to see what was happening to the neighborhood, mainly because she sensed it was only a matter of time before she and Laurel lost the apartment. If that happened, it wouldn’t be long before she’d be back to sleeping in cheap, rat-infested hotel rooms every night. Getting another apartment would mean taking on a second job and waiting tables for tips in places decent guys like Jordan didn’t frequent.

“Where’ve you been?” Alix asked, since he hadn’t volunteered the information. He’d said he was away.

He sipped his coffee, then put it down. “I was running a youth retreat at Warm Beach.”

Alix didn’t have a clue what that was. “This whole time?”

“Not entirely, but the church needed help with the organization, so I worked in the Stanwood office for a few weeks.”

“Oh.” This was the second time he’d mentioned church, and she’d begun to feel a niggling suspicion.

“It’s nice to know you missed me,” he murmured.

“I didn’t say that,” she said a bit more defensively than she’d intended.

He chuckled.

Alix was relieved to see she hadn’t offended him. “Well, maybe I missed you a little.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You got any more youth retreats you need to organize?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Frankly, I hope not. When I accepted the job as youth minister, I expected to spend my time with the teenagers here in the Blossom Street neighborhood.”

Alix felt as if her world had caved in. “You’re…a preacher?”

“Youth minister,” Jordan corrected. “I’m currently working at the Free Methodist church in the neighborhood, the one right off Blossom.” His mouth twitched; he seemed to be suppressing laughter.

“What’s so funny?” she muttered irritably.

“Nothing. It’s just that you made it sound as if being a minister was like being a drug lord. Or worse.”

“It’s just that…” Alix was aghast and words failed her—as they always did when she was flustered.

“I’m a youth minister, Alix,” he said and reached for her hand. He smiled then. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“It is you!” Damn, she’d thought so and wished like crazy that she’d said something first.

“Remember sixth grade at Jackson Elementary? It took me a while to make the connection myself.”

“I thought it might be you…. I can’t believe it.” Her mind flashed back to grade school and she narrowed her eyes as she studied him. “We were in the same class, remember?”