The Shop on Blossom Street by Debbie Macomber Read Free Book Online

followed after Roger, but no one worth mentioning. After my earlier experiences, I should’ve realized that most men aren’t romantically interested in a two-time cancer patient. Without sounding like a martyr, I understand howthey feel. Why get emotionally involved with a woman who’s probably going to die? I don’t even know if I can have children or if I should. It’s a subject I prefer not to think about.
    “My grandmother used to knit,” Brad said. “I hear interest in it’s been revived in the last couple of years.”
    Longer, although I didn’t correct him. Damn, but he was good-looking, especially when he smiled, and he seemed to be doing a lot of that. His eyes were a deep shade of blue, eyes a woman could see a block away. He wasn’t overly tall, which was nice. I’m barely five foot three, and when I stand next to someone who’s six feet or taller, it’s intimidating. Brad was just right and that was the problem. I didn’t want to notice anything about him, about the boyish, charming way his dark hair fell over his forehead or how the dark-brown uniform stretched across his broad shoulders. But I did notice all those things…and more.
    “What are you knitting?” he asked, gesturing down at my current project. He didn’t wait for me to respond. “Looks like socks.”
    “They are.”
    “But you’re only using two needles. When Grandma knit socks, she had maybe half a dozen.”
    “These are circular needles. It’s a more modern method,” I explained, holding up the half-completed project for his inspection. He seemed interested and I continued chattering away, giving him far more information than he probably wanted. “Until only a few years ago, socks were knit using the five-needles method. But now it’s possible to knit them on two circular needles, or even one except that it’s forty inches long. Notice the yarn, too,” I blathered on. “I haven’t changed colors to make these stripes. The striped pattern is in the yarn itself.”
    He touched the strand of yarn and seemed genuinely impressed. “Have you been knitting long?”
    “For almost ten years.”
    “You don’t look old enough to be out of high school, let alone open a yarn store.”
    That was a comment I’ve heard far too often. I smiled in an offhand manner, but the truth is, I don’t consider it a compliment.
    “I guess I’d better get back to work,” Brad said when I let the conversation drop. I wouldn’t have minded exchanging pleasantries for another few minutes, but I was sure he was on a schedule. So was I, in a manner of speaking. Besides, I never was much good at flirting.
    “Before I go, can I help you put these boxes someplace? They’re heavier than they look.”
    “I’ll manage, but thank you.” Distracted as I was by Brad’s friendly visit, I’d hardly noticed he was delivering new yarn. One of the delights of opening my own shop was being able to buy yarn at wholesale prices. Unsure of what would interest my clientele, I’d ordered a number of different varieties. My first order was for good solid wool in two dozen colors. Wool is a must, especially with the popularity of felting. That’s where the pattern is knit in a bigger size and then shrunk in hot water, which also mats the yarn, creating a consistency like felt. Next came the cotton yarns; they’re some of my favorites. The fingering weight yarns have become increasingly popular, too, as well as the imported European sock yarns. The yarns most in demand, I thought, would be the blends of wool and acrylic, so I’d ordered all the basic colors, as well as the colors that were, according to my knitting magazines, this year’s trends. Most of my shipments had arrived before I opened my doors but the smaller orders were dribbling in day by day.
    “Do you live in the neighborhood?” Brad asked as he tucked the clipboard under his arm and reached for his empty cart.
    “I have the apartment above the shop.”
    “That’s good, because