A couple of weeks passed. Evan fought a few times. Isobel worked every other night. A comfortable new normal began to develop. He got used to seeing her junker car there. He also got used to the thrill that ran down his spine to see it.

Isobel was a mousy, small, and incredibly boring angel. Her junker car was clean on the outside but full of papers, textbooks, and clouds of fiber. Every night, he would come over for dinner. When she was there, he struggled to keep himself in check. It was wildly difficult to keep from making her blush, because every time she did, he found it unbearably attractive. When she wasn't there, Gran would give him a report about what she had learned about her and how their nights went. Mostly, Isobel studied. She was working on some big presentation for a useless college class.

He wasn't used to college girls who worked so hard all the time, but then again, most of the college girls he was used to were blonde, seeking medical degrees, and were drunk on regular occasions. Isobel was none of those things.

One night, he didn't have to work—a rare night off, but the boss had said so. Evan was bored. He sat in his house, which had no TV since he was never home to watch it. He did his laundry, his dishes. Once all that was done, he walked across the yard and went into the house.

He found the women upstairs. Isobel was sitting perched on the edge of the couch with her spinning. It was mesmerizing to watch her. He'd never seen something so boring done in such an interesting way. Her long brown hair was twisted up into a sloppy bun, and she wore one of her usual big sweaters and jeans. Her jeans were rolled up and her feet were bare. She had stopped wearing makeup at some point, though he hadn't noticed exactly when. Her big hazel eyes were trained more on the TV than on what she was doing with her narrow hands. She had painted her nails red like Gran's—or had Gran painted them for her?

Gran reclined in her chair, watching the Sopranos again, crocheting a blanket. Isobel held a puff of fiber in one hand, and produced thin, fine string from it with casual precision. The ball on her spindle was getting bigger and bigger. Once she'd burned through all the fiber in her bag, she slid the ball off and spun it again, plying it so that the string became cushy, colorful yarn. She tossed the ball to Gran, who joined it to her working yarn and started crocheting with it. It was obvious that this routine was familiar to them. They probably did this every night.

"You're not spinning fast enough," said Gran when the episode ended. She reached for the remote, and started looking for another episode to watch.

"No, you're crocheting too fast."

"I don't think the problem is me. Don't you have a wheel or something?"

"Yeah, but I'm almost out of fiber."

"If I order more, will you spin it for me?"

Isobel looked from her spindle to the old lady. "What?"

"You heard me. If I buy fiber, will you spin it for me?"

"Um, yeah! Yeah, I can do that."

"Good," she said, and Gran picked up the massive tablet phone from the side table. "What's it called? Where do you get it?"

Isobel got up and helped Gran find what she was looking for.

Evan watched quietly.

Isobel glanced up at him.

Evan felt desire lance through him. He sat up and leaned over, pretending to be trying to look at the phone. He couldn't see it, of course. Truth was, his jeans were getting a little snug in the crotch.

"How long have you been doing that, Isobel?" he asked. Saying her name felt illicit.

"A few years," she said. "I learned in high school."

"How long ago was high school?"

"A few years."

Gran snorted.

"What?"

"I thought I taught you not to ask women about their age."

Isobel grinned as she got up and grabbed her cup off the floor. One of the cats, the red one, had taken up a place by it and was staring inside, hoping coffee would magically appear.

"Need some tea, Glory?"

"Yeah, thanks, kid."

Isobel took her cup and walked over the little cart where Evan had put a coffee and snack bar. He didn't like the idea of Gran walking up and down stairs so much anymore; the idea of her falling down them was too much to handle. The coffee machine made individual cups of coffee or tea, depending on what you put in it.

"You too?" Isobel asked. It took him a minute to realize she was talking to him.

"Oh, yeah, coffee. Please."

Gran looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. "You sick?" she demanded in all seriousness.

"I'm trying this thing called 'being polite.’"

Gran's look of alarm turned into a big huge grin that Isobel didn't see. Evan gave her a look like murder. Gran's nose wrinkled with delight. She looked like an old witch about to hex someone.

He shook his head very subtly.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Isobel?" she asked in an innocent tone.

"No. I don't. You asked me that two days ago."

"Why not? You're a pretty girl. I'm sure your mother wants grandkids soon."

Isobel's face turned hot red. Evan did his best not to make any exasperated noises, because that red was making his jeans very snug in the crotch.

"Oh, y'know. I guess I just . . . I haven't met the right person yet. Or whatever."

"Oh, God, you're not one of those pretentious virgins, are you?"

Isobel looked at the ceiling, her hands on her hips. She giggled uncomfortably. "No, I'm not. I just . . . really don't want to be in a relationship right now."

"You're boring."

"Yeah," she said, looking at the coffee maker. Her eyes were a little sad. "I am. I'm not a virgin though, you dirty old witch."

She glanced at Evan again, but looked away instantly. She hadn't known he was still watching. She turned on her heel and went to the bathroom, closing the door quietly.

"What the hell, Gran?" he hissed.

"What?" she asked innocently.

"You're being nosy."

Gran shrugged. "I'm just a batty old lady. I don't know what you're talking about."

* * *

Isobel was getting pretty used to the daily routine of this job. Her classes were going well, and now that money wasn't as big a concern, she felt more free to study. So she spun, and worked, and studied.

However, Evan was beginning to become kind of a problem.

Ever since that night with Glory, where she had been grilled on her relationship status and sexual activity, he had been an ever-present intrusive thought. With his stupid big muscles and rough voice, and bruises. He grinned at her, and her guts filled with butterflies every time he did. He stared at her, and she couldn't pretend she didn't notice anymore. It was becoming problematic. She wasn't supposed to be getting personally involved.

One chilly Saturday, she had a seminar about the fiber culture in the Peruvian Andes, and how women learned from the earliest age to gather, prepare, and spin the wool of alpacas. Isobel had found it wildly fascinating. Most everyone else had wished they hadn't come.

Her textile class was mostly full of fashion majors and art kids. They weren't as into spinning as she was, although they had all bought some yarn from her. There were also people from the wider community who had come to learn more about spinning. They were all dead bored too.

Once the seminar was over, she went to work.

She continued to work on the yarn for Glory's blanket. Halfway through, though, she realized that she wanted a different spindle. This one was too light, and wouldn't be useful until she had built a big enough ball of yarn on it. She wanted her Turkish spindle, with its interlocking arms. It was down in the car, and so she excused herself, making Glory swear not to move from her chair.

It was cold outside. Winter's bite was starting to clamp down on the area, and frost covered the car every morning.

Evan's car pulled into the driveway as she was rummaging around for the second arm of the Turkish spindle. She watched Evan and a strange woman step out of the car. The woman was laughing, and so was Evan. He had a fresh bruise on his cheek, same cheek too, and looked generally roughed up.

The woman saw Isobel. Isobel saw the woman. She closed the door of her car. The woman had big, long hair, long nails, and a very short dress that was covered in sequins. It didn't look comfortable, but it did look sexy. Her eyes smoldered with dark makeup. Her shoes were very tall.

"Who's that?" the woman asked, as Evan came around the car and took her arm. The woman glared at her.

"Oh, that's Isobel," said Evan. "She works with my grandma."

Isobel waved as she walked back up the driveway.

"Hey kids," she said, forcing a casual tone as she walked quickly back to the house. She was barefoot, and her feet were cold, and she wasn't sure why but seeing Evan with that other woman made her kind of . . . angry? Jealous, that was the word she was looking for, but she would never admit she was jealous, especially of someone who was, objectively speaking, kind of trampy. It was good for Evan to be getting some action—maybe he would stop staring at her all the time.

Back in the house, she closed and locked the door.

Isobel couldn't stop thinking about Evan—the way he had looked at her as he led that other woman away. Did he know how obvious his desire was? Did he know that she knew what he was thinking when he looked at her?

When she got back upstairs, Glory peered around the back of her armchair. "There you are. Thought maybe you'd blown away in the wind. You're still too skinny, kid."

Isobel blew a raspberry at the old woman, who blew one right back. Isobel smiled. Every night she spent with Glory was a party. The old lady was wild, and years past the point of giving a damn about what people thought of her, although Isobel had a pretty strong feeling that she had always been this way, even when she’d been young.

Glory stood up, and immediately began to sway. Isobel sat straight up in alarm, but Glory waved her off.

"Relax, kiddo, I'm just old. One day, when you're old, you'll get dizzy too."

Isobel did not relax. She assembled her spindle, but even as she did, she watched Glory carefully. Glory managed to get about halfway to the bathroom before she swayed again and fell to the ground. Isobel got up quickly, hurrying to the old lady's side. She looked at her face, just as she had been trained. Her eyes were hazy for a second before they cleared.

"Are you hurt?" Isobel asked.

"No, I don't think so," said Glory weakly. Isobel helped her sit up, and sat cross-legged beside her. She took a deep breath.

"I just . . . I got dizzy," said Glory. She looked at Isobel. There was no fear in her eyes, or even concern. Just her usual sarcasm, although a little milder than normal. "Last time I bruised the hell out of my hip. I don't think I did this time, but I fell in the kitchen before."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Don't tell Evan."

Isobel sighed. Stupid, stubborn old woman. "Glory, I'm required to. It's my job. Besides, what happens if you get really hurt when you fall?"

Glory sighed. "Help me up, would you? I still have to pee."

Isobel chuckled and stood up. She helped the old woman to her feet. Glory swayed for a second, but regained her balance. Lifting her head high, she seemed to recover her dignity as well. Isobel followed her to the bathroom to make sure she didn't fall again. She couldn't help feeling like this was a bad sign.