away at the back of these shops?
It would make sense for him to enquire inside.
Hal sniffed, pulled his camera bag over his right shoulder and grasped his crutch more tightly as he stared at the front entrance of Etalia Yarns.
A knitting shop; this was going to be a new experience. Tom Harris had taught him to be an explorer and an observer in any new location, no matter where, and those skills still served him well. He liked the small things that told him a story about the people and the place.
It was the details he looked for as a photographer—the tiny body movement and individual characteristics that made one sportsman unique and could make or break an action photograph. It had become second nature for him to look for exactly those details in every shot.
Now he took the time to take a closer look at the shop itself—or rather what looked like a small house in a normal-looking street of family homes mixed with small shops: a dry cleaner, a hairdresser and Etalia Yarns.
The name had been etched out in a large cursive font along the top half of a large picture-window which would have been the bow window of the living room when this house had been a home. The bottom half was etched glass with a scrolling curling pattern.
The green-and-white paintwork was fresh and attractive. A large, circular brass doorknocker completed the look.
The only vaguely kitsch thing about the shop window was the tiny long-haired toy sheep which had been placed on the inside window-ledge so that it seemed to be looking out to face the street. A broad black smile in the shape of a half circle shone out in welcome.
So this was what an upmarket knitting-yarn shop looked like? He was clearly way out of date!
But where was Studio Designs?
The same minute that thought came into his head he spotted a small metal plaque which had been screwed into the door frame above his head: Studio Designs. At last!
Well, well. Mimi Ryan worked above, beyond or inside a knitting shop.
Who knew what strange new customs and traditions the inhabitants followed? He certainly had no clue what to expect.
Which was far more interesting and exciting—not that he would ever admit it—than he had expected.
Into the unknown.
Just as Hal shuffled forward towards the entrance, two teenage girls in denim trousers and bright T-shirts giggled their way past him and through the shop door, giving him sly glances as they did so. Each of them was carrying a bulging, oversized plastic bag and it made perfect sense for Hal to hold open the door and slip after them into the shop.
Or, rather, a gallery of rainbows.
Pale wooden storage-cubes were aligned along every available piece of wall space, and each cube was stuffed with yarn in a complete spectrum of rainbow colours from deepest purple through blues, greens and yellows, to reds and pinks and white and cream. It was as familiar to a photographer as his favourite camera. And it was twice as pleasurable to see the raw energy of colour softened by textures, shapes and sizes.
Natural light from two long windows filled the narrow space, helped by down-lighters of just the perfect intensity and spectrum to make the colours of the yarn pop in their display cubes.
Very clever.
Instead of stacks of yarn, the long narrow room had been split into two halves by a long antique pine dining-table with comfy chairs on each side. Two older women were selecting soft balls of tweedy stuff from wooden baskets piled high with yarn, while the teenagers laughed and giggled their way to the back of the room.
Their girlish laughter was shared with a tall woman with an amazing figure who was facing away from him, one arm around the shoulders of the youngest girl as they pulled out their creations from the plastic bags. He caught a glimpse of strands of yarn, what looked like string and a pair of enormous wooden knitting-needles that made his eyebrows lift.
Intrigued by the exhibits, and still in awe of the rainbow effect of the yarns around him, Hal slowly strolled down the room and smiled at the other customers, who seemed to be far too focused on the goods to pay him any attention. He was almost in the middle of the room when one of the teenagers spotted him and nudged the other, and the woman turned around to face him.
And every thought in his brain was frozen, mesmerised by the stunning woman he was looking at.
It was Mimi Ryan.
He should have recognised the hair, the creamy skin, the voluptuous figure which had only been hinted at in the street and later in Poppy’s office.
Forget hinting; this version of Mimi was full-on gorgeous.
The black trousers fitted her so perfectly that they must have been made to measure, but it was her coral-coloured knitted top that burnt a pattern in his retinas.
The soft, flowing fabric looked to have faint, pink, fine stripes with a cleverly constructed narrow lapel, fitted in at the waist so that there was no mistake that this lady was curvy—and meant business.
Light from a stained-glass panel in a side window fell onto one side of Mimi’s face highlighting her high cheekbones and delicate chin and features. The bow lips and warm smile seemed to illuminate her face as she turned around to face him and grinned.
With the coral top bringing a natural glow to her skin, Mimi Ryan was stunning.
If he was a receiver then Mimi Ryan was sending out just the right messages to flick on all of his switches. And it sent his brain into a spin.
Red warning-lights started flashing. This was the last thing he had been expecting and it shocked him to the core.
He could not allow himself to be attracted to a city girl like Mimi. Not now, not ever. He was not going down the same route that Tom had taken. He had to bury that telltale prickle of attraction as fast as possible.
This was probably why he found himself incapable of doing anything more than nodding when Mimi finished chatting to the girls and strolled over to him so that they were only inches apart.
Luckily for him, Mimi took the initiative and broke the tension he had not fully realised existed by speaking first. Her voice was light, warm and as welcoming as a faint breeze on a hot day. He revelled in the very sound of her voice.
She was captivating and he swallowed down a tinge of regret and resignation that he would never see her as anything more than a girl he had to work with over the next week to get the job done.
It was a pity his body had not received that message yet.
‘Good morning, Mr Langdon. I hope you slept well.’ Mimi smiled. ‘I wouldn’t want to wear you out on your first day back.’ Her mouth creased into a cheeky grin which was impossible to ignore.
Since speech was barely possible, he stretched out his right hand and wrapped his long fingers around hers. Her hand was soft, warm and surprisingly delicate, with fine bones, but she pulled away before he had a chance to decadently slide his fingers down the back of her hand.
‘Oh, I think I can manage,’ he stammered out and stood back to pretend to admire the room. ‘And please call
