Knit in Comfort by Isabel Sharpe Page B

my seat, martini pitcher’s here, I’ll get you a glass.”
    â€œThanks, darlin’.” Ella sank onto the just-vacated chair, tapped out a cigarette and lit it, drawing in the smoke with such elegant pleasure that Elizabeth had to picture her in a cancer ward or be envious. “So. Elizabeth.”
    â€œYe-e-es?”
    Ella arranged herself, legs slanted in a beautiful diagonal, torso languorously applied to the back of her seat. “How are you liking our town?”
    â€œVery much.”
    â€œWe don’t get many Yankees down here in li’l ol’ Comfort.”
    Elizabeth ignored the über-Southerner act. “How long have you lived here?”
    â€œFor all eternity.” She tipped her head back and blew out a stream of smoke. “Minus seventeen years in Florida.”
    â€œWhat were you doing there?”
    â€œRotting.”
    â€œSounds fun. Are you married?”
    â€œDivorced.”
    â€œChildren?”
    â€œNo.” She spoke flatly; Elizabeth sensed pain in the answer. What a pair she and David made, hiding hurt, nursing bitterness over gin. Were they lovers, too?
    Some of the blissful shine dulled from her buzz. “What do you do?”
    â€œI have a job at the Comfort Public Library, Elizabeth. I live with my parents. I wear a size eight shoe and thirty-four C-cup bra, and I—”
    â€œGood to know, thanks.”
    â€œWhat do you do?”
    â€œWhen I’m not trying to be polite to rude strangers?”
    Ella laughed unexpectedly. “Yes.”
    â€œI live in Manhattan with my chef boyfriend, and I’m starting my own design business. Fabrics, mostly.”
    â€œInteresting.” She picked up a lock of hair and started toying with it, long fuschia-polished nails flipping the dark chin-length strands over and over. “Do you knit?”
    â€œYes, why?”
    â€œOur group has temporarily lost two members to the lure ofVegas. Quaint as it will sound to your big-city ears, we need more hands to get our blanket project finished in time for the local craft fair.”
    â€œOh, wow.” Elizabeth’s mood perked up again. What could be more small-town perfect than getting involved in a knitting club and craft fair? She knew women in New York who knitted, but it seemed more like a genuine way of life here, less like a trendy diversion. “Thank you, that sounds totally fun.”
    â€œReally.” Ella took another hit from her cigarette and twisted her mouth to blow the smoke away. “You need to get out more.”
    â€œHere y’go.” David made it to the table, brandished a fresh frosted glass and poured generously from the pitcher. “If martinis be the food of oblivion, drink on.”
    â€œOblivion is where I do my best work.” Ella reached for hers.
    â€œWhat shall we drink to tonight?”
    â€œElizabeth and I were talking about love.”
    â€œThen here’s to love.” She took a blissful swallow. “May it rest in peace.”
    â€œCareful.” David turned to Elizabeth, which put his face half in rosy light and half in shadow. “This sweet young thing still believes.”
    â€œBreak her, Brother David. Pain now spares her later.”
    He reached and let his hand hover over Elizabeth’s wrist.
    â€œListen and learn, child. Love is a dangerous trap set by human nature, toothed metal jaws hidden on the forest’s leafy floor.”
    Ella snorted. “You are such an author.”
    â€œYou can’t get caught without being hurt. Snap .” He grabbed Elizabeth’s wrist and held it tightly, his compelling eyes lit by the fading sunlight. “Were you about to get caught, up there in New York?”
    Elizabeth recoiled, then set her drink down on the table holding the now-sweating pitcher and tried to pull her wrist out of his grasp. “Who’s spouting bad movie dialogue now?”
    â€œUh-oh.” He grinned, let her struggle