He tossed her a dry glance. “Cristy.”
“Okay.” Her hands stilled momentarily, then she quirked her mouth to the side. “But I think you wasted your question, because it’s not that difficult to figure out.”
“I’m slow. Spell it out for me.”
She spread her arms. “You’ve met my sister. The rest of my family’s just like her.”
“Yeah? So?”
“If you had to bring your dates home to face that firing squad, believe me, you wouldn’t date much, either.”
“Eh, they’re not so scary.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ha.”
He reached out and tucked the wayward strand of hair over her shoulder, letting his hand rest on her skin. Their eyes met. Hers looked a little wary, a touch too wide, and very, very sexy. He swallowed slowly. “Know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think a smart guy wouldn’t much care what firing squads he needed to face to be with you, as long as he was with you.”
Her bottom lip trembled, and she raked it through her teeth to stop it. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and he could see the pulse pounding in her neck. She swallowed tightly.
He wanted to kiss her.
Was she thinking about kissing him, too?
As if reading his mind, the tip of her tongue flicked out and moistened her lips. He clenched his jaw. Her breath hitched and he felt himself leaning closer. Closer still, until he could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. Closer, until he remembered the gun in his waistband and why he was there.
Damnit, what was he doing?
“Shit.” He jolted to his feet, twirling the chair back to its original position.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Shaken, he ran his fingers through his hair, then turned back to her. “Look…” Words failed him. “I better head upstairs. You should try to sleep, too.”
The red blotches were back on her cheeks. She hiked her chin. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course.” He managed a tight smile. “Thanks for the cookies.” Was he imagining it, or did she look as disappointed as he felt?
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t make them.”
She waited.
He stood his ground, even as it shifted beneath his feet.
She released a long breath, and he almost could see her retreating into her shell. “It’s okay. I understand.”
But she didn’t understand. Not at all. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, hold her, but he needed it to happen at the right time and without the undercurrent of doubt she might have about his motives. With Cristy, it had to be perfect. She deserved nothing less.
Then again, the moment had felt pretty damn perfect.
And he hadn’t read a whole helluva lot of doubt in her eyes.
Regret stabbed him. If he could turn back the clock, he’d say to hell with it, and pull her into his arms. He’d kiss her and hold her, and tell her he’d never let anyone hurt her again. But the moment had passed, and they both knew it.
He smoothed a palm down his face, grappling for his composure. No other woman had ever made him feel off balance like this. So much for getting some shut-eye tonight.
“Before you go up,” she said, sounding both resigned and businesslike, “I’d like to be able to open the shop tomorrow. To the public again. But only if we can operate like any normal day, which means I need to be certain no undesirables slip in.”
“Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”
“There is one thing, though.”
He nodded once.
“I need you to try and…fit in.” She moistened her lips, nervously this time. “I hope that’s…okay.”
He cocked his head to the side and frowned, confused. “I don’t understand.”
With a sigh, she grabbed her hair and wound it into a wad, then stuck a knitting needle through it haphazardly. Busy work with her hands. “I know Simplicity’s probably not your kind of place,” she said, in a rush of words, “I mean, well, you knit and everything. So that’s something. But…I guess what I’m saying…” She looked at him guiltily. “If you could just dress more like a regular person and less like a secret agent man…”
He laughed. He never knew what to expect with her, but that sure cut the tension. He held his arms out and glanced down at himself. “Are jeans and a T-shirt normal enough?”
She smiled, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. That came out totally wrong. It’s not that you don’t look normal. But, you just seem very, well—” She rolled one hand. “—authoritative in that all black getup. Sort of…menacing.”
“Good to know.”
“Yes, but people come to Simplicity to relax, chill out. It’s an oasis, and I’ve worked extremely hard to cultivate that atmosphere. I don’t want the customers to feel anxious because we have security. Or to get…distracted.”
“Distracted?”
She nodded. “By you.”
Well, well, well. She found him distracting. He decided he liked holding his hand close to the flame. “And you think I could be a distraction to your customers if I wore my—what was it? Secret agent man uniform?”
Her gaze slid off to the side. “Uh, yeah. I’m pretty positive you would be.”
“Duly noted. Oh, and Cristy? Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He winked.
“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes playfully.
“Good night, dork,” he said.
“’Night, secret agent man.”
He started out of the room, the rhythmic clicking of her knitting needles the only sound in the house. At the bottom of the stairs he turned back, just to watch her. She looked so damn beautiful sitting pretzel-legged in her pajamas within the small cone of warm lamplight, knitting her worries away. Cristy Avila had grown into a strong, centered, capable woman. But that irresistible vulnerability he’d always appreciated about her remained. She felt both familiar and new to him. Exciting and completely comfortable at once. “Cristy?”
She glanced up. “Yeah?”
For a moment he said nothing. Then he smiled. “I’d kick Kevin O’Kane’s ass for you anytime.”
She smiled, her head tilted to one side. “You’re one of the good guys, Diego. Thank you.” She pressed her fingertips to her lips, then blew the kiss toward him.
He reached up and pretended to catch it in his palm. But the truth was, he’d caught it with his heart.
Chapter 9
“So, Diego,” Alma said, eyeing him across the table. “Ever thought about dating an older woman?”
The group of regulars laughed.
He grinned. “Not until I met you, Alma darlin’. Now it’s all I can think about.”
Cristy sidled up, drawn by the comfortable laughter at the table. She wanted to knock on wood, throw salt over her shoulder, send a prayer to St. Jude, cross her fingers—all of it—because, so far, her luck seemed to be holding. They’d been open for several hours with no problems. Whatever Diego said to the news crews that morning had worked. Though they all camped out, they’d so far kept their distance. The only men who’d come in were with their wives—purse holders rather than perverts. She didn’t want to hedge her bets, but she was right on the verge of admitting that, perhaps, she’d over-reacted.
Taking a deep cleansing breath, she laid her hands on Alma’s shoulders and gave them an affectionate squeeze. “What’s going on, my friends?”
“Nothing much.” Alma twisted around to glance up at her. “Your bodyguard is putting the moves on me, is all.”
Cristy arched an eyebrow at him.
He feigned innocence. “Hey, you told me to fit in. I just didn’t understand how fun it would be.”
Allegra’s jaw dropped. “You told him to fit in? Cristy! That’s so disturbingly high school!”
Cristy held a finger to her lips. “Not like that.” She glanced furtively at the browsing customers, hoping they were too preoccupied with the gorgeous yarn to pay attention to the center table’s convers
ation. She leaned in and whispered, “And not for you guys, either. I just didn’t want the other customers to feel weirded out because we have security.”
“Why would that weird anyone out?” Lisa asked.
She bestowed her best duh expression. “Oh, c’mon. When was the last time any of you frequented a coffee or yarn shop that had an armed bouncer?”
“She has a point,” Alma said, just as Lisa turned to Diego, wide-eyed, and exclaimed, “You’re armed?”
“Shhh!” went all the others.
Lisa clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just kind of…hot.”
Diego smiled at her. “Just a precaution.”
“Excuse me.” Cristy turned to find a small, mousy woman just a little older than herself hovering timidly next to her shoulder. “Do you work here?”
Cristy smiled. “I’m the owner. What can I help you with?”
“I’m interested in taking a beginner’s class.” She nudged up her glasses with one knuckle. “Do you have a schedule?”
“Of course. Right over here.”
“Oops, that’s my phone vibrating. Always gives me a jolt.” The woman rummaged in her shoulder bag and pulled out her cell phone, checking the display. She glanced up. “I’m sorry, I can walk and check messages at the same time.”
“We’ve become quite the society of multitaskers, haven’t we?” Cristy said with a wry laugh. “I remember when I’d drop everything to talk on the phone. Now I feel guilty if I don’t combine every phone conversation with some kind of chore.”
“Yeah. My daughter actually studies, talks on the phone, and instant messages all at once.” The woman shook her head. “Makes me tired just thinking about it.”
“Home phones, cell phones, e-mail—it just gets to be too much.” She led the woman to the small writing desk on which she displayed sales flyers, class schedules, and free patterns in decorative felted bowls. “My college roommates and I used to study, watch TV, and talk on the phone all at the same time.”
“Really? How was that?”
“Crazy. I’m glad to be off that roller coaster. It’s one of the reasons I opened Simplicity.”
“What do you mean?”
“Knitting is an activity for which you really have to be present. It’s meditative, and yet it lends itself to socializing and intimate conversation.”
“I hadn’t thought about that, but you’re right.”
Cristy pulled their latest class schedule out of the black felted bowl. Checking it over quickly, she asked, “Are you interested just in knitting? We offer crochet classes, too. And felting.” She turned to await the young woman’s answer—Flash!
Cristy jumped and blinked against the sudden stars in her vision. The woman aimed her cell phone toward Cristy’s face. Flash! Flash! Flash!
A dapper, elderly man who’d ambled in moments earlier with his white-haired wife took the opportunity to pop the camera disguised as a handle off his walking stick, hold it up, and snap some photos of his own.
Stunned and half blinded from all the flashes, Cristy held her forearm up to block her face. “Diego?”
She should’ve known—he was right on top of it. In an instant Diego had the camera phone out of the mousy woman’s hands. He held it above her reach as he thumbed through the buttons to find Delete. Everything seemed to happen at once. The elderly man’s wife looked from her husband to the other camera-wielding woman, then threw two skeins of Lamb’s Pride bulky aside. “I told you it’d get us in hot water, Stan,” she said before hightailing it out of Simplicity.
“Roberta!” the man hollered.
Like a seasoned cop, Alma snatched the fake cane handle camera from the elderly guy. “What on earth were you thinking, you old coot?” she hollered, laying into him with an impressive forehand/backhand combo. “Get out of here!”
“I’m just making a buck,” he said, cowering.
“Who do you work for?” Smack! Thwack! “Spit it out.”
Ol’ Stan tried to ward off Alma’s blows with his spindly arms. “No one. I’m retired. But the young man out there from the news offered me five hundred bucks to snap some pictures of that woman.” He aimed a crooked, knotty finger toward Cristy. “Only a fool would pass that up.”
“Only a fool would agree to that without asking a question or two!” Smack!
He rounded on Alma and grabbed her wrists. “Please,” he pleaded. “Do you know how much my Roberta spends on yarn? It’s taking over our whole house. She calls it a stash, like it’s drugs instead of wool. Five hundred bucks is a lot of yarn, I told her. She still didn’t think it was a good idea, but—”
“Next time, listen to your wife!” Alma wrenched her arms away and slapped Stan upside the head, knocking his comb-over to the other side like a barn door swinging open.
For the love of God, her sixty-eight-year-old yarn buddy was beating up a geriatric media spy. Cristy stood frozen as the true meaning of shit hitting a fan manifested before her eyes. This had to be a nightmare. Her brain felt like a pinball. She didn’t know where to look; everyone seemed to be moving at once.
Red-faced, Stan pointed his cane toward the back of the shop, hollering something at Alma that was drowned out by Alma yelling at him. One of the yarn browsers took one look at the cane pointed in her direction, then screamed and crumpled into a faint. Allegra leapt up, knocking her chair over, and slid under the woman just in time to break her fall.
Cristy clutched her fists to her mouth, smothering a scream. “Is she okay? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Allegra fanned the woman’s face. “I think she is, too. Don’t worry. I have it under control.”
Cristy gave a jerky nod, not appeased by Allegra’s words, but thankful she’d paid her insurance premium.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, the drab little reporter jumped and flailed her arms at Diego, trying to grab her phone. “You can’t do that! Stop it. Freedom of speech!”
“This is private property, honey,” Diego told her calmly as he deleted each photo she’d snapped, “and you’re not an invited guest. You’re lucky I don’t call the cops.”
“It’s a business.”
“A business you can be tossed out of.”
“Don’t be an ass.” The woman gestured angrily at Cristy. “Her life became public domain the moment her sister talked about her on the radio. I mean, look at the old guy. Everyone’s trying for a crack at her, not just my magazine.”
“What magazine is that again?” Diego asked as he finished deleting and held out the phone to her.
“None of your business.” She snatched it away and shoved it into her bag, then whirled on Cristy. “This is all your fault!”
Stunned, Cristy stepped back as if she’d been slapped.
The woman’s eyes narrowed into angry little slits. “Who the hell cares if you were a phone whore? Just give me a damn quote and I’ll go.”
“Phone whore?” Racquel said with affront.
“Here’s your quote. Piss off,” said Alma, giving the woman a shove toward the door.
She stumbled, but Diego steadied her, wrapping his hand around her forearm and using her own momentum to propel her over the threshold. He shut the door behind her. The woman stood on the porch, sputtering and fuming about harassment and assault and “the public’s right to know.”
Unfazed, Diego turned from the door brushing his palms together. “You, too, pops. Out the door.”
“Not without that camera,” Stan said, striving for a dignified air as he smoothed down his comb-over with a shaky, liver-spotted hand. “It is to be returned if I want my five hundred dollars.”
“Alma, honey, pass me the camera.” Diego held out his palm and snapped his fingers inward a couple times.
“You greedy old goat.” Alma gave the old man another backhand thwack for good measure. “He’s lucky I don’t boot him in the rear with my foot,” she muttered as she hurried the camera over to Diego. “I think I deleted all of them
, but double check. These newfangled cameras. It was a lot easier when you could just yank the film right out of the back.”
Diego checked, found the memory card clear. He turned it off and shook his head. “Really, Stan. Selling out for a measly five hundred bucks? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Stan harrumphed, hoisting his pants higher on his rounded belly. Diego grabbed one of his arms gently and escorted him out. “I ought to sue you!” he rasped toward Alma as he left.
“Knock yourself out, you old sack of bones. No jury would put a frail old woman like myself in jail.”
“Gaaaaahmmm…” The fainter stirred, and everyone’s attention zoomed in on her. Cristy swallowed, then flicked her hand toward the front door. “Diego, lock it. Please.”
Diego did as she asked, then turned and winked at Alma. “Nice work, Starsky. But come on…frail?” He held up a hand, and she gave him a strong high five.
“If there is one thing I can’t stand, it’s a greedy opportunist.” Alma straightened her spine and yanked on the hem of her Nike JUST DO IT shirt. “Forget the dating idea, Diego,” she said, rosy-cheeked with excitement and righteous indignation. “Maybe you should hire me.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
The woman who’d fainted sat up suddenly and glanced around with alarm. “What happened? Why am I on the floor?”
“You’ll be fine,” Allegra told her, smiling. “You just, um, saw a mouse and fainted.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake….”
Just then Racquel bustled into the room carrying a cool cloth and a glass of water. She squatted down next to Allegra, and together they took care of the woman.
“Are you guys filming some kind of, like, reality show?” asked a teenager with bouncy blond pigtails. She wore funky colored fingerless gloves, even though the summer temperatures hovered near ninety degrees. Probably her first knitting project after the ubiquitous scarf, Cristy thought.
“Nothing that exciting, kiddo.” Diego turned and addressed the rest of the customers in Simplicity, most of whom had ceased whatever they were doing to stare open-mouthed at the pandemonium. He proffered a polite smile full of ominous warning. “Now then. Anyone else working for the media here?”
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