Purls of Wisdom

by Morgan James

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Knit One

  Purl Two

  Knit Three

  Purl Four

  Knit Five

  Purl Six

  Knit Seven

  Purl Eight

  Knit Nine

  About the Author

  By Morgan James

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Purls of Wisdom

  By Morgan James

  Yarn shop owner and ex-soldier Noah Miller never looks forward to the Christmas season. At least this year the break coincides with Hanukkah. But before his vacation, he has to survive the December rush.

  When virgin knitter Finley Mason comes into the store desperate for yarn, needles, and lessons so he can win a bet against Hazel, a woman who must be his wife, Noah agrees to help him despite his better judgment—he usually hates teaching.

  As the deadline to finish his roommate’s scarf looms, Finley falls in love with the reclusive shopkeeper, and he tries his best to woo Noah with all the magic of New York City at Christmastime. Noah could easily be swept away—if only Finley wasn’t straight and taken….

  For LS, who read it first.

  Knit One

  NOAH COUNTED the five skeins of indigo bulky merino and made a note on his clipboard. Then he counted up the gray—only two balls left—and the green—one. He sighed. Time to make an order from Knit a Good Yarn.

  He shifted to the medium weights and discovered the supply of Entwined’s worsted was equally low. Scowling to see the shelf so empty, he slashed at the paper. He couldn’t wait for Mark’s return—this week without him, during an exam crunch, had been most unpleasant.

  Resettled behind his counter, Noah rummaged for the order sheets. New York’s grandmothers were emptying his shelves in the run-up to Christmas. He scowled at the paperwork. Any of the office drudgery that involved communication with other businesses was his least favorite. He was grumbling and writing when the bell jangled over the door—one of these days, he’d rip that damn thing off the frame—and a man came scurrying up to the counter.

  “Hello! I hope you can help me. I’m in a bit of a fix. I need a Christmas present, something knitted, but I’ve never knitted anything before in my life. And I know Christmas Day is fast approaching, but have you ever lived with someone after losing a bet? She’ll be insufferable!” The man took a deep breath.

  Noah blinked at him, registering flushed cheeks and bright blue eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “Er. I need to knit something and don’t know how. Please tell me you can teach me how!” The man leaned on the counter and in to Noah, his full lips parted, his lashes fluttering.

  Noah hated teaching others how to knit—the skill required patience, something he’d never been long on for amateurs or incompetents. Well, he wasn’t long on patience for most human interactions, really. He often gave thanks to a higher power he only reflexively believed in these days that yarn customers tended to be quiet introverts who loathed to talk or old ladies who carried the conversational weight.

  “This is a yarn store, not a school,” Noah said dryly.

  Blue Eyes—they really were startlingly bright—chewed his pink bow lip. “Right, I am aware. Only I’m not sure where I could learn how to knit, and I don’t have any supplies, and surely you can help me in some way.” Noah had the vague impression of a Marilyn Monroe type batting her lashes.

  Noah sighed. “I can sell you yarn and needles.”

  “Yes, but—” Blue Eyes widened his eyes and stared beseechingly up at Noah. “Please? I have no idea what I’m doing, and it’s for a Christmas present. If I screw this up, I’ll be in the doghouse. You know how it is with Christmas, right?”

  Noah lifted an eyebrow. “I’m Jewish.” And gay. And single.

  Startled, Blue Eyes leaned back, then waved his hands spasmodically. “Er, oh, sorry for assuming, but—but surely you’ve had to give important presents before!”

  Noah inclined his head. He’d learned to knit at his father’s knee so he could gift a hat and scarf to his mother. “What is it you were hoping to make?”

  “She wants one of those tube scarf things.”

  “I see.” Noah put down his pen and regarded Blue Eyes. “And why can’t you just buy her one?” And leave me in peace?

  Blue Eyes slumped. “We made a bet,” he mumbled. “Or an agreement, I guess.” He picked up the pen and wiggled it with an absentminded air. “She knits, you see, and I paint, and we got into a bit of a, a thing about which is harder, and it eventually ended with us agreeing that she’d paint me a thing and I’d knit her something for Christmas, and if I don’t follow through, I’ll be in trouble. Also did I mention the smug?”

  Straight people. Noah didn’t shake his head. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Blue Eyes seemed to slump even further. “It is, isn’t it? But you don’t know her. She’ll exact revenge.”

  Noah rolled his eyes. “Do you have a pattern?” he found himself asking.

  “Pattern?”

  Noah stared at this imbecile and then glanced at the cat-a-day calendar his father had given him. December 5. “Let me get this straight. You do not have a pattern, don’t know how to knit, and you need to make something in less than three weeks.”

  The puppy eyes got worse. “I know I should have started sooner—”

  Noah scoffed. And those blue eyes flashed, his cheeks flushed red, and he stood up straighter. “Yes, all right, I’ve landed myself in this, but no need to be unpleasant to a paying customer. And it’s not like I was dillydallying. I’m an artist and a teacher. I don’t have a lot of free time.”

  Showing some spine made Blue Eyes look even hotter than he had flushed from the cold.

  “I have some pattern books. I’m sure we could find something straightforward that you could tackle.”

  “Could we?” The steel melted back into affable, and Blue Eyes smiled.

  Exasperated, Noah nearly rolled his eyes again—what on earth was he thinking?—as he stepped out from behind the counter to guide Blue Eyes to the pattern books. He picked up a couple of likely candidates and flipped through them, looking for beginner cowl and snood patterns.

  “So,” Noah said as he considered and rejected one, “if you have to make something specific, does she as well?”

  Blue Eyes nodded. “Oh yes. She wanted something she could wear without embarrassment in public, so I said I wanted something we could hang in the apartment without shame either. Something winter themed. And she’s not allowed to cheat and go to one of those drunken paint nights. Something original.”

  Noah snorted and glanced at him, and Blue Eyes bounced on his toes and smiled mischievously. Noah shook his head and looked at the pattern before him. It had lace work with cast ons and offs. Probably not the best option. He flipped open a different book. This one had a snood pattern in chunky yarn with a single cable, which would be straightforward enough.

  “This is an option.” He handed the book over so Blue Eyes could see the picture. Then Noah flipped through another magazine. He found a few more easy patterns—a straight knit with fine yarn of varying colors, a flat knit scarf with buttons and holes, and a ribbed chunky one.

  “You should be able to manage any of these four. They’re relatively simple and only rely on a couple of stitch types each. Which do you think she’d like the best?”

  Blue Eyes considered each one carefully before picking the chunky ribbed one. Noah bit back a sigh, not the one he would have chosen. The straight knit would have been better for a first-timer. At least this one only used one color of yarn, he supposed.

  “Right. Well, the pattern is pretty straightforward.
You cast on stitches in multiples of four, connect in the round, and knit two, purl two until the scarf is wide enough and then you bind off. No rows or stitch counting to worry about once you’ve cast on.”

  Blue Eyes blinked up at him. “Pardon?”

  Noah didn’t bite back this sigh. “Right. Okay. One step at a time. Yarn first. What color would she like?”

  He brought Blue Eyes to the bulky yarns and watched as he hemmed and hawed over the various colors, paying no mind to brand or fiber. He discounted the most vibrant immediately and, slowing, worked his way through the neutral tones until he settled on an oatmeal. Noah didn’t know whether to applaud this mystery woman’s taste or deplore her lack of adventure. Of course, that assumed Blue Eyes had guessed correctly.

  Noah checked the label—120 yards—and grabbed three skeins. He dropped them off at the counter and led Blue Eyes to the needles.

  “You have two options, metal or wood needles.” Noah pointed at the 12 mm gauge circulars in metal and in wood. He’d learned on metal, but over the years he’d discovered a fondness for the soft silent glide of polished wood, even if it sometimes felt like a betrayal of his father’s lessons.

  “Oh. There are options for needles?”

  Noah sighed softly. “There are lots of options. Fortunately your project is dictating a lot, you need large circulars, so you only have one decision to make.” Noah pulled down the metal needles with the twenty-four-inch wire and the unstrung wooden ones. “Here, which do you like the feel of better?”

  Less than a minute later, he severely regretted the offer. Blue Eyes practically fondled the slim rods as he inspected them, running his stained artist’s fingers up and down the different materials.

  He liked the wood. Noah refused to read anything into the common preference.

  Noah put the metal needles back and grabbed a wire for the wooden ones. Then he led Blue Eyes back to the counter and rang everything up. Blue Eyes didn’t flinch or blink at the almost hundred-dollar total, simply handed over his card.

  “I don’t suppose you could be convinced to teach me how to use all this?”

  Noah handed over the debit handset and stared at Blue Eyes. His brow puckered slightly as he entered his PIN. When the transaction went through, the frown cleared and he beamed at the device. It was ridiculously charming, and Noah wasn’t often charmed.

  “I don’t teach,” Noah blurted. Blue Eyes deflated, and his smile disappeared. “I’m not good at it,” he added somewhat desperately.

  Blue Eyes waved this off. “I’m sure you’re a terrific teacher, just the man to help me!”

  “Fine. I can show you how to cast on and a knit and purl stitch.” Noah grabbed the receipts, folded them together, and stuffed them into a bag along with the pattern book and two of the skeins of yarn. He picked up the needles and opened their envelope, ready to fish them out.

  “Wait, now?” Blue Eyes looked startled, like Bambi caught in the crosshairs.

  “Yes,” Noah said slowly.

  “Oh, but I can’t—I really have to run. I’m on my lunch break, and I have classes to teach.”

  Noah snapped the envelope shut and put the needles, wire, and yarn in the bag. “Then I guess—”

  “I’ll be done by five, I don’t suppose—”

  “You’ll have to come back this evening.”

  “Really?”

  Noah might be going crazy. “Yes, really. The store closes at seven, so don’t get here later than six thirty, and I’ll give you a knitting one-oh-one.”

  “Oh, you are a darling. Thank you so much, Mr.…?”

  “Miller. Noah is fine.”

  “Noah, then.” He gave a smile with such warmth that Noah’s antisocial tendencies melted a bit. “I’m Finley. Finley Mason.” He held out his hand and Noah took it. “Until this evening, Noah.” Finley’s lips seemed to caress his name. Then he smiled brightly, grabbed the bag, and bolted out of the shop.

  Watching him go, Noah felt like he’d been run over by a very amicable pony in a rainbow scarf. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought and turned back to his order forms, unsure if he hoped for Finley’s return that evening or not.

  Purl Two

  “I’M IN love,” Finley said into his Bluetooth as he took a turn at speed. He glanced at the clock: seven minutes to do the five-minute journey. No problem.

  “You’ve fallen in love,” said Hazel, her tone as dry as her martinis. “Since this morning.”

  “Yes. He’s perfect, and I have you to thank for bringing him into my life.”

  “You do.” Hazel’s inflection still hadn’t changed, and he could barely hear her over the background noise on the call.

  “Where are you?”

  “At Burnout. I need coffee if I’m going to deal with you while lovesick.”

  Finley squawked. The background noises had greeted him first after she’d accepted the call, so he couldn’t be to blame for her caffeine needs. Also, “You say that like my being in love is a bad thing!”

  “It is when you decide to fall madly in love at first sight with every Tom, Dick, and Harry,” Hazel said, her tone frustratingly reasonable. “Hi, yes, I’d like an extra-large peppermint mocha to go, please. Yes, extra whipped cream. I’m going to need it.”

  Finley flicked his blinker on, changed lanes, made the left-hand turn across two lanes, and muttered to himself, “I do not fall in love with every man I meet.”

  “True. You didn’t fall for Becket, Evander, or Shawn. Which honestly makes me wonder if you’re only repelled by men who are into me or your sister.”

  “I wasn’t interested in Stanley!”

  Hazel drawled, “Darling, no one with a modicum of sense is interested in Stanley. The man is a complete sadist.”

  Hazel… had a point. Spending time with people who knew you since middle school was always so dangerous. “Okay. But I still don’t fall in love with everyone. I went to two other stores before the yarn one—”

  “Yarn store?” Hazel asked, honing in on the line most pertinent to herself, of course.

  “Yes, yes, I went to buy supplies for your Christmas present, and I was at Purls of Wisdom, and Hazel, he’s magnificent.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line as Finley turned onto the one-way street of the art school. “You… fell in love with the man at Purls of Wisdom.”

  “Yes.” Finley couldn’t hold back the dreamy sigh at the memory of Noah’s dark eyes, his tan skin, and wavy hair. “Have you met him?”

  “It’s my favorite supplier, of course I’ve met him. Just… you are talking about Noah, right? Not Mark the slightly nerdy and probably-too-young-for-you shop assistant?”

  “Oh, is there more than one?” Finley asked, surprised to learn such a tiny store could warrant two employees.

  “Finley, focus!”

  “What?” Finley turned into the lot and slowed down to better hunt for a space, whichever was closest to the door.

  “Noah or Mark?”

  “Noah, obviously.” Mark might be perfectly lovely, but he must pale in comparison to Noah’s perfection.

  “You’re in love with Noah, Noah Miller. Tall, dark, brooding, smile like a hungry lion and twice as terrifying, that Noah?”

  Finley frowned and cast a disbelieving look toward Hazel’s name displayed on the dashboard. “No? I mean, tall and dark is correct, but his smile is lovely, and he’s not intimidating in the slightest. He’s incredibly sweet, actually.” Finley let out a happy sigh as he recalled the care and attention Noah had given him that morning. He bet he showed such care and attention all the time….

  “Noah is sweet,” Hazel said slowly, as if testing each word. “Finley, I know you’re prone to fits of delusions when it comes to people—”

  “I am not!” Finley swung into a space and stamped on the brake.

  “Ian Keen,” Hazel said. Which was a fair point: his trust had definitely and disastrously been misplaced there. But it had also been a clear outlier.
/>   “So I’ve made some blunders. Everyone has!”

  “Not like you, Finley. And this one takes the cake. Noah Miller is not sweet. I’m not even sure he likes humans.”

  Finley turned off his car and brought his phone to his ear as he scrambled to collect his bags. “Well, then we must not be talking about the same man.” He sniffed. “He was exceedingly helpful with finding a pattern and yarn, and later tonight, he’s going to teach me how to knit.”

  “What.” Then she added, her voice farther away, “Yes, the peppermint mocha is mine. Lots of whipped cream please. I deserve it. Finley,” she said, closer again, “if your crush somehow ruins my excellent client relationship with my favorite shop owner….”

  Finley snorted as he yanked the art-school door open. His best friend was rather a drama queen. “Look, I’ve just got to work.”

  Hazel groaned. “Why do you always do this to me? Drop bombshells on your way to work.”

  “Noah is not a bombshell!” Pause. “Well, except maybe in the supremely sexy—”

  “Finley,” Hazel sighed. “Was there another reason for this call? Or were you so moonstruck you couldn’t wait until this evening to tell me about your unwise passion?”

  “Oh, yes, there was.” Finley grinned. “That knitting lesson I mentioned is happening tonight. So I need to push dinner back a tad.”

  “Of course you do. What time?”

  “Um, seven thirty? The shop is open until seven, but I should be able to pick up dinner and get home by seven thirty, I think.”

  “You show up a minute late, I’m calling the cops.”

  “What? Why? Do you think he’s going to ravish me?” Finley asked, perhaps a bit too eagerly, judging by the scandalized look from Stella, who taught art to kids under six, passing him in the hall. Oh well. He waved, then ducked into his classroom.

  “No, I think he might murder you when he realizes how hopeless you are.”

  Finley scoffed. “I won’t be hopeless, dah-link, I’m an artiste!” He took great pleasure in slipping the phone from his ear and switching it off before she could answer. Smirking, he turned to his waiting students.