Knitting a Broken Heart Back Together
Table of Contents
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
More from Ari McKay
About the Author
By Ari McKay
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Copyright
Knitting a Broken Heart Back Together
By Ari McKay
When a Christmas shopping expedition brings Tomy Peralta into Jason Winters’s yarn store, both men feel an immediate and intense spark of attraction, but dance instructor Tomy intends to propose to his boyfriend, Sean, at Christmas. Unfortunately for Tomy, marriage isn’t on career-minded Sean’s agenda. Heartbroken, Tomy throws himself into his work until his mother convinces him that learning to knit might help take his mind off his failed romance.
Jason falls hard for Tomy, but he knows Tomy needs time to heal and to trust in love again. As Jason teaches Tomy to knit, Tomy teaches him to dance in return. Just when it seems Tomy is ready for a new romance, Sean shows up, wanting Tomy back. Will Tomy give his heart to Sean once more, or will Tomy finally see Sean for who he truly is, and choose the man who helped him knit his heart together again?
Chapter One
TOMY PERALTA opened the door of the yarn shop, feeling a little out of place as the cheerful ringing of the bell announced his presence in this unfamiliar territory. Stitchin’ Time was one of Mama and Lola’s favorite stores, but Tomy had never been here before himself, only heard about it when they gushed and cooed over the hand-dyed yarn they’d bought there.
The shop itself was large, and the rent in the fashionable Lenox Square area of Atlanta must have been enormous, but it had a surprisingly homey feel. Rather than traditional retail metal shelving, whoever had designed the interior had opted for wooden storage units, woven baskets, and what looked like enormous pasta racks dripping with hanks of yarn instead of spaghetti. There were also finished knitted and crocheted pieces displayed on the walls and on hangers at the ends of the shelves. There were the expected sweaters and scarves, of course, but also stuffed animals, knickknacks, and one intricately cabled afghan draped over the sofa where a group of gray-haired women were gathered, chatting and laughing. Several of them looked up when he entered, but he was greeted with friendly smiles rather than surprise.
The sales counter was visible from the door, a large wooden affair with more baskets of yarn and other knitting supplies stacked neatly around it. Behind the counter sat a man, square-jawed, blond, and broad-shouldered, working a set of knitting needles with amazing speed and agility. He, too, glanced up, smiling, and called out to Tomy in a deep, smooth Southern drawl.
“Hey! Welcome! Feel free to look around, and let me know if you need any help.”
Tomy gave the man an appreciative once-over. Sure, he had a boyfriend, and he hoped to be happily engaged after Christmas, but he could still look. Then he glanced around, briefly considering whether he ought to muddle through on his own, but he dismissed that thought. He was way out of his depth here, and he didn’t even know where to begin. Best to ask the professional rather than waste time wandering around utterly clueless.
“Actually, I do need some help,” he admitted, offering a sheepish smile as he approached the counter. “I want to buy something for my mother and sister, and I know they shop here a lot, but….” He looked around again and shrugged. “I have no idea where to start.”
The blond put his knitting aside—Tomy didn’t know what the item on the needles was, only that it was deep forest green—and stood up. He was tall, at least four inches over six feet, and up close, Tomy could see his eyes were a soft blue.
“I know that feeling,” he said. He moved out from behind the counter, walking with a slight but noticeable limp. “Who are your mother and sister? If they’re regulars, I can definitely help you with things I know they’d like.”
“My mother is Ana Lucia Peralta,” Tomy replied, trying to ignore the zing of wayward attraction he felt for the hunky knitter. He’d always been drawn to tall, burly blonds, much to his boyfriend’s dismay. Despite being tall, blond, and hot himself, Sean got jealous easily. He wouldn’t even let Tomy watch any of the superhero movies with Thor or Captain America in them when he was around. “My sister is Lola Barrett.” He picked up the tasseled end of the navy blue scarf he wore, which was an elaborate pattern of cables and bobbles. “Mama made this for me, if that helps. Lola made the hat,” he added, gesturing to the slouchy hat he wore, which had wide abstract colorwork stripes.
Hunky Knitter stepped closer and looked at the hat, smiling slightly, then picked up the end of Tomy’s scarf, running his fingers over the cabling. “Ah, yes. I remember when your mother bought the yarn for this. It was a special order. She wanted a particular shade of blue, and I dyed at least four batches before I managed to get the color she was picturing.”
“You dyed the yarn yourself?” Tomy gazed up at Hunky Knitter, impressed by his crafting skills. “Thanks, I really like the color. She wanted it to go with my coat, and I think it’s a perfect match,” he said, holding out his arms to show the pea coat he was wearing.
“So it is. I’m Jason, by the way.” Jason held out his hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled.
“Tomy Peralta,” Tomy said, enunciating his name to make it clear it was pronounced like Tony, not Tommy. “Nice to meet you.” He clasped Jason’s hand, which was warm. Jason’s grip was firm, the touch sending little tingles along Tomy’s arm, and he felt his knees wobble just a little. I have a boyfriend, and we’re very much in love, he reminded himself sternly.
“Nice to meet you too.” Jason released his hand with what Tomy thought might be a tiny bit of reluctance. “Yes, I dyed the yarn. I do custom work for people who want it, and I like to try out the various dyes and yarns just to see what they look like. I prefer not to sell or recommend things to my customers that I haven’t tried myself.”
“Are you the owner?” Tomy asked. He didn’t know many men who were into crafts, much less enough to own a shop devoted to crafting.
“Yes.” Jason’s grin became a little sheepish. “I know I don’t look like the kind of guy who’d own a yarn store, and to be honest, never in a million years did I think this is what I’d be doing, but I love it. I majored in marketing at Vanderbilt, but I was a football player. After graduation, I played in the NFL, but in my second season with the Falcons, I blew out my knee.” He slapped his right leg. “Had to get an artificial replacement, so it was goodbye, NFL. I started knitting during my rehab, and one thing led to another and… here I am.”
Tomy didn’t hear any trace of self-pity in Jason’s voice, only a matter-of-factness that implied he’d had to explain his situation before. Tomy imagined an ex-football player turned yarn shop owner got a lot of questions about his life choices.
“Who taught you to knit?” he asked, voicing the first question that popped into his head. Of all the therapeutic exercises in existence, he wondered how knitting ended up being Jason’s choice. “I know it has a lot of therapeutic value, but not for knees.”
Jason laughed. “It was mental therapy, mostly. Moving hurt, but sitting almost hurt more. My mother got tired of me always moving restlessly whenever I was in a room, so she taught me how to knit as a form of distraction. If I had something in my hands to occupy me, I tended not to dwell on the pain in my knee a
s much.”
“That makes sense.” Tomy nodded, and then he noticed the ladies on the sofa were watching them with avid interest. He knew matchmakers when he saw them, and he cleared his throat and took a step back so they wouldn’t get the wrong idea. “Anyway, presents? I’m open to suggestions. I have no idea what they might want or need, but I want to get them something they’ll really like this year, not just a gift card.”
“Of course.” Jason nodded, suddenly all business. “I know there’s a set of knitting needles your sister has had her eye on for a while. They’re rosewood. Your mother has indicated she’d like to knit an afghan for her sofa, and so perhaps a pattern and the yarn for it? I recently dyed a batch of a bulky superwash wool in tonal greens I think she’d like. That might run a little more than you’d like to spend, though.”
“Sounds perfect!” Tomy smiled widely, pleased with the suggestions. “Do you know which pattern she’s interested in, or is there a pattern book she might like? I don’t care how much it costs.” He gave a sheepish shrug. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging or anything. It’s just that I want this to be a special Christmas. I’m planning to propose to my boyfriend, and I want everyone to be as happy as I am. I guess that sounds silly, but joy to the world, right?”
It might have been his imagination, but he thought Jason’s smile dimmed a little. “Of course. Congratulations in advance,” Jason said. “There’s a pattern book I think she’d enjoy—and if she doesn’t, I’ll exchange it for another of her choosing, no problem.” He moved to a display of knitting needles in front of the counter. “Here, these are the needles your sister was interested in. If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll go in the back and get the yarn. I don’t even have it out yet.”
Tomy followed Jason over to the display, amazed anew at all the options. “Wait, does she need the long ones, the shorter ones, the ones with the wires, or the ones that are pointy at both ends?”
Jason pointed to a larger package. “If you’d like to get her the whole set, it comes with a carrying case and a set of stitch markers. Otherwise, getting her three or four pairs of the commonly used sizes is a good option.”
“I’ll go for the set,” Tomy replied, reaching for the package. “It seems like she’s always grumbling about not having the right needles for whatever she wants to work on, so maybe this will help.”
“I’m sure it will. In the meantime, the books are over in that rack. Afghans are at the upper right. Now let me get that yarn and see what you think.” Jason nodded politely, then headed toward a door at the back of the shop.
Tomy tucked the package of needles under his arm and went over to the book rack. He picked up the first book he saw that mentioned afghans and flipped through it. The patterns were pretty much a foreign language to him, but the book was illustrated, and he did like the afghans it pictured. He’d looked through a couple of different books by the time Jason returned, holding a basket containing several hanks of yarn. The yarn was green, but it wasn’t a single shade. Instead it varied from a deep emerald to a lighter tone that was almost the exact color of spring grass.
“I remember your mother saying she liked greens. Do you think this color would suit her?”
“Wow, that’s gorgeous,” Tomy said, awe infusing his voice as he reached out to touch the yarn lightly to see if it felt as good as it looked, and it did. He glanced up at Jason. “You dyed this? Seriously?”
“Oh, yes.” A tinge of pink stained Jason’s cheeks, and he shrugged slightly. “It’s not hard once you get the hang of it.”
“All of this is amazing to me.” Tomy gestured around the shop to encompass not only the yarn but the finished projects as well. “It might as well be magic.”
“But it isn’t, really,” Jason said quietly. He hesitated for a moment. “If you’re interested, I hold a knitting class every first Wednesday of the month. We have all sorts of people show up—youngsters, retired people, even some our age. You’d be more than welcome.”
Tomy was surprised by the offer. He’d watched his mother knit for as long as he could remember, and his sister had learned at a young age, but he’d never considered learning himself. “Maybe I will,” he said. “Will you be holding them after the first of the year? With the holidays coming up, I’m going to be pretty busy with family, plus we’ve got the winter weddings coming up. It seems like everyone develops a sudden interest in learning how to dance around November and early December, and then we do it all over again in May and June.”
“We go year-round. I take it you work in the family business?”
“My parents are grooming me to take over the studio when they retire,” Tomy replied, nodding. “I was a business major too, with a minor in dance. I started learning ballroom and competing almost as soon as I could walk, and I’ve always wanted to be part of the family business.”
“That must be nice, working with your family.” Jason pointed to the books in Tomy’s hands. “Did you find a pattern you think she might like? She’s a fairly advanced knitter, so she could do anything, even if it looks impossible.”
“I’m not sure.” Tomy regarded the books uncertainly, feeling too uninformed to make a decent choice. “You mentioned there was a pattern book you thought she’d like. Which one is it?”
“The third one down in that stack you have,” Jason replied with a smile. “Afghans for All Occasions. There are some challenging ones I think she’d enjoy working on.”
“Okay, I’ll take that one.” Tomy smiled with relief as he put the other books back where he’d found them on the rack. “Plus the yarn, of course,” he added as he handed over the pattern book and package of needles.
Jason accepted the items and moved back behind the counter. He pulled out two large paper shopping bags that were printed with Christmas trees decorated with balls of yarn and packaged up the items with coordinating tissue paper. Then he rang everything up, handled Tomy’s payment, and presented him with the bags. “There you go—all set for Christmas morning. Do let them know they can exchange anything they aren’t happy with.”
“Thanks.” Tomy offered Jason a grateful smile as he accepted the bags. “I really appreciate your help.”
“Anytime.” Jason smiled. “Congratulations again on your upcoming engagement. You don’t happen to have a brother at home, do you?”
Tomy ducked his head, flattered by the implied compliment. “I do, but he’s straight and married.”
Jason seemed disappointed. “Gay cousins? No? Ah, well.” He shrugged and winked. “How about running a gay dance class at your studio? I’d sign up for that in a heartbeat.”
That idea had merit, and Tomy paused to consider it. “No, but I’ll bet there’s a market for that. I’ll have a talk with my parents and see if we can’t work something out.” He grinned at Jason. “I’d definitely enjoy teaching it.”
“Really? Cool!” Jason dropped back down on his high stool behind the counter. “Let me know. I’d be happy to put up a flier in the shop window for advertisement. Since I’ve never been into the bar scene and I’m almost always at the shop, it’s kind of hard to meet potential dates.”
“I understand. I was in pretty much the same situation before I met Sean,” Tomy replied, offering a sympathetic smile. If he were single, he’d be offering Jason private dance lessons right about now, but that wasn’t an option. “Anyway, it was nice meeting you. Maybe if I get that new dance class started, I can teach you to dance, and you can teach me how to knit in the new year.”
“You’ve got a deal.” Jason smiled. “It was nice meeting you as well. Feel free to drop by anytime.”
Tomy smiled and waved goodbye before turning and heading out of the shop, pleased with both his successful shopping and the conversation he’d had with Jason, the hunky knitter. With any luck, Dad would let him run with the idea of a gay ballroom dance class, and he’d give serious consideration to checking out that knitting class. He could use some friends outside the world of ballroom dance—both teaching and
competing—and Jason seemed like a nice guy. That he was totally hot didn’t hurt at all either, Tomy thought, as he stashed his bags in the trunk of his car and then headed home with a smile.
Chapter Two
THE HOLIDAY rush at the shop kept Jason pretty busy, so much so that he didn’t have time to think about Tomy Peralta. Well, not much time, at least, and he blamed it on the fact that his naughtier dreams had begun to feature a tall, bronze-skinned man with curly black hair and flashing dark eyes. It figured that one of the few gay guys he had met in months would be sexy enough to make Jason’s mouth water… and in a committed relationship. That was how Jason’s luck seemed to run since his injury: a little too late and just missing out on the big prize.
For the most part, Jason wasn’t unhappy about the way things had worked out for him. He’d always been what his mother called “the quiet one” of his siblings, a contrast to both his type-A workaholic stockbroker brother and his artistic, social butterfly younger sister. He loved sports, but he also loved reading and watching old movies, and he was laid-back when it came to most things. He’d been thrilled to win a full-ride football scholarship to Vanderbilt and equally excited to be a second-round draft pick for the Atlanta Falcons. Rather than charging out with his million-dollar signing bonus, however, he’d bought a new car and a nice house not too far from his parents and then had his brother invest most of the rest. After the low tackle that blew out his knee and ended his career, he had picked himself up, gotten through the pain of having joint replacement surgery at the age of twenty-four, and taken his mother’s advice when it had come to knitting. Now he was a successful businessman with a job he’d come to enjoy immensely.
There was a set of regular customers who came into the store several times a week, many of whom were part of what he secretly thought of as “The Little Old Ladies’ Gossip and Matchmaking Society.” It had started out small, but over time the group had grown to more than a dozen regulars and twice that many who were periodic attendees, and he’d had to add more seating to the small conversation-pit grouping he’d originally placed at the front of the shop. The ladies all seemed to dote on him. They brought him homemade cookies, casseroles, and pies, always fussed at him for working too much, and didn’t seem to mind that he was gay.