arguing women.
To my surprise, the angry knitter handed over the soggy garment. “Evren! I thought I saw you over in the corner. You should have joined us! Is Mira with you?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” One of my favorite customers stepped out of the line for coffee. The owner of Iplik, the yarn store, she was a neighborhood institution unto herself. And she’d been sorely missed the last few Knit Nights. I’d heard a rumor about some health problems, and I was very glad to see her, even if she did look thinner and frailer, with an elegant knit turban on her head. She was one of the very few people who knew my situation with the kids, and I still got all warm at the memory of the little knit ornaments she’d given me for them at the holidays.
“And what is all this fuss?” she asked.
I loved her lilting Turkish accent, and I realized that was what I’d heard in the man’s voice—New York with just a hint of Turkish.
“There’s no fuss,” Miss Fair Isle said, flipping her long blond hair. She was too busy making goo-goo eyes at Evren. Not that I blamed her. He was handling her soggy yarn balls with such deftness and care that it made certain parts of me take notice. He had long, elegant fingers with blunt tips. Capable grace.
“I think this can be fixed,” Evren pronounced, and the whole group exhaled. “Now, why don’t we let the man get back to his coffee?”
“Evren, this is Brady, my favorite barista,” Mira introduced me with a flourish, emerald tunic top rippling. “Brady, this is my nephew. He’s come to…help with the store.”
“That’s great.” I forced my voice to be bright and cheery, just like hers. But I knew his arrival couldn’t be a good thing—her health must have been even worse than the rumors. “You must be the famous nephew she’s always raving about.”
Truthfully, I’d pictured someone younger from Mira’s stories about her favorite relative. Evren was probably a bit older than me, perhaps in his late twenties. And if I was honest, I’d imagined someone diminutive and round, like Mira was before her illness, not tall, confident, and composed. And hot as hell.
“Perhaps Hala Mira exaggerates.” He patted her arm before turning his attention to the bickering knitters. By the time I was back behind the counter, he had the two women sitting next to each other again, laughing, and he’d stowed the soggy mess of knitting in a shopping bag to “fix later.” That pronouncement had drawn much awe from the Knit Night crowd.
There had been the odd dude at a Knit Night before, hipster types with scraggly-looking bits of scarf and an eye on a girlfriend or potential girlfriend, but I was still impressed when Evren opened his bag and pulled out a half-knit sock on the needles and a completed sock, which was passed around and oohed and aahed over by the ladies. It was indeed a nice piece of work—at least three colors that I could see, and some sort of complicated pattern that had him pulling out charts and diagrams.
His hands were so sexy that I kept spying on him as I finished the rest of the initial Knit Night rush. I liked watching his long, elegant fingers move rapidly with the teeny needles, liked how he gestured as he passed his scarf around, and really liked when he flipped his ridiculously thick, straight hair off his forehead with a flick of his hand. Wonder what else he’s good at with those hands…
With the scarf on the table, his long neck was exposed, and he had the sort of prominent Adam’s apple and faint scruff that never failed to turn me on. Maybe after Knit Night, I could say a few words—
Buzz. Hell. Finally, I had enough breathing space at the counter that I could check the texts, keeping the phone hidden behind the counter.
I discovered a series of texts from Renee, each more dire than the last.
Madison’s stomach is upset. Should she eat dinner?
She’s puking! All over the rug! Help!
Fever’s 102!!!! Brady!!! What do I dooooooo? :( :( :(
I could hear Renee’s wail just from the text. Yeah, eighteen wasn’t a baby anymore and we could all do with fewer hysterics from her, but she was still munchkin-size, with a sweet voice and a sensitive attitude. It was hard to get those memories of us as little kids out of my head. I’d been five when she was born and I’d been the type of older brother who fell hard for the family’s new addition—the tiny blond-haired toddler I’d begged my mom to let me push on the baby swing. The too-damn-cheerful kindergartner who’d held my hand so tight on the way home from school every day.
Renee and I had both grown up a lot faster than we’d wanted to when our mother and her second husband died last year, and now we were doing our best to raise our younger half siblings together.
Trying to keep the phone low and discreet, I frantically typed back.
Calm down. Children’s fever reducer in the medicine cabinet. Top shelf. I circled the dose on the box for the twins. Give that. Home soon. Promise.
Cough. A throat clearing made me look up. Fuck. Evren loomed over me, and he was staring right at my phone.
“Sorry.” I pocketed it, shaking my hand off like it was burning. “I don’t usually…”
“Do not worry about it.” Evren made a sweeping gesture. I was already a serious fan of his accent and the little bits of formality that crept into his speech just added to the appeal of that melodic voice. “You looked so serious and concerned. You must have had good reason. I saw nothing.”
He patted my shoulder. A simple, friendly gesture, but not one most customers would make. Especially not most straight customers. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been wondering which way he swung since the moment he came in, and the hot sizzle rushing down my arm only intensified those thoughts.
“Thank you.” If word got back to Randy, my boss, that I was on the phone, it wouldn’t go well. “What can I get you? On the house.”
“Do not be ridiculous.” Evren pulled out a handsome embossed wallet and slid out his debit card. “Large Americano. Extra shot. Extra sweet. And a chai for Mira, please.”
I gently pushed the card away. “Mira drinks free. All the business owners who give us special events and customer referrals like this do. It’s how we give back to Alberta Street.”
It was a tradition started by my old boss, Chris, and one grudgingly kept up by Randy.
“All right. This time. Next time, I pay.” He flashed me a smile full of gleaming teeth. His lips were wide without being overly full and the perfect shade of rose—the same shade as Mira’s turban and, unlike the hat, the lips were sure to star in my private thoughts later that night.
“Oh, you planning on making this a regular thing?”
“We shall see, Brady. We shall see.” He looked right at my lips as he said the words before he winked. Slow and deliberate. Damn. I swear I felt the buzz of his gaze all the way down to my Vans.
He hummed a bit to himself as he accepted the drinks and carried them over to Mira. He made sure she was settled with hers, adjusting a shawl around her shoulders. Oh, man. I was toast. The dude was the definition of masculine hotness with his thick, straight black hair, scruffy jaw, and lean build, and he was kind? And he could wrangle a room full of knitters? I wanted him back every week, and not just for the eye candy.
Buzz. I had to pretend to get myself some coffee to sneak a peek.
Fever down but she’s asking for you.
While I had a chance, I grabbed a ginger soda from the cooler and shoved it in my beat-up messenger bag under the counter. Unlike Evren’s pricey number, mine was more patches than canvas at this point. Just one more way we were from different worlds. With luck, I’d have time to stop for some electrolyte drinks and broth on the way home, particularly if tips were good. If Madison was sick, Morgan and Jonas were sure to follow. I was on the skateboard, so it would have to be a small trip.
Over at the knitting tables, a loud group laugh