“Would you like me to check your stitches?” Lydia asked, breaking into his thoughts. He’d reviewed what he had—and hadn’t—said to Phoebe a dozen times. In the end, he hadn’t approached her, and regretted it for the rest of the week. This third class was it, he decided. If he didn’t act now he was afraid he never would.

Hutch glanced up at Lydia and found her regarding him expectantly. Thinking he might have missed part of the conversation, he handed her his knitting. She took it from him and frowned.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked. Although his attention had been on Phoebe, he’d carefully tried to follow Lydia’s instructions.

Lydia gave him a reassuring smile. “The pattern’s perfect.”

Hutch had thought so, too, but it felt good to have Lydia conf irm it.

“The problem is your tension, Hutch. See how tight these stitches are?”

It was true that he had diff iculty moving the yarn on the needles, but it’d been like that from the moment he cast on his f irst stitches.

“It’s almost as if you’re knitting armor,” she teased.

“I’ve done it like this from the start.”

“Relax,” Lydia said. “That’s the reason you signed up for this class, isn’t it? To relax?”

Hutch nodded.

He looked quickly at Phoebe. Lydia was right; he’d enrolled in this class to help lower his blood pressure and learn new techniques for dealing with stress. However…he’d met Phoebe, and she’d inadvertently increased his stress. At least his thumb was improving. The knitting had benef itted him there.

“I have just the opposite problem,” Phoebe volunteered after Lydia had left the table. “My stitches are too loose. At the rate I’m going, this scarf is going to be ten feet long.”

“And mine will be ten inches.”

She laughed at his rather lame joke, which encouraged him.

“Are you enjoying the class?” he asked, then wanted to groan. If his joke was lame, this effort at conversation was even worse. Phoebe smiled at him. “Very much. What about you?”

“A lot.” Hutch didn’t mention that she was responsible for about ninety-nine percent of his pleasure. He’d been looking forward to this evening and dreading it at the same time. His thoughts had been on Phoebe all week and now here she was—

yet he felt as much hesitation as he had before. He was even more reluctant to take a risk with her for fear of offending her so soon after a major loss…and perhaps a fear of being rejected, too, although he hated to admit that. He paused, hoping for further encouraging signs. None came but, determined now, he forged ahead. “I don’t suppose…I mean, after class…but if you’ve got other plans, I understand…” That sounded so pathetic, it was all he could do not to get up and walk away. He closed his mouth, deciding he wouldn’t say another word. What was wrong with him? He was a competent businessman who headed a family owned enterprise and commanded the respect of over a hundred employees. Yet around Phoebe he acted like a kid in junior high.

“Other plans for what?” she asked curiously. Well, he’d bungled that, despite his attempt to sound casual.

“Would you like to have coffee?” he asked, his voice gruff now, almost angry. This was going from bad to dismal. To his utter astonishment, Phoebe nodded. “I’d like that.”

He clamped his mouth shut before he could talk her out of it.

“There’s the French Café across the street.” Alix looked up from her knitting. “They’re open until ten tonight.”

“Great idea,” Phoebe said. “You work there, right?”

“Sure do. I’m part of the morning staff. I do the baking.”

“So you’re the one responsible for those wonderful pastries,”

Phoebe commented. “I stopped by the other day and picked up a half-dozen for the clinic. They were fabulous.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” Alix said.

“Yes, you can,” Lydia cut in. “I’ve seen and tasted Alix’s handiwork.”

“Me, too,” Margaret agreed. “You see this extra fat on my hips?

Blame Alix.”

“Hey, you’re the one who chose to eat those Danishes and croissants,” Alix reminded her.

“I second that,” Hutch added, remembering the lawsuit hanging over his head. It wasn’t just the candy business that could be jeopardized by this lawsuit. If he lost, bakeries would be prime candidates, too. And restaurants. No telling where this craziness would end.

“All right, all right.” Margaret sighed. “I deserve every ounce of this extra weight.”

Hutch grinned, then caught Phoebe watching him. She smiled back. He felt a sensation of warmth. Of happiness—and comfort. Maybe he hadn’t seemed as big an idiot as he’d thought.

“Shall we walk over to the French Café after class?” she asked.

“Sure.” If she’d suggested they have coffee in Costa Rica, he would’ve found a way to get there. Walking across the street was no problem—if he didn’t do something stupid like throw himself in front of a bus.

The Knit to Quit class ended a few minutes before eight. Alix had been especially quiet most of the evening. Hutch liked her and her husband, too, who came to pick her up again. Apparently Jordan worked late the evenings Alix was at A Good Yarn, which meant they could drive home together. Phoebe stood and gathered her things. Hutch did, too.

“Good night, you two,” Lydia said as they walked toward the front door.

“Night,” Hutch echoed.

“See you next week,” Phoebe said, looking over her shoulder. Lydia waved them off. As they closed the door, Hutch happened to hear Margaret speculating on a romance between him and Phoebe. For an instant he was tempted to stop and listen, wondering how they viewed his chances.

Once outside, Hutch threw his briefcase into his car. He’d been lucky enough to f ind a parking place almost directly in front of A Good Yarn—maybe that was a sign. Phoebe waited and then they hurried across the street.

The French Café was brightly lit and there were a number of couples scattered around the restaurant, eating a late dinner or sipping coffee.

“What would you like?” Hutch asked as they approached the counter.

“Just black coffee,” she replied.

“Why don’t you choose a table and I’ll go get our coffees.”

She nodded and he watched as she selected a quiet place in the back of the restaurant. After ordering and paying for their drinks, he carried both mugs to the table.

Now that he was alone with Phoebe, he found himself at a loss. He tried to recall his college days, but everything had been so easy back then. So natural and effortless. He used to see himself as witty and social—something he could hardly believe now.

“So,” he began. “Tell me about yourself.”

Phoebe brushed the hair from her face, which he’d noticed was a habit of hers. More than once he’d been tempted to reach out and do it for her, which would’ve been inappropriate to put it mildly. He clasped his hands in his lap.

“Well…I think I already mentioned I’m a physical therapist.”

He nodded. “You told us that during our f irst class.”

“What about you?” she asked.

Obviously what he’d said about himself wasn’t memorable. “I work for a family-owned business,” he told her.

“Oh, yes. I remember that now.”

He’d made a point of not referring to Mount Rainier Chocolates by name. The company was well-known in the area, and the moment people learned about his connection, they bombarded him with questions—always the same ones. He was tired of answering them, tired of all the silly jokes and sly remarks. Besides, there was more to him than his job.

“You took the class to relax, isn’t that what you said? And because of your thumb.”

“Yeah.” He raised his hand and waggled his thumb, feeling a twinge of pain.

“Have you had physical therapy?” she asked. He shook his head. Physical therapy took time he couldn’t spare; not only that, his injury wasn’t serious, despite its slowness in healing.

“There are various exercises you can do to regain dexterity,” she said.

“You mean other than knitting armor?” he joked. Phoebe smiled again and it seemed the entire room grew a little brighter.

The conversation went well from that point forward. Phoebe was easy to talk to, her own comments interesting and animated. If the conversation lagged she picked it up. Still, Hutch felt he needed to say something about her f iancé. He might as well do it now. Get it over with, if that wasn’t too crass a description.

“I know how diff icult this time is for you,” he said solemnly when a discussion of recent movies had run its course. Her gaze shot to his. “You do?”

“Losing your f iancé…”

“Yes, well…these things happen.” He could tell that talking about the man she’d loved f lustered and upset her. Hutch felt bad about bringing up such a painful subject, but he wanted to be sure Phoebe knew he sympathized.

He decided to take his cue from her and move on. He said the f irst thing that came to mind. “I’ve enjoyed being in the class with you.”

Her eyes softened as she cast her eyes down. “I feel the same way.”

“I’d…like to see you again, outside class.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond. “But only if you’re ready. If it’s too soon, I understand. All I ask is that you let me know when you feel ready to date again.”

“I…I…” She hesitated.

His heart sank.

“I believe I’m ready now,” she said, meeting his eyes. A sense of exhilaration f illed him. “That’s wonderful.” Then, because he felt he had to clarify what he’d said, he added quickly, “Wonderful that you’re willing to see me again. Not wonderful that your f iancé died.” The instant the words left his tongue, Hutch wanted to yank them back. He couldn’t have said anything stupider or more insensitive. “That didn’t come out right.”

“Don’t worry. I knew what you meant.”

He exhaled a sigh of relief. “The Fourth of July is this weekend,” he said.

“So I noticed.”

“Would you like to go on a picnic?” he asked. It was a traditional Fourth of July activity, he f igured. “I have a couple of bicycles,” he said on the spur of the moment.

“That sounds like fun. Anyplace special you’d like to ride?”

Hutch hadn’t taken out his bicycle in years. “I biked through the Skagit Valley once and really enjoyed that.” The landscape was f lat. He didn’t want to huff and puff his way up a hill; he’d prefer to play it safe.

Phoebe’s eyes brightened. “I love the Skagit Valley.”

He felt like standing up and cheering. “Then it’s a date.”

“I look forward to it.”