Blossom Street (Books 1-10). Debbie Macomber
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care center as an assistant, which meant she was basically a baby-sitter and a cleaner, wiping up spilled juice and putting away Lego blocks. She hadn’t taken courses or anything. But Laurel didn’t seem to like that job any better.
The washing machine buzzed, and Alix got up from the chair and dumped the clean clothes into the plastic basket. She was ready to bring the load to the dryer, but when she turned around she nearly bumped into Jordan Turner.
She hadn’t seen Jordan since their disagreement, and after making a fool of herself she didn’t expect a second chance with him. The only reason she’d let Jacqueline give her a fashion makeover was in the hopes that Jordan would notice the difference, that it might give him an excuse to talk to her. She should’ve known what to expect. Everything she’d ever done to improve her life had ended in this same predictable way.
“Hi-i,” she stammered.
“I thought that was you.” He studied her hair. “I like the new style. Nice color.”
“You do?” Alix couldn’t make her heart stop hammering like one of those staple guns the construction guys used. “This is my natural color. Well, almost, from what I remember.” Until Jordan’s comment, she’d always viewed her hair as mousy brown. He made her feel beautiful, and special.
“I guess we should talk,” he said.
She shrugged, too nervous to speak.
“Have you got a minute?”
“I guess.” She deliberately walked over to the huge wall dryer and dumped her load inside. After adding the coins, she waited a moment to be sure the dryer had started to tumble before joining him.
He sat at the table used to fold clothes. It was early in the day and the Laundromat wasn’t busy yet. By ten it would fill up. Alix preferred to avoid the more crowded times, when kids ran around out of control and people squabbled over whose turn it was for the dryers.
She lowered her head, struggling to find the words to apologize.
“I heard what you did,” Jordan said.
Alix frowned as she tried to figure out what he meant.
“Lori told me you got her out of a drug house.”
“Oh.” Alix had nearly forgotten that. “Yeah, well, she wanted out but didn’t want to admit it.”
“Lori’s a troubled kid.”
“Who isn’t?” She didn’t mean to sound flippant, but it was an honest response. All teenagers seemed to go through a period when they were convinced the world was out to get them. The only defense available was to lash back. Her own rebellion had led her down several dark paths, and in retrospect, she wished there’d been someone in her life who would’ve taken her out of a drug house.
“Lori asked me to tell you she’s grateful for what you did.”
That wasn’t the way Alix remembered it.
“I’m grateful, too,” Jordan said.
She nodded dismissively. “I knew Lori didn’t belong in that house with those men.”
“Neither did you,” Jordan said, holding her gaze.
“I know that.”
Jordan refused to release her eyes. “Are drugs a problem?”
That made her angry, and she would have snapped back a retort, but she swallowed her outrage. It was a fair question, since she’d voluntarily walked into a drug house. “Not anymore. I’ve used in the past, but these days I don’t.”
He nodded, taking her word for it.
“I suppose I should apologize,” she said in as offhand a manner as she could. “You’re right, I was jealous.” Seeing Jordan standing in the church with that perfect all-American girl had nearly tripped her up. She had no right to feel the things she did, but that didn’t seem to matter. In her heart she viewed Jordan as hers. The red-hot suspicions that burned through her were too consuming to ignore, so she’d reverted to a time and place she’d sworn never to visit again.
It wasn’t Lori who should be grateful, but Alix. The girl’s danger had brought her back.
“Apology accepted.” Jordan grinned at her.
Alix felt as if her heart was melting. She smiled back.
“Friends?”
“Friends,” she agreed, happy and a bit melancholy at the same time. Did this mean she couldn’t be more than his friend?
Jordan reached across the table and squeezed her fingers. “I’ve missed you.”
For a few seconds, she could hardly catch her breath. He’d missed her! “I’m knitting you a sweater,” she whispered.
“You are?”
Alix cursed the day she’d inherited this pattern from Carol. It’d been causing her problems from the moment she’d started. For a while she’d stopped working on it, but she’d begun again, hoping to feel close to Jordan. She’d also supposed it might give her an excuse to contact him. She’d finished the baby blanket and showed it to her social worker; now all she had to do was deliver it to the appropriate agency.
“You shouldn’t be jealous, you know.”
Alix slid her gaze to his.
“There’s no one else.”
She swallowed tightly. “Oh.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “Do you remember the day you brought cupcakes to class for your birthday?”
Alix wasn’t likely to forget. Her mother wasn’t much of a homemaker so Alix had made them herself. From scratch, too, not from a mix.
“I baked those.” She was surprised that he’d remembered.
“You gave me two.”
She dropped her eyes. “Yeah, I know. If I had a decent oven I’d bake you a whole batch right now.”
“Do you like to bake?”
Alix nodded. It was her dream to attend a cooking school and be the kind of chef who prepared fancy dinners at places like the ones Jacqueline and her husband frequented. Or maybe one day she’d have her own catering business. She didn’t talk about this often. Over the years she’d worked in a few restaurants and she loved the craziness in the kitchen. She’d tried to get on at Annie’s but the video store had offered her a job first.
“Do you have plans for Saturday night?” Jordan’s thumb stroked the back of her hand.
“Not really.”
“Would you like to go to dinner with me?”
“Annie’s Café?” A meal there was as close to restaurant dining as she got.
“Not this time. How about a real three-course dinner at a fish and steak house?”
That sounded like a dress-and-panty-hose place. But the thought of turning him down didn’t so much as enter her mind. Maybe, just maybe, Jacqueline would be willing to give her a second chance at a fashion makeover.
It wouldn’t hurt to ask.
37
CHAPTER
“In knitting, as in everything else, you learn as much from your mistakes as you do from your successes.”
—Pam Allen, Editor, Interweave Press
LYDIA HOFFMAN
I suppose it sounds melodramatic to say I felt my life was over. Still, that’s exactly what I believed as I lay in the hospital bed with the sterile scents of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic wafting around me. I’ve always detested the smell of hospitals. For someone