Speakeasy (True North #5)(56)

“You and me both,” I whisper. Then I slide off my stool and hug him. And, wow. A hug from Alec is the best thing ever. He folds me into his arms and hooks his chin onto my shoulder. He doesn’t crack a joke or proposition me. He just holds me tightly.

Naturally, my eyes sting. Shut up, emotions! “Hey,” I say to his back. “I made you something. I hope you don’t hate it.” I ease back from his addictive hug. And then I dart over to the sofa and grab the shopping bag. “Here.”

I hand him the bag. He reaches in, nudges the tissue paper aside and pulls out the sweater I knitted for him. “Whoa. You made this?” He holds it up to his chest and strokes a hand down my fine stitches.

“I did. It’s merino, which is dry-clean only, I’m afraid. You could wash it by hand, but you’d need to reshape it carefully.” If I do say so myself, it’s some of my better work. It’s all one color, but there’s a wide, intricate cable down the center, flanked by a couple of narrow cables on either side.

“It’s gorgeous.” He unzips his hoodie and tosses it aside, then pulls the sweater over his head. I hold my breath while he settles it onto his broad shoulders.

“It fits!” I yelp. “I’m so relieved.”

“Nobody ever made me a sweater before,” he says, running his fingertips over the stitches.

“It’s risky business. You can dash off a hat or a scarf in a day or so, but a sweater is a commitment.”

He lifts those big brown eyes to me. “Thank you.”

“I enjoyed making it. And I never baked that pie I promised you.”

“This is a hell of a lot more work than a pie.” He strokes a hand across his delicious chest.

“Yes and no. I knit my way through AA meetings. Actually, I started knitting in earnest when I was driving Jude to his Narcotics Anonymous meetings. I thought I was just there to help out a friend.” An awkward laugh escapes me.

Alec’s eyes widen, but he just listens.

“So many of the things people said in Jude’s meetings were thoughts I’d already been having. But it still took me another nine months or so to admit they were talking to me, too. Now I’m keeping two yarn stores afloat. Four meetings a week. It adds up. And then I stopped when Daniela made fun of me. So now I’ve started again. You helped me do that, when you told me to check every room of our house…” My throat is closing up, now. I like Alec so much. I’m just so confused.

“Should I open a yarn store?” he jokes. “Am I in the wrong line of work?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not.” It’s just the wrong line for me. I don’t have to add that last part, because I think he’s getting the message. “Now tell me about this wake. When is it?”

I clear our lunch plates and wash them while he tells me his plans.

But when I leave, I don’t kiss him goodbye. And he doesn’t force the issue.

Maybe this is how it ends. And maybe it’s for the best.





Chapter Twenty-One





Alec


“Watch it,” my brother Benito says. “Incoming at two o’clock.”

I look up from the stack of cups I’m setting on the table just as Chelsea tackles me. “Heyyyyyy!” she cries. “Long time no see! You’ve been a ghost, Alec!” She gives me a big kiss on the mouth.

Uh-oh. I step back gently and try to smile. But I’m at a wake, for fuck’s sake, and I can’t seem to summon the energy. “Hey, girl. How’ve you been? How was…” It’s been a lifetime since she told me about her trip. “Florida,” I supply at the last possible second.

“It was greaaaaat!” she squeals. “Missed you, though.”

My brother does a crappy job of disguising his snort of amusement.

“Missed you, too!” I lie. “Welcome back to winter. All the ski mountains are open, at least.”

“Let’s go snowboarding!” she says immediately. “And maybe I’ll catch you later tonight?”

“Kinda got my hands full tonight,” I say, gesturing to the dozens of guests filling Hamish’s studio. “And then I have to close the bar. Already had to twist Smitty’s arm to work another shift.” That’s all true, but I’m glad to have an excuse. Chelsea doesn’t really fit into my life right now.

“Bummer,” she says, tossing her ponytail. “We have to catch up soon.”

“We really do,” I agree. I have to break things off with her, but it’s not the kind of conversation a guy has at a wake.

“Later, hottie,” she says, grabbing me into a hug that’s practically a two-person twerk. Jesus. Then she dashes off.

“Wow,” Benito says. “She’s a really enthusiastic girl.”

“No comment,” I grumble.

“I’m going to grab a beer. You need one?”

“Nah. Not in the mood.”

Benito’s eyes widen. “Call the paramedics.”

“Very funny.” I survey the crowd. Hamish’s party is in full swing. Only he’s not here to enjoy it.

“You okay?”

“Sure? Except this is, you know, a funeral.”

Benito tilts his head to study me. “I got that. But you’re the one who made a speech five minutes ago about how Hamish would want everyone to enjoy this party.”