faith. She believed in the power and enchantment of the spinning wheel.
And if all else failed, at least they’d have a nice knitted something-or-other to show for her efforts.
Row 5
A thousand dollars.
A thousand dollars.
A thousand dollars.
Maybe if she kept saying it to herself, over and over, she would eventually stop feeling like a pathetic, weak-willed sellout.
She didn’t particularly care about winning another one of Dylan’s trophies. She had the Harrison already, which was the best of the best and the one he valued most.
Plus, in order to take possession of a second award from his collection, she would have to help him enough to ensure that he actually
did
learn to knit and would most likely win the challenge, and that was just
not
gonna happen. Not if she had anything to say about it.
But the money . . .
A thousand dollars was a lot of dough, and God knew she could use it. It would make a nice addition to her savings, to the cushion she liked to keep between herself and the poverty line.
But why, oh, why did the windfall have to come from The Jackass?
She should have walked away. She had, actually, just not very far.
Over the loud music thrumming through The Penalty Box, he’d called out that ridiculous figure, but she’d just kept going, returning to the booth where her friends—and drinks—were waiting. She’d sat down, sipped her Cosmo, and carried on a perfectly normal conversation for the next hour or so.
And then, as she’d passed his table on her way out, she’d stopped, leaned close to his ear, and given him an answer to his generous—and, she was beginning to suspect, evil—offer.
“Okay,” she’d whispered so that no one else would overhear her shame. “We’ll start next week, after knitting group.”
She hadn’t waited for a response. Had actually dashed out of the bar as fast as her Dolce & Gabbana knockoff platform wedges could carry her. Because she didn’t want to see his reaction, didn’t want to see him gloat or hear his loud guffaws as he shared the details of her humiliating capitulation with his friends.
Now she was simply waiting for the moment he would walk into The Yarn Barn, into her circle of friends who were all busy knitting their little hearts out, and announce that she’d caved to cash bribery like a house of cards.
Cursing under her breath as she lost another stitch on the sleeve of the sweater she was knitting, Ronnie checked her watch for the fifth or sixth time in less than an hour. Only ten minutes left before the meeting would end, which meant that Dylan was either running extremely late or he’d decided not to take her up on the tutoring sessions, after all.
A part of her was relieved. She didn’t
want
to help him, so she would be just as happy if he changed his mind and went off to fail this particular challenge on his own.
She would miss that thousand dollars, though. It wasn’t even in her bank account yet, but she’d already imagined it there, happily increasing the amount of her balance.
When the meeting broke up, for the first time in as long as she could remember, Ronnie begged off going for drinks at The Penalty Box. Grace and Jenna both looked at her like she’d gone berserk, but she merely shook her head and promised to talk to them later.
Tucking the lapels of her leopard-print raincoat tighter around her throat, she prepared to step off the sidewalk and head for her car, but Charlotte’s voice stopped her.
“Ronnie, dear,” the older woman called, still standing in front of the craft store doors.
Ronnie forced a smile she didn’t quite feel and turned back around. “Hey, Charlotte. Are you going over to The Penalty Box with the girls?”
“Oh, no,” she said with a deep chuckle. “One glass of wine a week is my limit, and I like to drink that on Friday evening while watching my programs.”
Ronnie smiled indulgently while Charlotte dug around in her tote.
“I spun this just for you,”
And if all else failed, at least they’d have a nice knitted something-or-other to show for her efforts.
Row 5
A thousand dollars.
A thousand dollars.
A thousand dollars.
Maybe if she kept saying it to herself, over and over, she would eventually stop feeling like a pathetic, weak-willed sellout.
She didn’t particularly care about winning another one of Dylan’s trophies. She had the Harrison already, which was the best of the best and the one he valued most.
Plus, in order to take possession of a second award from his collection, she would have to help him enough to ensure that he actually
did
learn to knit and would most likely win the challenge, and that was just
not
gonna happen. Not if she had anything to say about it.
But the money . . .
A thousand dollars was a lot of dough, and God knew she could use it. It would make a nice addition to her savings, to the cushion she liked to keep between herself and the poverty line.
But why, oh, why did the windfall have to come from The Jackass?
She should have walked away. She had, actually, just not very far.
Over the loud music thrumming through The Penalty Box, he’d called out that ridiculous figure, but she’d just kept going, returning to the booth where her friends—and drinks—were waiting. She’d sat down, sipped her Cosmo, and carried on a perfectly normal conversation for the next hour or so.
And then, as she’d passed his table on her way out, she’d stopped, leaned close to his ear, and given him an answer to his generous—and, she was beginning to suspect, evil—offer.
“Okay,” she’d whispered so that no one else would overhear her shame. “We’ll start next week, after knitting group.”
She hadn’t waited for a response. Had actually dashed out of the bar as fast as her Dolce & Gabbana knockoff platform wedges could carry her. Because she didn’t want to see his reaction, didn’t want to see him gloat or hear his loud guffaws as he shared the details of her humiliating capitulation with his friends.
Now she was simply waiting for the moment he would walk into The Yarn Barn, into her circle of friends who were all busy knitting their little hearts out, and announce that she’d caved to cash bribery like a house of cards.
Cursing under her breath as she lost another stitch on the sleeve of the sweater she was knitting, Ronnie checked her watch for the fifth or sixth time in less than an hour. Only ten minutes left before the meeting would end, which meant that Dylan was either running extremely late or he’d decided not to take her up on the tutoring sessions, after all.
A part of her was relieved. She didn’t
want
to help him, so she would be just as happy if he changed his mind and went off to fail this particular challenge on his own.
She would miss that thousand dollars, though. It wasn’t even in her bank account yet, but she’d already imagined it there, happily increasing the amount of her balance.
When the meeting broke up, for the first time in as long as she could remember, Ronnie begged off going for drinks at The Penalty Box. Grace and Jenna both looked at her like she’d gone berserk, but she merely shook her head and promised to talk to them later.
Tucking the lapels of her leopard-print raincoat tighter around her throat, she prepared to step off the sidewalk and head for her car, but Charlotte’s voice stopped her.
“Ronnie, dear,” the older woman called, still standing in front of the craft store doors.
Ronnie forced a smile she didn’t quite feel and turned back around. “Hey, Charlotte. Are you going over to The Penalty Box with the girls?”
“Oh, no,” she said with a deep chuckle. “One glass of wine a week is my limit, and I like to drink that on Friday evening while watching my programs.”
Ronnie smiled indulgently while Charlotte dug around in her tote.
“I spun this just for you,”
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