Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
“Wow. You know so much about knitted things. That’s really cool. Did you have a knitter as a client?”
A man who knits? That’s a girl’s hobby! Julie’s words zip across my brain, and my initial response of “no, I’m the knitter” dies on my tongue. I’ll tell Natalie later, after we’ve made love, after she gets to know me. No need to scare her off with a “girl’s hobby” before this relationship gets off the ground. I make a small internal compromise. “My mom’s a knitter. For as long as I can remember, she’s always had some yarn and needles in her hand. She’d knit on the subway, at the movie theatre during the previews, even in line waiting to be checked out at the grocery store.”
“I’ve always wanted to learn,” Natalie says as we are checking out. “Well, not always, but during COVID I wanted to pick up a hobby.”
“Didn’t have the time, though?” I guess. Even COVID didn’t slow down the law business. Zoom calls, virtual hearings, electronic filing made it easy for the legal machines to keep chugging along.
“Yes, and weirdly I have more time now. Maybe I should pick it up.”
I could teach you, I think. We could knit together. I opt for a more neutral response. “There are a lot of instructional videos out there.” I learned that way because while Mom would have been thrilled to teach me, she had been sick when I picked up the needles, and by the time she was well enough to knit on her own again, I didn’t need teaching. “I heard the best way to learn is to just do.” That’s a piece of advice I heard my mom give someone else. Not me, though, because I’d never shown any interest. To me, before Mom had cancer, knitting was a girl’s hobby. It’s why I can’t be angry with Julie. She just gave voice to the same stereotype I’d held.
I brush those negative thoughts away and smile down at Natalie, who is not Julie. “Let’s go take these to my mom.”
Chapter Fourteen
NATALIE
It's not until we're walking toward the front door of Dylan's mom's home that it dawns on me that this might be going a little fast. I’m meeting his mother. Isn’t that something you do six months in? Hell, maybe a year.
Why hadn’t that dawned on me before now? I know there is no way in hell I’m bringing him around my mom anytime soon. She would read way more into this and probably scare the man off. Especially once she finds out he’s a lawyer.
My mom actually reminds me a bit of Julie. She has always been about doing and being your best. Everything was and still is about appearances. I'm pretty sure she only pushed me toward becoming a lawyer because she wanted to tell people I was one. She knew I’d never make it as a doctor. The sight of blood makes me want to faint.
“Does she know we’re coming?” I ask.
“No.” I stop walking.
“We’re just going to show up?”
“Mom loves a good surprise.”
“But you have a guest with you.”
If I unexpectedly showed up at my parents' house with a guest in tow, my mom's head would explode. After the guest left, of course, because she’d never do that in front of them. Mom would have the house cleaned from top to bottom and have herself nicely put together before she let new people into her home. She always strives for perfection or at least for people to believe her life is perfect.
“A guest?” Dylan chuckles. The sound is soft and warm, and I really like it. Hell, I’m starting to like him too much, too quickly. All those red flags being knocked down and green ones popping up. “You’re not a guest, babe.” He gives me a quick kiss and starts walking again. We only ascend a few stairs before the front door opens.
A tall, thin woman appears, her dark, short hair flecked with gray. She is in a lavender sweatsuit and slippers with her hair pinned to the side. “Dylan.” The woman smiles, and I know from her eyes this must be his mom. Her eyes bounce over to me, and her smile grows bigger. "Who did you bring with you?" She steps out onto the porch, reaching her hand out toward me.
"Mom, this is Natalie. Natalie, this is my mom, Rebecca." I take the woman's hand.
"It's nice to meet you, Rebecca," I tell her as she tugs my hand to pull me into an embrace.
"Oh my, aren't you pretty." When she releases me from the hug, she takes my hand again.
"Thank you."
"Come in, come in." She pulls me through the door. She ushers us into what I’m guessing is the living room. “Don’t mind the mess, I was knitting a new blanket, and once I get going, I lose track of time.” She begins to move her needles and supplies into a wicker basket that sits beside the loveseat. “Make yourself at home.”