Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(181)

Meanwhile, Greg called back to his wife, “They’re in the workshop, probably. Don’t worry, Jack and Ava are supervising.”

I’d never say it out loud, but his assurances didn’t do much to ease my mind. I felt like every day since DJ had been born I’d been one step ahead of him from blowing up the neighborhood.

Fiona looked like she wanted to push the issue, but before she could, I volunteered, “I’ll check on them.” Then to the guys I said, “I’ll be right back, just want to put eyes on the boy.”

Quinn set his beer down. “I’ll come with. I haven’t seen Natalie in a while.”

As we walked to the workshop, I heard the unknown teenager ask Drew about a huge, nasty-looking scar on his arm, and Desmond say proudly, “Oh, that? Drew got that from a black bear.”

Quinn and I traded a look, both of us laughing as we walked away.

“Hey.” I tossed my thumb over my shoulder. “Who is that kid? The one who just asked Drew about his bear scar.”

Quinn rubbed his hand over his face, like either the question or the answer made him tired. “That’s Ava’s boyfriend.”

I stopped, needing a minute, and then began walking again. “Ava, as in the youngest of Fiona and Greg’s kids, has a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, don’t get me started.” Quinn rubbed his face. “Desmond has been acting like a shithead since he found out.”

“Why would Desmond care if . . .” I glanced at Quinn.

He lifted an eyebrow.

“Oh!” I laughed. “That’s beat. Poor Desmond.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“I don’t know.” I thought about the very first moment I’d laid eyes on Kat and how I’d not been able to move past her in those two wasted years before we were thrown into an inconvenient marriage. And Desmond had known Ava his whole life. “Are they even old enough for this kind of stuff?”

“Dummy, they’re fifteen.”

“So?”

Quinn shook his head, saying nothing.

Upon walking into the workshop, we smelled a faint odor. A chemical sort of smell. If I had to describe it, I’d say it was a fragrant bouquet of rose hips, cedar, metal vapor, a drop of chlorine, and a touch of cancer.

Glancing around, I spotted my kids by the entrance, stacking smooth, sanded wooden blocks to make a tower. Most of the young kids were also messing with the play blocks. But I also spotted the origin of the smell.

“What the f—” Quinn and I both started to say, and stopped ourselves in unison. Children were present. I’d had to curtail my colorful language when Eleanor’s first word turned out to be fuck. Before you ask, yes. Kat wrote it down in her baby book.

Our voices must’ve carried, because Jack—who’d been facing the action with his arms crossed—twisted at the waist.

I waved him over. “Hey Jack, come over here.”

He did, jogging the few feet. “What’s up?”

“Is . . .” I glanced behind him again, making sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me. Sure enough, at the far end of the workshop, where the big garage-style door stood open for ventilation, was Ava in a Speedglas helmet leaning over Rose—Elizabeth and Nico’s oldest—who was also in a Speedglas helmet. Rose’s helmet was kid-sized.

“Is Rose welding?”

Jack nodded. “Yes.”

“These fumes can’t be good for the kids.” I motioned to the little ones by the door where we were standing.

“That’s why we have the big fans, see?” Jack pointed to two big shop fans blowing air out of the workshop. “And we opened the workshop door.”

Quinn and I looked at each other before he asked, “Does her dad know she’s welding?”

Jack blinked at Quinn, his expression blank. “If she doesn’t learn to weld here, she’ll just learn it on the streets.”

I lifted an eyebrow at the kid. “Street welding? That’s a thing?”

“Very dangerous. An epidemic sweeping the nation,” he said, completely straight-faced.

I snorted a laugh. This fucking kid. Just like his dad.

**Kat**: Meanwhile…





“What are you knitting?”

I turned my work and held it up so Sandra could see.

“Oh! It’s that poncho by Olive Knits, isn’t it? I love the color.” Sandra used her thumb and forefinger to feel the texture of the yarn. “So soft.”

“Thank you. I found this indie dyer online, Highland Handmades, and her superwash merino is my favorite.”

“Is this worsted weight?” Ashley picked up the label next to me and then gasped happily. “It is worsted! I love it.”