If he was on a ladder working on the shutters, she was inside making measurements and lists. When he went back to paint the spots he’d left for her, she researched all the hotels in the area, hoping to find the key to winning in their lists of amenities. And he worked without complaining. If he was sitting on the end of the dock, she was staring out the window of her bedroom, finding her gaze drawn to him. It was enough to make her feel as if she was either very good or very bad at stalking him. There wasn’t much in between. “Stupid yarn. Do what I tell you.” She forced herself to stretch and then rewrap the yarn around the needle a little more loosely. Knitting was more fun when it didn’t require a feat of strength to get every stitch off the needle. Or so she imagined. She hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it. But she’d decided knitting might help her think about something other than Dean, losing the Bluebird or the kiss.
