The horny vacation haze lasts all the way back to New York. I cling to a meager hope that the flight home will break the Austin spell. Maybe he’ll take his shoes and socks off on the flight, revealing gross stinky toes, and I’ll be completely, permanently turned off. Maybe I’ll fall asleep and drool on his shoulder, making him reconsider this whole affair.
But nope. We land in New York still unable to keep our hands off each other. Austin holds my hand casually through the airport. He stands behind me in the cab line as he did at the festival, hand against my hip. And once we’re riding back to Manhattan, he slings an arm over the backseat, one hand resting reassuringly on my shoulder.
Except it’s not reassuring, not anymore. My guilt and unease grows by the mile now that we’re back in city limits.
What the hell was I thinking, drunk on tequila and the vibes at VibeFest? I’m in so far over my head, starting a romance with the boss of my ill-gotten job.
So much for coming clean. Instead, I got very, very dirty with Austin.
We reach my place, and Austin carries my bag upstairs. I pause outside my apartment door, summoning the will power to not invite him in. I need some time to think.
“Some trip, huh?” Austin asks. “How are you feeling?”
“A little sunburned,” I say, even though that’s clearly not what he meant. “Excited to go to work on Monday and spend all that McClintock money on marketing plans.”
Austin chuckles. “Easy there,” he says, setting my case down. “That money’s got to last us a while, until we get some paying customers.”
“No problem,” I insist. “They’ll be lining up around the block. Especially once Lanie and Mac start pimping the place on their social channels.”
“Gee, you make it sound so classy,” he jokes. Then Austin pauses. “And how do you feel about the rest of it,” he presses. “Us.”
There’s an us!
I swallow hard. He’s so close, his beautiful eyes locked on mine. “Uh… Good?” I squeak.
“Good,” he echoes, smiling. “Let me take you out tomorrow, officially.”
“Our first date?” My heart pounds. I want to say yes so badly. Every day with him has been amazing, with easy conversation and attraction zinging between us. “But how will you ever top the Deconstructed Niçoise?” I tease.
He laughs. “You’re right. Chef Robby sets a high bar, but I’ll think of something.”
“OK,” I nod. “It’s a date.”
Austin kisses me, his mouth cool and seductive. And although I badly want to bust into my apartment, both of us ripping off clothes as we go, I reluctantly pull away. I need to figure out how the hell to explain the whole Other Jennifer deal to him—and I’m not going to be able to make the plan with his tongue in my mouth.
Or… Other places.
“I should get settled,” I say, stepping back. “I’m sure I have a billion emails waiting.”
“Me too. So I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, with one last, lingering kiss. “Let’s make a day of it, start early. Brunch, park. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.”
Austin turns and heads for the elevator—and that’s when I see Millie’s door is open, and she’s rubbernecking out of her apartment like a cartoon character, eyes agog.
“Oh my God,” she mouths at me, gesturing to Austin’s general presence.
Lord help me. I put a hand on Austin’s arm, nodding down the hall. “Austin, this gawker is my best friend, Millie.”
He turns and Millie straightens up, though she’s not quick enough to wipe the goofy grin from her face. “Nice to meet you, Millie.”
“I’ve heard good things,” she says. I widen my eyes, willing her to keep it vague.
“I’m flattered,” Austin says, glancing back at me. I flash a smile, but the second he turns away, I glare at Millie threateningly. “I should go. Clearly, you two have some catching up to do,” Austin smirks. “Hope I get a good review. See you around, Millie.”
The second the elevator doors shut, Millie scurries down the hall like a mouse with a hunk of cheese. “Oh my God, oh my God. He’s going to see me around? He wants to become a regular fixture around here?”
“He wants to date,” I tell her, pushing open my door.
Millie hurries in behind me, dragging my suitcase. “What? No! You can’t do that.”
I turn, confused. This was the same woman who egged me on to enjoy his gorgeous body in Palm Springs.
“You were the one who said to go for it!”
“Yeah, back when the only thing you were risking was some professional awkwardness.” She clucks at me. “But look at you! You’re all starry-eyed and swooning. This is gonna be messy.”
“I know.” I wail. “I know.”
“You have to tell him everything.” Millie warns me. “Before this really gets out of hand.”
“I tried!” I protest. “On the Ferris wheel. He was talking about cards on the table, and getting to know the real me, and I opened my mouth, and…”
“And what?” Millie asks, already unwrapping my airline pretzels like she’s at a movie.
“And then he felt me up, and the words went right out of my head,” I admit, burying my face in my hands.
“He felt you up on a Ferris wheel!” Millie’s screech could be heard in the Outer Bronx.
“And then again in the pool. And the shower…” I blush hotly at the memories. “God, Millie, he’s just too good. And he talks dirty, too.”
“No,” she gasps.
“And I like it!”
“I hate you.” She munches a pretzel. “I mean, I love you, but I hate you.”
“I kind of hate me too,” I agree.
We sit a moment, as Millie crunches another pretzel. “So,” she ventures. “What are you going to do about the dirty-talking, sweet-hearted sex god?”
I sigh. “Tell him the truth. I have to, right?” I look at her, hoping she’s got some complex moral justification for me absolutely not rocking the boat.
But nope. Millie nods. “You kind of do, babe.”
“I’ll tell him on our date tomorrow.” I decide. “He might even find it funny. Because it is, isn’t it? One big screwball mixup. I just need to figure out how to phrase it.”
“Well,” Millie says, “Both Milo and the baby are asleep, so I’m available for roleplay. I accept payment in the form of wine.”
My phone makes a series of vibrations from inside my purse, and I fish it out, seeing a ton messages from the Stitch n Bitch group chat arrived during the flight.
10AM tomorrow, right?
Am I first shift?
Lottie, can you resend the schedule?
“Crapwaffle,” I mutter. “I forgot about the charity knit-a-thon tomorrow. I’ll have to postpone my date with Austin.”
Millie gives me an appraising look. “You sure that’s why you want to postpone? Not because you’re afraid to come clean?”
I glower at her. “I miss the Millie I called from Palm Springs.”
“Yeah, well.” She shrugs, unbothered. “She got a good night’s sleep and came to her senses.”
I roll my eyes at her and dial Austin before I can lose my nerve. He answers on the second ring.
“You miss me already?” he guesses. Then, only sort of joking, “What are you wearing?”
I laugh. “I’m calling so you can hear my voice when I tell you this. It will be apparent that I’m not freaking out or making up excuses.”
“Okay…”
“I forgot I have a charity knit-a-thon tomorrow, so I’ll need to push the date back till later.”
“A charity knit-a-thon,” he marvels. “With any other girl, I think that was a bizarre excuse to cancel. But, with you, it’s something I’ve got to see.”
For a moment, I assume this is sarcasm. “You want to come to a knit-a-thon?” I laugh. “It’s just us making scarves for a really long time.”
“For charity,” Austin adds cheerfully. “Sure. I’d love to see you in action.”
“Hot, sexy, knitting action,” I tease. “OK, I’ll see you there.”
I hang up, and text him the info. “Maybe this is a good thing.” I decide, giving Millie a hopeful look. “Austin will come to the knit-a-thon and see that I am capable of friendship, volunteering my time, and handcrafting woolen wear. Then, later, I’ll simply break it to him that our office meet-cute was a teeny-tiny misunderstanding.”
“It’s a possibility,” she agrees.
“Now, before we get started on scripting your Austin conversation,” Millie pulls out a bottle of wine, and a stack of takeout menus, “Tell me everything about Lanie and Mac.”
After a sleepless night stressing about coming clean to Austin, I wake bright and early, pick up a mammoth box of donuts, and take the subway to Brooklyn where the craft fair is setting up beneath the picturesque shadow of the Brooklyn bridge. It’s like the opposite of VibeFest as I stroll past the stalls: whimsical crafts, homemade goods, and a whole lot of linen overalls. There are even music performances throughout the day, but they’re more “Americana banjo quartet” than EDM.
I wave and greet familiar faces as I pass. We’ve done events like this before, so I know a lot of the vendors. There’s the pottery crowd and the booths that sell Christmas trinkets year-round. Homemade jewelry, wooden Montessori toys—it’s all charming and familiar. And off to one side, in a prized spot between the homemade soap lady and the freshly made lemonade stand, is our table.
“Nice spot,” I greet Evelyn, who’s pulling the first shift in her lawn chair, needles clicking, already two yards deep into a large scarf. “Who’d you have to seduce to get it this year?”
“That’s between me and Big Lou,” she replies with a smirk.
I laugh, setting out the coffee and donuts, and unpacking a ton more yarn. “What’s our goal this year?” I ask, checking the donation sheet. The way it works is people can donate money to add rows to the scarf, we all take shifts knitting, and the person with the highest donation wins the mammoth scarf at the end of the day. Along with the booties, potholders, and other knit goods we sell, we usually collect a fair amount for a good cause.
Evelyn shrugs. “Lottie takes care of I’m just here to knit and look pretty.”
“And you do it so well,” I tease.
I get settled in by the cashier’s tin, chatting with Evelyn and drumming up business from passersby. Soon, the others arrive: Arthur, with a safari hat to shield from the sun, Lottie, with a cooler of sandwiches and other refreshments, and Roxy, who heads straight for the coffee, bleary-eyed after pulling a night shift at a bar downtown. We chat and knit all morning, until the scarf is a good ten feet long, and the cashbox is stuffed. “We’re doing pretty well for ourselves.”
“Gotta love Brooklyn and their commitment to knitwear,” Roxy laughs.
I straighten up the table just as someone approaches. Putting on my best customer service smile, I look up to a familiar face. “Well, hello.”
Austin smiles back, sliding off his sunglasses and hooking them on his collar. “I come bearing gifts.”
“Well, that’s a great way to start,” I laugh.
He lifts up the white paper to-go bag by its handle. “Deli delivery service. We’ve got a few types of bagel and schmear, plus black and white cookies for all.”
“You brought snacks?” I ask, delighted. “You really do want to make a good impression.” I turn. “Everyone, this is Austin. My new boss,” I add, with warning looks for them not to reveal all our gossiping.
“My, my,” Evelyn says, sizing him up from her chair. “Aren’t you a sturdy tree?”
Arthur gives Austin a sympathetic look. “That’s Evelyn-speak for ‘Nice to meet you.’”
“We’re rather fond of our girl here,” Lottie adds, nodding toward me. “And we don’t like rats. Are you a rat, Austin?”
“Lottie!” I blurt.
“What?” she asks innocently. “Might as well ask them outright.”
“Nope, not a rat,” Austin laughs. He smiles at me like this is a normal thing to be asked. “And I’m also rather fond of your girl, too.”
I smile, heart melting like butter on toast.
“Professional athlete,” Evelyn muses, undeterred. “Bet you’ve sowed a lot of wild oats around this town.”
I gasp. “Evelyn.”
“Mind your business,” she snips back at me. Absolutely shocking that she can be so brazen while not dropping a single stitch.
“It’s okay,” Austin tells me, clearly amused. “You’re not wrong, Evelyn. But I’m well past those days. I’m thirty-five, and I’m focused on my career and future now.”
Evelyn gives him another long stare, then nods. “Well, then. Please join us for a drink.”
On cue, ice clatters as Roxy brings out the cocktail shaker she brought from home. She shakes up lemonade from next door with a dash of bitters, some vodka, and garnishes the whole thing with a sprig of thyme. “It’s one of my new recipes,” she says, pouring through a strainer into an elegant champagne coupe. “I’m going to call it… knit one, pearl one.”
Austin gamely takes a sip. His expression changes. “Hey, it’s really good.”
“You don’t need to sound so surprised.” Roxy jokes.
“No, it’s just… My buddy Seb is a snob about liquor,” he explains, drinking more. “He’s sort of corrupted the rest of us, too. But this is great.”
“I’m here all week, ladies and gentlemen,” Roxy says drolly. She flips the shaker, spinning it around the back of her neck before whisking the lid off and pouring another with nimble hands.
“Nice moves, you should go pro,” Austin says.
“I am a pro,” Roxy announces. “But I’m in-between gigs, so these guys get the pleasure of all my many skills.”
“She’s the best bartender in Manhattan,” I tell Austin. “But her last boss was a rat bastard, as Evelyn would say.”
“If you’re looking for a new gig, we always need good people at Mavericks,” Austin says, pulling a business card from his wallet and handing it over.
“Hey, I’ve heard good things about this place,” Roxy says, looking interested. “You’re hiring?”
“Not my department,” Austin admits. “But tell them I sent you,”
“Maybe I will,” Roxy replies, smiling. “And just for that, you get a refill.”
“Never mind him. I’m fading over here. Someone hold a straw up to my mouth,” Evelyn barks, her knitting needles still clacking away.
“Allow me,” Austin winks, going to tend to Evelyn.
Roxy gives me a smirk. “He knows which side his bread is buttered on.”
“You mean, schmeared?” I laugh. But she’s right. Austin seamlessly blends into our motley crew: chatting sports with Arthur, admiring Lottie’s new grandbaby pics, and keeping everyone refreshed and supplied with yarn until my shift is up.
“Now, you get out of here,” Evelyn tells me with a smile. “I’m sure you have more important things to do.”
“Love you!” I grab my things, and Austin’s hand. “Where to?” I ask him.
He smiles back. “Well… I’ve met your people. Now, you can meet mine.”