Читать книгу Blossom Street Bundle (Books 1-5) онлайн | страница 2

“Yes, you mentioned that earlier.” The apartment worked perfectly for me. My cat, Whiskers, and I were in need of a home.

“You would like to see the place before you sign the papers, wouldn’t you?” she persisted.

I smiled and nodded. But it wasn’t really necessary; instinctively I knew this was the ideal location for my yarn shop. And for me.

The one drawback was that this Seattle neighborhood was undergoing extensive renovations and, because of the construction mess, Blossom Street was closed at one end, with only local traffic allowed. The brick building across the street, which had once been a three-story bank, was being transformed into high-end condos. Several other buildings, including an old warehouse, were also in the process of becoming condos. The architect had somehow managed to maintain the traditional feel of the original places, and that delighted me. Construction would continue for months, but it did mean that my rent was reasonable, at least for now.

I knew the first six months would be difficult. They are for any small business. The constant construction might create more obstacles than there otherwise would have been; nevertheless, I loved the space. It was everything I wanted.

Early Friday morning, a week after viewing the property, I signed my name, Lydia Hoffman, to the two-year lease. I was handed the keys and a copy of the rental agreement. I moved into my new home that very day, as excited as I can remember being about anything. I felt as if I was just starting my life and in more ways than I care to count, I actually was.

I opened A Good Yarn on the last Tuesday in April. I felt a sense of pride and anticipation as I stood in the middle of my store, surveying the colors that surrounded me. I could only imagine what my sister would say when she learned I’d gone through with this. I hadn’t asked her advice because I already knew what Margaret’s response would be. She isn’t—to put it mildly—the encouraging type.

I’d found a carpenter who’d built some cubicles for me, three rows of them, painted a pristine white. Most of the yarn had arrived on Friday and I’d spent the weekend sorting it by weight and color and arranging it neatly in the cubicles. I’d bought a secondhand cash register, refinished the counter and set up racks of knitting supplies. I was ready for business.