Farewell to Cedar Key by Terri Dulong Page B

“No, we’re finishing up, and you’re just in time for coffee and cranberry bread. Come and join us.”
    â€œThanks,” she said, grabbing the empty chair next to Gabe.
    The men said hi, and I heard Gabe say, “Nice to see you again. How’s that arm doing?”
    â€œIt’s putting a real damper on my knitting, but no discomfort.”
    â€œMore of an annoyance, huh?” he asked, standing up. “Can I get you some coffee?”
    â€œThat would be great. Thanks.”
    I sat there and observed the interaction. Call me silly, but I was pretty sure I saw some interest between them.
    â€œSo the class went well?” Chloe asked.
    â€œIt did,” I told her. “I think we have some natural knitters here. They’ve done very well learning to cast on and knitting and purling.”
    â€œWonderful. Who knows, we might just have a potential master knitter in our group.”
    Gabe placed the coffee in front of Chloe and sat back down. “Yes, on my flight down here from Philly I noticed a man in first class knitting away. I struck up a conversation with him, and he was working on a gorgeous lace shawl for his daughter. Told me he’s been knitting for about ten years now and has even written some books with unusual designs for socks.”
    Chloe nodded. “Oh, right. Not only are more and more men learning to knit, many are so creative. Hey, knitting is an art just like writing or music. Some do it only as a hobby or pastime, but we have some great male designers around now. It’s a terrible stereotype to say knitting is only for women.”
    â€œHear, hear,” said my father, holding up the piece he’d been working on. “Remember that saying years ago, ‘Real men don’t eat quiche’? That was downright false. Like masculine men choose steak and gravy and hearty meals over something like quiche? It isn’t always true, and people shouldn’t lean on stereotypes.”
    â€œIs that why you took up knitting, Dad? To dispel this idea?”
    My father laughed. “Not really, but now that you mention the idea, it never hurts to be a bit of a rebel.”
    â€œWhile I certainly agree with you, Joe, let’s bring a little testosterone into the conversation,” Doyle said. “Who’s free to go fishing on Friday?”
    By the time the men left the carriage house of the yarn shop, plans had been made for a day of boating and fishing.
    â€œThat really seemed to go well,” Chloe said as she helped me clear off the table and I began washing the cups and plates.
    â€œI think it did. I’m glad I mentioned the idea of this class and agreed to teach it. I think it’ll be fun. And so . . . what’s up with you and Gabe?”
    She turned her back to remove the last of the cups from the table. “Me and Gabe? Nothing. I don’t even know him.”
    â€œRight,” I said, and felt a smile cross my face. “But I’m betting anything you’d sure like to have that chance.”

13
    O rli had just left for school and I was savoring my first cup of coffee when I answered the phone to hear my mother say, “Is it true? Did Ben really get some woman up in New York pregnant?”
    A groan escaped me. Hearing my mother’s drama queen tone of voice was not my idea of waking up slowly.
    â€œHow the heck did you hear about that?” I questioned.
    â€œWhat does it matter where I heard it? Is it true?”
    â€œYes. It’s true.”
    â€œAnd it never occurred to you to tell me this?” I heard the annoyance in her voice.
    â€œWhy? It’s not like you could change anything, and besides, I honestly don’t care.”
    I heard her sigh of aggravation come across the line.
    â€œYou don’t care? You’ve been dating him for a couple years now and you don’t care?”
    â€œMom, look. I’m still not quite sure what Ben and I had together. At best, it