Scenes From the City: A Knitting in the City Wintertime Surprise by Penny Reid

eyebrow in surprise and waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, I asked the obvious question, “How am I wrong about you?”
    “I’ve fought for my beliefs; I’ve fought for them most of my life. But the fight yields nothing. What you did, what you said to those kids-”
    “Kids?” I asked, incredulous, interrupting him. If the assorted upper classmen arranged in the kitchen were kids, then I was an infant.
    He ignored me, and as he spoke his voice became increasingly dispassionate, “-I understand why you did it, but it’s a bandaid on a wound that festers. People fill their minds with trivial things because they cannot face horrible truths.”
    I studied him and saw that he was agitated. Behind his droll mask and irreverent quips, I perceived a boy—no, a man—who was struggling. I had the overwhelming urge to ease his struggle. I started to lift my hands, then quickly balled them into fists at my sides. Comforting Greg was not my place.
    Instead, I gently offered, “Greg…not everyone is capable of fighting the great fights. Not everyone is brave and strong and powerful. Let people have their causes. Allow them their victories, when victories can be had, without begrudging the wrongs that they right. Attending to injustice, no matter how small, is always a worthy cause.”
    His hands were on his hips, and he was giving me a sideways glare, examining me, though his mouth was curved in a somnolent smile. He studied me for a very long moment, and I allowed him to do so, even though I sensed he was bursting with restless energy.
    As well, I became increasingly aware of the strange current building; the atmosphere grew charged and heavy. Although, I reasoned, he was likely unaware and/or immune to it. I felt my attraction for him increasing, ballooning, even given his abrasive comments in the kitchen. I should’ve run in the other direction. Instead I found myself wanting to soothe him.
    Also, a tortured Greg was so devastatingly handsome it made my throat tight and my chest hurt. Mostly, I just wanted to touch him.
    But I didn’t.
    He huffed a small laugh, breaking the tension, and glanced at the ceiling. “You make too much sense.”
    I smiled, my eyes widening at the compliment. “I know. It’s a curse.”
    He crossed his arms over his chest, pulling the sleeves of his navy blue long-sleeved T-shirt tight over his muscled shoulders. It took all my willpower not to look at his neck. His skin tone was a radiant olive, perma-tanned. It looked like it would be warm to the touch. I crossed my arms.
    “Just stop it,” he said, his tone now dry, though I could tell he was teasing.
    “Okay. I’ll stop being well reasoned.”
    “Good. Be a fruitcake.”
    “No one likes fruitcakes.”
    “I do.”
    “You’re the only one.”
    “I should be enough,” he said.
    I narrowed a single eye at him, scrunching one side of my face and teased him back. “No. Not nearly enough. I require legions of adoring fans.”
    He nodded and this time couldn’t master his smile. “I sense that about you. You strike me as needy and narcissistic.”
    “You’re very perceptive. I require constant praise for my misogynistic manifestos.”
    He laughed, and it was such a wonderful sound my heart gave a stupid leap in response. I wanted to press my hand against my chest, but instead I held my breath.
    The moment of levity ended with a smiling staring contest, and that soon transitioned into an extremely awkward non-smiling staring contest. His gaze moved over my face, his eyes a tad unfocused. I fought the urge to fidget (and won). Instead I stood perfectly still and gave myself this moment, with him, alone.
    Then it was over.
    Greg shook his head and pulled his hand through his longish hair. He moved to the door. “I should go. I have puppies to club and kittens to drown…someplace.”
    He was gone.
    I stood completely still for several long moments, staring at the place he’d vacated. The small suite area felt abruptly