“Oh, sorry,” Lydia said, “I mean with the quitting aspect of the class. I can see how the knitting’s going, and you’re all doing an excellent job.”

“Well…I’m no longer knitting armor,” Hutch told them. His tension had loosened considerably. He’d become more comfortable with the needles, and he credited Lydia for that. But he credited Phoebe for several other changes in his life. When no one else responded, Hutch felt obliged to f ill the silence. “The knitting’s def initely helped me relax and it seems to have improved my blood pressure.”

“Very good.” Lydia smiled in his direction. His mental attitude had improved, too. He’d stopped obsessing about the lawsuit, leaving it in the hands of his attorney. Nothing he did now would affect the outcome, anyway. Knitting had changed his life, he thought with a grin. Through the class he’d met Phoebe and everything seemed different now. Because of her recent loss he didn’t want to rush her, so he made a point of calling her no more than once every other day, counting the hours between calls and dates. With Phoebe he felt witty, clever and downright fascinating. The prospect of seeing her excited him.

They shared many of the same interests. Her appreciation of old books was only one example of that. Over the weekend she’d shown him her collection, including a f irst edition of Mark Twain’s The Innocents Abroad published in 1869 that, amazingly, she’d picked up at a garage sale for f ive dollars. When he’d gone to her place on Saturday afternoon, he’d f lipped through her stack of DVDs, which conf irmed that they loved the same movies from Bogey to f ilm noir to Indiana Jones. Afterward they’d walked to the theater and shared a bucket of buttered popcorn, watching a brand-new animated feature in the company of at least a hundred kids.

Hutch didn’t think he’d ever enjoyed an afternoon as much. On his way home, he’d stopped at the off ice, out of pure habit. From the day he’d taken over as CEO, he’d spent every Saturday there. However, he stayed for less than an hour, his mind on everything but business.

“How’s your thumb?” Lydia asked, bringing him out of his musings.

“Not bad, thanks,” he said, bending his thumb to demonstrate his mobility.

Lydia nodded. “And Phoebe?” she asked next. “How are you doing?”

Phoebe glanced at Hutch. “Better. Much better.”

“I know this is a painful time for you….”

She lowered her eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was barely audible. “I was late for class because I ran into…an old friend of my f iancé’s. I…I told him I’m seeing someone else now and he got terribly upset.”

Under the table, Hutch clasped her hand. “Who you’re seeing is none of his business,” he insisted.

“I know, but he didn’t want to hear that.”

“Situations like this are diff icult, especially when other people are still grieving, wanting to hold on to the past,” Lydia said. “I hope you won’t let that confrontation ruin your evening.”

“I won’t,” Phoebe promised, squeezing Hutch’s f ingers, silently thanking him for his support. She exhaled slowly. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not discuss this right now. I’m still upset about it. But I’m trying to put it behind me.”

Alix looked at them both as if seeing them with new eyes. Her gaze held his for an instant—and then she winked at him. Hutch assumed that was her way of condoning the relationship. He winked back.

“I want everyone to know,” Alix said. “I went twenty-four hours without a cigarette.”

Lydia clapped her hands, and the rest of the group joined in.

“Good for you, Alix!”

“Hey, congratulations,” Hutch added.

Margaret nodded with dignif ied approval.

“It wasn’t easy,” Alix said. “I was so cranky that by dinnertime I wasn’t f it company for man or beast. So I went outside and worked in the yard. I managed to weed the whole garden. My body was screaming for a cigarette.”

“But you didn’t give in to the craving.” Lydia’s tone praised her. Alix shrugged. “No, but I think by then, Jordan was ready to beg me to smoke again.”

“No, he wasn’t.” Margaret shook her head. “He wants you to quit as much as you want to quit. Maybe more.”

“Have you tried any of the nicotine-withdrawal products?”

Lydia asked.

“I’ve tried the gum. It does take the edge off.”

“What about chocolate?” Hutch asked.

Alix groaned.

“I would, but with my addictive personality I’d weigh three hundred pounds in about three weeks.”

Hutch grinned and reached into his briefcase, taking out a dozen of his company’s new Mount Saint Helens candy bars. He f igured Phoebe was right, and he should tell his fellow classmates about the family business.

“Hey, what’s this?” Margaret was the f irst to comment, automatically picking up one of the bars. “I’ve never seen these before.”

“They’re our new product,” he explained.

Phoebe smiled. “In case no one realized it, Hutch and his family own Mount Rainier Chocolates.”

“Get out of here!” Alix said, eyes widening.

“Really?” This came from Margaret.

“How sweet,” Lydia said next. “Pun intended.”

“The company’s been in the family for three generations. This is a new product we’re about to launch nationally. Please take one. I’d appreciate your comments.”

“You mean you’re giving us these?” Margaret grabbed a second bar.

“You are kidding, aren’t you?” Alix sounded shocked. Hutch was amused by their reactions. He knew his chocolates were popular, but the members of his knitting class looked at him as if he were handing out hundred-dollar bills. “Take as many as you’d like. You’d be doing me a favor.”

“How come this is our f ifth class, but only now do you reveal who you are?” Margaret asked.

“Is it important?” Hutch returned.

“Not in the least,” Lydia said, staring openly at her sister. Margaret tore into one of the bars, and after the f irst bite, declared, “I hate to say it, but this is probably the best chocolate bar I’ve ever tasted.”

Hutch raised his eyebrows. “Why do you hate to say that?”

“Because I love chocolate, and I could eat one—no, two or three—of these every day for the rest of my life. I’m struggling with my weight as it is.” She slapped her legs. “I have the thighs that ate Seattle.”

Margaret wasn’t generally one to crack jokes, and Hutch laughed appreciatively at her unexpected remark. Women were his target audience, although he didn’t announce the fact. Research showed that women consumed far more chocolate than men; not only that, they were the primary purchasers within the family. Once everyone had eaten a chocolate bar and murmured or groaned happily, they all resumed their knitting and that day’s new stitch.

Class time sped by. All too soon it was eight o’clock, and they gathered up their things. Hutch and Phoebe crossed the street to the French Café.

Phoebe had said very little during class. Hutch waited until they were settled in their chairs and had taken their f irst sips of coffee.

“Do you feel like talking about what happened earlier this evening?” he asked. He didn’t want to pry or prod her to talk if she felt uncomfortable. But conf iding in someone could help, and he was a good listener.

Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, Hutch, it was awful.”

“I’m sorry.” He reached across the table and took her hand in a consoling gesture.

“His name—my f iancé’s friend—is…oh, it doesn’t matter. I thought, you know, that if I showed him I was getting on with my life that he’d…that he would, too.”

Hutch waited a moment, then said, “Apparently he wasn’t ready to hear that.”

Shaking her head, she frowned. “He went ballistic.”

Hutch felt that was excessive. The guy’s friend was dead. It wasn’t as though Phoebe could dedicate the rest of her life to the memory of the man she’d loved.

“Was he especially close to your f iancé?” he asked. She didn’t meet his gaze and simply nodded. “I’m still so upset that I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Hutch respected that. “Then we won’t. Let’s discuss something cheerful instead.”

She grinned weakly. “Do you have any ideas?’

He’d considered this earlier. “What about a trip to the beach this weekend?” he asked. “My family owns a condo in Westport.”

Hutch hadn’t been there in years. His sister and her family were the only ones who really took advantage of the place. His mother made the trek once every summer with a few of her friends. Hutch f igured he should have a turn, too.

Phoebe instantly brightened. “I’d love that.”

He did want to clear up one thing. “Not to worry—there are three bedrooms. No pressure.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Hey, my masculinity’s suffering here. I was hoping you’d be so tempted by my wild sexuality that you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me.”

Phoebe laughed.

“I wasn’t joking.”

“Yes, you were.”

He laughed, too. “Well, maybe, but not all that much.” Hutch wanted to be far more than friends. Still, he’d never coerce her into a sexual relationship, although the subject was on his mind constantly.

“A weekend at the beach sounds like exactly what I need.” She smiled at him gratefully. “It would be wonderful to get away for a couple of days.”

“Then I’ll make the arrangements. I’ll pick you up Saturday morning at eight if that’s not too early, and we’ll drive back Sunday afternoon.”

“That’s perfect. I’ll do the cooking.”

“No need. There are wonderful restaurants in town.”

“Please, I insist. I make a good seafood linguine.”

“If you want to cook, f ine, but it really isn’t necessary.”

“Yes, it is. And I’ll make brunch on Sunday. My cheese omelet will melt in your mouth.”

Hutch couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Maybe we should leave tomorrow instead of waiting for the weekend.”

For the f irst time all evening, Phoebe looked relaxed and carefree. “I’d love to,” she told him, “but I have clients scheduled.”

“And I have meetings.”

“Then Saturday it is,” she said.

“Saturday it is,” he echoed. “And it can’t come soon enough.”

Chapter 20

Anne Marie Roche

Ellen packed her overnight bag as if she intended to spend a month with her new grandmother instead of overnight.

“Should I take Thierry?” she asked Anne Marie, holding the stuffed teddy bear she’d purchased in France.