Amy nods with another sad smile. The other women start offering their names. They’re about halfway around the circle when I notice the welcoming smiles dropping from some of the faces. By the time we reach the last in the group, I’d say a third have changed their attitudes toward me.

I can’t fathom why until⁠—

“And I’m Warner!”

At the sound of his jolly proclamation, I realize the biker didn’t stay back at the bar. He’s standing directly behind me.

Warner followed me to my crafters meeting.

The ladies’ disquiet begins to make sense. My bet is, this group of crafters is not used to having guys from the local motorcycle club approaching them while they’re gathered here.

I’ve brought an interloper.

“Yes, Warner,” Amy says, “we know who you are. You’ve decided to join us for Sip ’N’ Stitch?” While some of the women look uncomfortable or downright hostile, Amy gives Warner an almost-maternal smile as she questions him. “May I ask what project you brought to work on?”

“Got my project right here.” His shoulder bumps mine, and I glance back at him with surprise.

Caught off guard, I find myself stammering, “I-I didn’t bring anything for you to work on.” I scowl at him. “I didn’t even know you until a half hour ago.”

Warner’s cheeky grin makes another appearance. “You’re my project. Goal is to be your best friend by the end of the night.”

The women in the group titter. That’s right. They titter, like a cluster of ladies in a Regency ballroom.

I sigh. Warner is a puppy. He’s just too enthusiastic and cute to deny.

“Fine.” I face the Sip ’N’ Stitch gals again. “If we’re quiet, would it be all right if we both joined you?”

“I don’t—” A particularly pinch-mouthed woman starts, but Amy cuts her off.

“Of course. This group is open to any who would like to join. Our only rules are to be respectful”—Amy’s eyes flit over to the woman who began what I think must have been a protest—“and to have fun. Please, pull up some chairs.”

Before I can search the surrounding tables, Warner is already sliding a seat against the back of my knees. I plop down on the cushion, and the women on either side of me shift their chairs until my new biker buddy has space to add his to the mix.

For a moment, awkward silence hangs over the group. Then, one woman asks another about a book she recently read, and the conversations all start up again, slowly at first, but gaining momentum.