Blackbird Knitting in a Bunny's Lair by Amy Lane Page A

Sometimes men did too. It was why a con man always carried Kleenex, so he could give a mark a shoulder to cry on. Just because she wasn’t a mark didn’t mean he was going to dodge out on being that shoulder.
    “No,” he said, his voice ringing with conviction. That was how you played a mark, he thought, and that confused him for a moment. He had to remember he believed this. This wasn’t pie in the sky; he wasn’t selling Ariadne a bullshit dream. This was something it had taken him five hard years to learn, and he was proud of it.
    “Then what were they?” Ariadne’s voice snapped him out of his moment of dallying.
    “They were in love,” he said, feeling it. “They loved that baby so much, all they wanted was for the rest of the world to see what they saw. Now, that’s probably where they made their mistake, right? Because they’re not smart like you and Rory and Craw and Ben. They wanted the whole world to see, but that’s not what you want, is it.”
    “No,” she answered, and damn, he wished hard for that Kleenex, because she sounded clogged and sad.
    “No,” he gentled. “You’ll just look at that baby and see that it’s perfect. I mean, there’ll be surgeries and whatnot, because I know some stuff needs to be fixed so the baby’s healthy and all, but that’s not what matters, right?”
    “No,” she answered, but this time, her voice sounded easier, peaceful, and that was worth all the effort of getting riled up.
    Now he had to make her say it. “So what’s the thing that matters?”
    “That we think the baby’s beautiful,” Ariadne said, still sad but better.
    “That’s what I think too.”
    “Will you think my baby’s beautiful?” Ariadne asked.
    Jeremy guessed he had that coming. “See, there was a reason Oscar was the one who had to run that scam,” he said apologetically.
    “What’s that?”
    “I never did see an ugly baby.”
    “Bullshit!” Ariadne laughed, and he loved her so hard in that moment, he would have gladly taken another beating, just so she’d always call bullshit when she saw it. But this time, he was pretty sure he was telling the truth.
    “No, ma’am. I swear on… on….” Oh sweet baby Jebus, what could he swear on? “I swear on my boy’s sweet green eyes,” he breathed at last. Those eyes were going to comfort him tonight in his dreams, he could only hope. “I swear to you, Miss Ariadne, I never did see an ugly baby. All I ever saw—and maybe it’s ’cause of who my daddy went for, which is too bad—but all I ever saw was beautiful babies. And happy families. I was damned jealous of every family we ever fleeced.” He swallowed. “Made it easier, somehow, which is horrible, I know it. But it made it easier to think that they had each other. All I got was rent.”
    She sniffled and kept her head against his shoulder. “My baby’s going to be beautiful,” she said, and it sounded like a part of her had doubted it.
    “That you know that for certain? That’s maybe one of the best things I’ve ever done.”
    “You knit good sweaters too,” she said softly, and something about the lilt, the tenor, put him into the pattern they’d developed over the past couple of weeks.
    “Wool’s good for sweaters,” he said. “I like our wool.”
    “Alpaca’s softer.”
    “Like the blends.”
    “Those are fun to spin,” she told him, and he grunted.
    “I’ll have to learn how to do that.”
    “You’ll be behind the counter.”
    “Who’ll teach me?”
    “I will.”
    “Figures. You taught me how to knit.”
    “You’ll be a natural.”
    And so on. They were both tired, and both far from home, and the things they knew together were the only things they needed to communicate about. It was a rhythmic thing, almost a chant, and it ended when one or the other simply ceased answering and fell asleep.
    Ariadne fell silent when it was her turn, and sighed a little as she snuggled; he figured it was her turn to end the conversation.