For a wonder, her brain actually behaved. Sera refocused on the day ahead of her and the women she was with. Gratitude, she heard Maggie’s voice remind her. Think about where you’ve been, and feel blessed at how much better things are now. She brought herself back to the present—the brisk, sunny day, the woolly-smelling, colorful yarn shop, and her family. Nutty as they were, she wouldn’t change them for the world.
“For the last time, you ludicrous woman,” Hortencia was saying as she gathered up her windbreaker and tugged it on over her sweater, “we are not having this argument again.” She slung her handbag over her shoulder. “I swear to God, you’d think I was Miss America if you listen to that one,” she said to Sera, winking. “Just this morning she was ready to belt the bag boy at Trader Joe’s for offering to double bag my groceries.”
“I’m sure there was a double entrendre in there,” Pauline muttered, lobbing the well-squeezed skein into a bin of matching yarn. “You should have seen the outrageous wink he gave her, Bliss,” Pauline insisted. “Like I wasn’t standing right there!”
“He had an eyelash in his eye, fool,” Hortencia snickered, chivvying them out the door and waving good-bye to her coworkers, who were sipping Earl Grey and poring over a pattern book at the back of the store. The door closed behind them with a jingle as light as Sera was determined to keep her mood.
The three women walked the block and a half from Knit-Fit to Placita de Suerte y Sueños, and Sera was pleased to hear the sound of hammering and saws from within her half-baked store by the time they passed beneath the portico and caught sight of the earth mother fountain. Things had been going well with the renovations as far as she could tell. She was no expert on demolition, but Malcolm seemed to have done the deconstruction in record time—probably eager to get his fixtures out of storage in the moving truck and installed in their new home. Aruni, she imagined, was probably a bit less pleased, as the commotion was sure to be harshing the mellow of her students’ yoga classes at Tantrastic. The yogini had assured her everything was fine, however. “Every time I hear the hammering,” she’d chirped, “I just think, “we’re that much closer to homemade croissants and cupcakes!” Sera had been keeping Aruni’s students in yoga-suitable treats as a special thank-you for their patience with the construction. Though multigrain energy bars sweetened with brown rice syrup were personally not Sera’s bag, she was more than happy to whip up a batch now and again for a good cause.
“Why we couldn’t just ask Asher is beyond me,” Pauline was saying as they passed Lyric Jewelry. “If you’re so fired up to lug along a Y-chromosome on this mission, you could have at least gone with someone easier on the eye. I’m sure he’d be happy to help us…”
“We’re not asking Asher,” Sera said quellingly, keeping her voice low as they brushed past the extravagant foliage that shaded his shop. It wasn’t the first time she’d vetoed the idea. “The man’s done enough for us as it is, and I’m not taking advantage of his good nature for every little thing,” she insisted. What she’d like to take advantage of was hardly his good nature, but Sera wasn’t about to cop to that. She kept her eyes studiously averted from his shop windows. Though things had been cordial between them since the kiss incident, Sera hadn’t wanted to push her luck, and she still wasn’t sure what the deal was with her and Asher. Was he interested? Was she?
Oh, c’mon, you liar. You’re interested.
But Sera had decided that, interest or not, she wasn’t going to pursue her sexy landlord. Even if she could catch his fancy—and she wasn’t at all confident of that, kiss notwithstanding—things were simply going too well in her life right now to take such a risk. She’d rather focus on what she could control, rather than her unmanageable attraction to a man who was way out of her league, and whom she could never hope to satisfy.
Speaking of things I can’t control… Sera’s eyes widened as Malcolm barreled out of the store, dusted head to toe in white plaster and cursing up a storm.
“I canna go w’ye today, and that’s all there is to it,” he blurted out, his brogue thicker than the dust that blanketed his coveralls. “Damn plaster won’t set right and these idjits”—he waved back toward the shop, where his crew of day laborers were doing their best to ignore him—“wouldn’t know spackle from shite if I dunked their fool heads in a bucket of it. So dinna give me no grief, woman. ’Tis impossible.” He stopped short when he saw the two older women. His florid face was all set to fall into a scowl at the sight of Pauline when his gaze was arrested by the shorter, grandmotherly Hortencia. Malcolm rocked back on his heels, one hand self-consciously moving to dust off his long ponytail and smooth stray strands back from his whiskery cheeks. “Och, sorry, Miss Alvarez. I dinna see ye there.”
“Hello, Mr. McLeod. Do I take it from your disheveled appearance that you need to reschedule?” Hortencia was cordial, no more, but Sera could see even that much warmth was too much for Pauline. Sera’s aunt moved closer, slinging an arm ostentatiously around her lover’s shoulders. Hortencia shot her a disbelieving look and shrugged out of Pauline’s clutches.
Malcolm’s eyes traveled back and forth between the two older women, assessing. “Afraid so,” he allowed. “I hope ye’ll not hold it against me.”
Sera was more worried about flaky plaster than flaky contractors. She took a step forward to see what was going on inside the store, but Pauline grabbed a handful of the back of her jean jacket. “Certainly not,” Pauline said crisply. “I’m quite sure we can manage without your”—she looked the dusty Scot up and down—“assistance.”
Sera had never heard Pauline sound quite so schoolmarmish. She gave her aunt a smooch on the cheek for being so cute—and for keeping her from obsessing over what was going on inside her half-demolished place of business. “I’m sure we’ll be fine on our own,” she said. “C’mon, ladies, let’s get a move on.”
“Did you need help with something, Bliss?”
Asher’s voice brought Sera up short. But then, she always felt she came up just a little bit short when her landlord made an appearance.
It was Pauline who answered Asher. “Hey there, hot stuff. As a matter of fact, we could use a little help here, if you’ve got an hour or so to spare.”
“Oh, no, Pauline, really,” Sera protested. She turned reluctantly to face Asher. Sometimes just the sight of his handsome face socked her in the gut with a feeling she could only describe as “sucker punch.” Today was one of those days. Asher stood leaning on his porch rail, sporting a white linen shirt, untucked, collar open to reveal the heavy silver chain around his neck. If there was ever a man born to wear white linen, Sera thought, it was Asher Wolf. Khakis and scuffed motorcycle boots completed the look, and his hair was an artless tussle of gold-bronze spikes. Tucked under one arm was Silver, tongue lolling. The puppy barked a greeting.
“Ash, Sera needs a man. Today.”
Even Hortencia winced at Pauline’s pronouncement, shooting Sera a sympathetic look.
Her landlord straightened up. Was it her imagination, or did he look alarmed?
“Aunt Pauline!” Sera cried. “I do not!” She turned to Ash. “Seriously! I’m all good. No man required. Happily man-less here!” Her voice was a squeak, her face redder than a chile ristra.