The question was mostly an excuse to place her hand against the hard swell of his chest, but it also served as a reminder that she had an actual job to do out here. As much fun as it would have been to have Harrison lift her against the rough side of this barn and ravish her until both of them were shaking and weak, she doubted even Dawn would approve of that methodology.

He remained silent.

“We should probably get running again,” she continued with real reluctance. His heart was steady and strong, just like the rest of him, but it wouldn’t remain that way indefinitely. Nothing could. “If we don’t pop out of the forest soon, your dad’s going to wonder what happened to us.”

“I’m pretty sure he already knows,” Harrison said, but he released his grip on her and stepped back. The physical separation was disquieting, like someone yanked a pile of warm blankets away. “He’s the one who warned me in the first place.”

“Warned you?” Sophie echoed. “About what?”

Harrison shook his head and turned to take off running once again. “I told you already. Tablecloths.”

Chapter 9

“Wool is going to be your warmest option, obviously, and it’s good for beginners because it’s so forgiving.” Sophie took a few steps forward and started jabbing her finger at the colorful bundles lining the wall.

The whole wall. As in, a hundred feet of storefront, all of it lined with shelves and so tightly packed with yarn you could probably knit a scarf from here to the moon. Harrison couldn’t decide if he was impressed or alarmed.

“Acrylic is lighter, so you might want to consider it for summer wear or if you plan to make Bubbles something purely decorative. It’s also easier to work with if you’re a beginner. If you care about sustainability, of course, you could always go for something organic and cotton. Now, me? I’m obsessed with this alpaca stuff right here. It can smell a little funny when you get it damp, but you get used to it after a while. It reminds me of wet dog—which, to be honest, is my standard eau du cologne.” She turned to him with an expectant look on her face, eyes wide and her lips slightly parted. “Well? What’ll it be? The pink wool? I feel like you’ve been eyeing the pink wool.”

Harrison sighed. As far as he could tell, there were twelve identical pink wools, each one looking more like bubblegum than yarn. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“The yarn store? Um, yes. This is my happy place.”

He paused, waiting for the rest of whatever Sophie had to throw at him, but she just kept watching him with that same earnest expectation. And joy—that’s what that was on her face, what made her look so much like an angel atop a Christmas tree.