Free The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club by Lori Wilde

look in his eyes. “You’re right. That was a very dumb thing to say.”
    The moment was incredibly awkward. On the river below, a pontoon boat filled with laughing and joking partygoers motored past. Over the outdoor speakers, Shania was singing “Forever andfor Always.” Who the hell had put on that soundtrack?
    “Froggy’s has changed,” Jesse said after a long moment. “No longer just the place you gas up your johnboat, grab a six-pack and a hot dog.”
    “A lot of things have changed.” She wondered how to tell him about her engagement to Beau.
    You don’t owe him anything. He returned your letters unopened. Never called. Never offered an explanation for what he’d done. It’s none of his business that you’re getting married.
    “I can see that.” His gaze lingered on her bosom. “A lot of things got bigger.”
    She crossed her arms over her chest, fought back the thrill his perusal brought. Stop this nonsense .
    “You changed your hair.”
    She put a hand to her sleek straight locks. “I straighten it now.”
    “Why?”
    “It looks more polished.”
    “Ah, I see.”
    “See what?”
    “You want to look like furniture.”
    “What?” She knew he was making a joke but she was suddenly struck by insecurity. She lifted a hand to her hair. “You don’t like it?”
    He shrugged, “’S all right.”
    “You disapprove.”
    “I liked it wild and curly.”
    “You were the only one.”
    “Meaning?”
    “I like it straight.”
    “Just you?”
    “And my family.”
    “Just them?”
    “And Beau,” she said, reluctantly speaking his name in front of Jesse. Tension spun out between them, taut as wire, thick as tapioca.
    “Ah, the Golden Boy, I was wondering when we were going to get to the root of the problem. He’s the one who likes straight hair. Not you, not your family.”
    “Listen, you gave up your right to weigh in on my hair when you decided to sell drugs.”
    “I didn’t—” He stopped, clenched his jaw, fisted his hands against his thighs. “I just don’t see any reason why you have to be something you’re not. Be natural, be yourself.”
    “You’re saying I’m not polished?”
    “I’m saying you shouldn’t fight who you are.”
    “Thanks. I appreciate the sage advice.” She scooted back her chair and tried to ignore her rapidly pumping heart. “Seeing as how following your natural outlaw tendencies worked so well for you.”
    “Hey, now.” He rested his hand on her forearm. A jagged scar zigzagged across four of his knuckles. A scar that hadn’t been there ten years ago. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
    She sucked in a breath filled with concern, sadness, longing, sarcasm, and fear. She twisted her arm out from under his hand. “I did just fine without your advice for ten years.”
    “You did.” He nodded.
    “Now you’re just placating me.”
    “I don’t want you to go.”
    “Why are you here, Jesse? Why did you come back to Twilight?”
    He leaned forward, placed his arms on the table, pushed his tea glass back and forth between his hands. A nervous gesture? The ice in the glass tinkled; his watch band made a rough noise against the smooth table. For a split second, she prayed he would say, You . But he didn’t. He just shrugged. “Gotta be somewhere.”
    “What are you planning on doing here?”
    “Opening up a place to sell and repair motorcycles.”
    “You were always good with your hands,” she said, recalling the way his calloused palms had felt running over her soft skin.
    “It comes to me naturally,” he said. “But I also took courses in prison on small engine repair.”
    “You can take courses in prison?”
    “Sure. Rehabilitation and all that.”
    “So you’re really set on staying.”
    “I am.”
    She didn’t know how she felt about that. It was unsettling, thinking of Jesse being in town again for good. “We’ll be seeing each other around.”
    “We will.”
    They stared at each other. Desire flamed in his eyes. He fisted