Debbie Macomber - Back on Blossom Street

“No, there’s more,” he countered sharply. He hesitated, as though he wasn’t sure how to formulate the next question. After a brief pause, he blurted out, “I’d like you to return to Dempsey Imports.”

His request shocked her, and Colette automatically shook her head. “I can’t.”

When the light changed, they crossed the street and continued walking, no real destination in mind.

Christian waited until they were on the other side. “Is it because of what happened?”

“Christian,” she murmured and instantly knew he hadn’t found out about the letter. “It wouldn’t work. It’s unfortunate and I feel bad, but that night will always stand between us.”

“And day.”

He seemed to be trying to add to her embarrassment.

“Fine, and that day,” she admitted. “It doesn’t matter. Working together is no longer an option.”

“All right,” he said regretfully. “I realize I made a mistake after the holidays. The relationship changed and I had no idea how to deal with it.”

That wasn’t the only thing that had changed, she thought sarcastically.

“I pretended nothing was different between us,” he went on. “But it was … is. You’ve made your point. We need to discuss this like two mature adults and reach an understanding.”

“I don’t want to discuss it. And there’s nothing to understand. We made a regrettable mistake. Blame it on too much champagne, too much Christmas spirit.”

He raised his brows.

Colette stared down at the sidewalk. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Everything’s changed, Christian. I can’t go back to being your assistant.”

“Why can’t we both consider what happened at the Christmas party a slip in judgment and let it go at that? You’re a valuable employee. The company needs you.”

“The company?” she asked.

He exhaled slowly. “I need you,” he murmured. “I want you to come back.”

Colette supposed she should be flattered, since Christian Dempsey rarely admitted to needing anyone or anything. “It isn’t possible,” she said and she meant it. “We can’t undo what’s already been done. Don’t you see that?” He couldn’t honestly expect her to resume managing his schedule, his travel arrangements and his dates . As soon as he learned she’d contacted the authorities, he’d fire her anyway.

He didn’t answer.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“Why? Were you hiding?”

“No …”

“It wasn’t that difficult. I had Accounting contact your bank and get the new address—to mail your severance documents.”

She shrugged, feeling a bit foolish. But she couldn’t resist another question. “Did you hire a new assistant yet?” She could have asked any of the friends she’d made through the years. But the company must be rife with gossip and rumors as to why she’d quit so abruptly, and for that reason, Colette hadn’t called anyone at Dempsey Imports. Getting in touch with them to ask for information like that was a last resort.

“Lloyd York,” Christian said.

“Lloyd,” she repeated. She tried unsuccessfully to remember a face to go with the name. “I don’t know him.” As much as possible, Christian made it a practice to promote and hire within the company.

“He’s a temp.”

Colette felt her eyes widen. Christian disliked using personnel from a temporary agency and until now he’d avoided it. The fact that he’d looked outside the company only underlined his guilt. What she didn’t understand was his reason for wanting her back. Surely he knew she’d uncover his activities sooner or later.

“I hoped you’d come to your senses and return voluntarily. When I didn’t hear from you, I had no choice but to contact you myself.”

“Christian, I’m sorry, sorrier than you know. But I’m not going to change my mind.”

“You’re sure you won’t reconsider?”

“No.” She closed her eyes. Despite everything, she missed him, missed the demands and challenges of her position. Not a day passed that she didn’t think of him. She wanted to tell him about the baby but knew she couldn’t until everything had played out. Needless to say, she couldn’t predict how or when that would take place.

“You want to come back, Colette. I can feel it. Tell me what’s stopping you and I’ll make it right. You want a raise, fine. I’ll double whatever your salary was before. We know each other well and—”

Angry now, she whirled on him. “I beg to differ. After five years of working side by side, you know next to nothing about me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” she flared.

“On the contrary, I know you very well, Colette Blake.” The innuendo was so sharp, it felt like a carefully aimed needle pricking her vulnerable skin—and her pride.

“See what I mean?” she said as calmly as her hammering pulse would allow. “You just made my case. What happened … happened, and there’s no going back. I suggest you hire a permanent replacement, Mr. Dempsey, because I can assure you I have no intention of working for you again … ever.”

Conscious of the need to retain her dignity, Colette marched off, leaving him standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

“The simple meditative act of knitting may not bring about world peace, but it certainly has made my world more peaceful.”

—Ann Budd, Book Editor, Interweave Press.

Author of numerous knitting books, including Lace Style , coauthored with Pam Allen (Spring 2007) and Getting Started Knitting Socks , Fall 2007, Interweave Press

Lydia Goetz

If today wasn’t the first knitting class for the prayer shawl, I would’ve closed the shop in order to be with Margaret and Julia. My niece was in bad shape. The hospital had kept her for two days after setting the pin in her arm, which was badly broken. Her face was swollen and bruised. I could barely look at her and not cry. It was beyond my imagination that anyone would do something like this to my beautiful Julia. More damaging than the physical injuries was what this carjacking had done to her emotionally.

To her and to my sister! I’d never seen Margaret angrier. At the hospital she paced the waiting room snarling like a wounded beast, snapping at the staff, demanding answers and generally making a nuisance of herself. I couldn’t even talk to her. I don’t know what would’ve happened if not for Matt. My brother-in-law handled the situation so tactfully. Again and again, he reminded Margaret that Julia was alive . The loss of the car was of no consequence as long as their daughter had survived the attack. Insurance would replace the vehicle but nothing could ever replace their child.

The door opened on this bleak Wednesday afternoon, and Alix walked into the shop. I was pleased that she’d decided to sign up for another class, although she didn’t really need one, since she’s turned into an accomplished knitter. Because Colette and Susannah were beginners, I’d offered to teach two patterns, one a simple prayer shawl, and the other, for Alix, a more elaborate, complicated lace pattern. She required a challenge, otherwise she’d quickly grow bored. She also needed distraction, and I figured this lace pattern would do the trick.

I was so grateful to see her I almost broke into tears. I’d been so distraught by the assault on Julia that my emotions were completely off-kilter.

“Did you hear?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice from shaking.

Alix nodded. “How’s Julia doing?”

“She came home after a couple of days in the hospital but she refuses to see anyone other than family.” With her face swollen and discolored, Julia was afraid of what her friends would say. She’d immediately gone into her bedroom and hadn’t come out. I understood better than anyone might have guessed. After my first brain surgery, my head swathed in bandages, I’d been terribly self-conscious. Little did I realize this was just the beginning of my ordeal. I wouldn’t allow my friends to see me, either, and later, when I was lonely and depressed, there were only a few who’d hung on. In retrospect, I knew I was responsible for sending them away; I hoped Julia didn’t repeat my mistake.