On Pins and Needlepoints

Chapter 2

“Old needlepoints are a piece of history.” And they required far more patience than he’d ever have.

“Uh-huh. Someone gave me a needlepoint kit once as a kid. Couldn’t even sell it in a garage sale.” She turned as someone sat a seat away from Ian, decided to give him a minute. “Unopened. Mint condition mass produced kit. Should’ve kept it for you.”

“I don’t make them, I sell them.” Well, more or less. Ian finished off his beer and unrolled the fork from the napkin.

“Another?” The bartender grabbed his empty glass as he agreed, then turned to the man. “Know what you want?”

“Whatever he’s having looks good,” said the man, not looking up from the phone.

Ian was immediately uncomfortable, more so when he noticed this was the guy who’d ran into him in the antiques store earlier. He buried himself in his loaded fries and waited for Ellen to text back, but the man didn’t stay quiet. After he’d had a few sips of his beer and the bartender had left, he spoke up.

“You’re that guy I ran into earlier, aren’t you?”

Ian shoved his mouth as full of fries as he could get it and gave a noncommittal noise.

“Sorry about that again. I’m not from around here.”

Ian swallowed, the lump of food too large to be comfortable, and resisted informing the man he could tell. He wasn’t interested in conversation, but the guy wasn’t backing off.

“You’re full of good recommendations,” said the man, picking up his beer and indicating it before taking a drink.

“You find what you wanted then?” asked Ian. He hated having to be polite, but having some kind of conversation would be better than getting talked at for an hour. And he still feared inadvertently pissing men off. So much for an easy night out.

“Yeah. At the place on Langley, just like you said. You want to tell me what’s good to eat here, too?”

Ian had another gulp of beer. The man’s expression was different than it had been earlier. His hair was still messy, but his scowl had been replaced with a pleasant look that bordered on a shy grin. In another situation, Ian might’ve thought the guy was into him.

“The black and bleu burger’s good. Any of the appetizers. Any of the specialty pizzas.”

“Burger it is.”

To Ian’s relief, the bartender came back and Ellen texted then, giving the man a distraction and Ian something to focus on. Ellen was ecstatic. It was clear she loved the needlepoint. Hopefully that meant she’d give Ian something good for it.

“Is it for your mom?”

Ian blinked, looked up. The guy was leaning closer now, and he’d seen the picture Ian had texted Ellen. Rude bastard, looking at Ian’s phone. Ian stopped replying to Ellen and focused on his fries.

“No. I got a buyer.” He seemed to be saying this a lot today. Ellen would probably be thrilled to sound so official.

“For that piece of s**t I saw you carrying out?” The man looked amused, impressed. “You must be good.”

“You have to know your clients.” Ian had another drink. If he had to talk to this guy, he could at least have a little fun with it. Pretend he knew what the hell he was talking about. “There’s a collector for everything out there.”

“A sucker born every minute thing.”

“Oh, she’s not a sucker.” Ian bristled at the implication. He knew a lot of people thought Ellen was just plain wild, but he liked her. She was genuine, if strange. “She knows exactly what she wants.”

“And you find it for her.”

“When I can.”

The man’s burger arrived. The wait was shorter than Ian’s had been, but the kitchen was probably getting into full swing now. The conversation could be worse; the man barely talked about himself, which wasn’t usually the case when Ian ran into someone chatty at the bar. Maybe the evening wouldn’t suck after all.

“Can’t believe someone would collect crap like that.”

“You new to antiques?”

“Yeah.” The man had a huge bite of burger and washed it down with the beer. “But I can’t be much newer than you. How long does it take to spot an antique needlepoint? Or do you just go for the most hideous one you can find?”

Ian finished his nacho fries and went back to his beer. So the guy was looking for tips. s**t. Ian had to turn the conversation back to him as fast as he could. Or maybe get out of there. But he hadn’t been intending to leave this early, go back to his place that just felt…like it was missing something, some quality he’d like it to have to feel more like a home.

“I’ll let you in on something…”

“Gabe,” said the guy, mouth full of burger.

“Gabe. The only thing of professional value is the frame, and that’s not really worth much.”

“Why would your client want it then?” Gabe swallowed and eyed Ian. “You scamming her?”

Gabe’s interest in Ian waned, and Ian suddenly realized he didn’t like that. He wanted to be someone an attractive man wanted to get to know. Ian also suddenly realized he thought Gabe was attractive. He was both annoyed with himself for how fast the man had gone from asshole to attractive, and unable to stop himself from pressing for more interaction.

“I’m not lying to her about the worth of the piece. Like I said, she knows exactly what she wants.”

“And what she wants is an ugly old needlepoint with no value.”