Chapter 9 #2
The following day, there was a half-sweet almond milk matcha latte waiting for me on the kitchen counter when I woke up.
Gideon was gone, only returning to pick me up for Sunday family lunch.
I brought the bolt of pink silk as well as a sketchbook I unearthed from the box of work things I’d left in the corner of the garage.
Lola’s eyes lit up when she saw me approach with the fabric, and she leaped up from her seat beside Wendy and the baby to come see me.
“Is that what I think it is?” she asked excitedly.
I grinned. “I thought we could come up with some ideas today. You like the color?” I set my sketchbook down on the nearest table and unfurled the fabric, holding it up under Lola’s chin. We turned toward the gilded antique mirror hanging on the wall, and her hands stroked the soft pink silk.
“I love it,” she whispered.
“It looks great against your skin tone,” I agreed. “I found it at the cottage. It was meant to be.”
Lola beamed at me, then did a little excited dance and reached in her pocket for her phone. “I’ll show you what I like,” she said.
We found the nearest chairs—stuffy, carved wood chairs with backs that were too straight—and bent our heads toward each other to look at inspiration photos. I put my sketchbook on my lap and started jotting down ideas. Half an hour later, we had the beginnings of a design.
“Ohmigod!” Lola clapped her hands, and I couldn’t help but grin in response. She reached over and wrapped her arms around my neck, squeezing me in a tight hug.
Over her shoulder, I met Gideon’s eyes. I couldn’t read his expression, but I thought he might have been pleased with me.
Happiness glowed like hot coals in my belly for the rest of the day.
When we got home, I unpacked my sewing machine from the box and set it up in the corner of the dining room table where the light from the windows was best. I would need muslin to start drafting Lola’s dress, and some new thread.
My machine needed to be oiled and cleaned.
Other than my own wedding dress, I hadn’t sat down and sewn anything for ages.
Certainly not something for someone else, where the details mattered and I couldn’t ignore mistakes.
I decided to practice by making some cushion covers.
The couches were in desperate need of fresh throw pillows, and it would give me something to do while my brain worked on how to construct Lola’s dress.
I got to work, only looking up when Gideon dropped a glass of water and a plate bearing a cut-up apple and a few slices of cheese next to me.
Shock made me blink. “You made me a snack,” I said.
“You haven’t stopped working since we got home,” he grumbled. “You need to eat something.”
And you have to stop doing things like this for me, I almost replied. My heart had gone all gooey and soft, and it was hard to swallow my first bite of apple past the lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I croaked.
He grumbled something in reply and stalked off, leaving me to my work. I could feel myself wanting to fall for him. Wanting to imagine the fairy tale where we fell in love and lived happily-ever-after.
But I’d been through this before. I fell too hard for men who tossed me aside.
This time would be different. This was my fresh start, my new home.
I wouldn’t wreck it by letting my feelings get in the way, especially when Gideon was just being nice.
Hadn’t Wendy said he was the most reliable of the Mars men?
This was simply who he was; it didn’t have anything to do with me.
These little thoughtful gestures didn’t mean anything special. He didn’t magically find me more attractive than he had before. Any evidence to the contrary was just my wistful imagination running away with me.
I’d only been in this town a week, and I already felt more inspired and more at ease than I had in years.
Pursuing a man who clearly didn’t want me would only ruin my chances at a decent life.
As long as I kept my wants small and reminded myself to be grateful for what happiness I could find here, I would be safe.
My attraction to Gideon would fade. And if it didn’t, I would just have to deal with it.
GIDEON
I tried and failed to avoid looking at Sadie. The light from her sewing machine illuminated her face as she frowned, moving a thread up, down, and around the complicated gears inside the machine. She was beautiful when she focused. When she was inspired. When she was happy.
I should’ve left the cottage, because staying here watching her was torture when she would never really be mine.
But I couldn’t make myself leave.
So I busied himself by clearing her plate then making dinner. I set a serving of roast chicken, potato, and vegetables next to her, then grabbed a book and read on the couch while her sewing machine hummed. Occasionally, I glanced up to make sure she was eating.
The cottage had felt empty since my dad had passed away nearly two decades ago.
It had been a cemetery of broken dreams, of plans that had never come to fruition.
Dad had meant to retire here, when my brothers and I were grown up.
My father would come here when he needed peace and quiet.
He’d talk about the plans he had for the property—a small orchard, a new workshop, a pier where he could tie a boat.
In the summertime, the five of us had set up tents in the backyard and camped on the property. It was a refuge for all of us.
Then my father died, and the cottage had been frozen in time. It had never become what my father had dreamed.
Now it was alive. It was a home. Sadie had given me that.
The ache in my chest was new; it was painful but sweet. I wondered if I could be satisfied with this half-life with her, and decided that it was better than not having her at all.