Chapter 7
Seven
Finn
“That size is ninety and the larger one is a hundred and twenty,” I tell the woman in front of my booth with a smile. “And if you want a custom color palette, I can do those too.” I hand her a brochure. “The pricing is all on there.”
“Only ninety? Wow. That’s great.”
A prickle of relief slides through me.
Because for as often as someone accepts the price I give for my homemade blankets, someone else will bemoan the cost as far too expensive.
They just don’t understand how much work my blankets take, how many hours I put in to each of my creations.
She runs her hand over one of the patchwork throws draped across the table. “These really are beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll take this one,” she says patting a cornflower blue and sunny yellow throw blanket.
“And this one.” She strokes a finger over the twin-sized rainbow concoction—which shouldn’t work but somehow still does—that I have hanging along the back of my booth.
“You should come up and sell these in Cedar Hollow. I bet you’d make a killing at the craft fair that Bits & Bobs puts on. ”
I start folding up the blankets. “I haven’t been to Cedar Hollow before. Is it nice?”
A nod. “I grew up there.”
“Yeah?”
“I moved away for school but my parents still live there. I miss it a lot—the small-town vibes, never worrying about locking my doors, how everyone knows everything about everyone.” She smiles. “It’s still one of my favorite places on Earth.”
That sounds…lovely.
And also like a bit too much knowing for me.
“Do you ever think of moving back?” I ask as I finish with the first blanket.
“I’m in the process of it, actually.” Her gaze drifts away as she says, “There’s something about the giant redwoods”—a smile—“and the aforementioned cedars. There’s even a river that runs through the edge of town that’s lined with the cutest little beach and—” She waves a hand and cuts herself off. “Ignore me. I’m blabbering.”
“It sounds like you really like it.”
“I do.”
I start in on the second blanket.
“Anyway, they do the craft market every other month. If you want, I can give you Blossom’s information.”
More markets means more sales.
Which means a more kickass trip around the world.
“I’d love that.”
I finish bagging the blankets—then the set of kitchen towels she adds at the last minute and toss in a couple of potholders as thanks for her purchase (and for Blossom’s number). “Enjoy everything…” I pause, realize I don’t know her name.
“Clover,” she says, taking the bag from me. “It was lovely to meet you…”
“Finn,” I supply.
We exchange smiles and goodbyes and I sigh contently.
Because I love this.
The small talk.
My creations going home with people who genuinely want them.
I’m smiling as I turn to straighten a stack of fabric baskets—
Only to stop cold.
Because Rhodes is walking down the aisle between the booths, Chloe holding his hand and skipping along beside him.
My heart skips a beat at the sight of him, my stomach filling with butterflies.
He’s in jeans and a dusky pink Henley (this shade much more his color…and telling of the fact that it’s not just Chloe who likes pink), aviators perched on his nose and he’s so damned beautiful, it’s like a piece of art is casually walking toward my stall.
I shove that away, focus on Chloe in her bright pink hoodie and leggings, her eyes wide (and her smile wider) as she takes in everything around her.
Beautiful too—albeit in a completely different way.
I exhale…trying to understand why he’s here, why they both are.
And why it feels as though my heart is going to pound its way out of my chest at the sight of them.
Chloe spots me first. “Finn!” She tugs her hand free and runs toward me.
I crouch just in time to catch her in a hug. “Ms. Chloe!”
“Daddy brought me so I could see your work.”
“I can see that,” I murmur as I look up.
And there my heart goes again when I see Rhodes standing just inside my booth, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other holding a coffee cup as he surveys the space.
I exhale nervously, feeling suddenly vulnerable.
Then he turns and smiles at me, his words nothing but genuine. “This is amazing, Finn.”
And maybe it shouldn’t matter.
Maybe I shouldn’t care that he thinks it’s amazing.
But pride blooms inside me all the same. “Thanks,” I murmur.
I hear rustling and focus, realize that Chloe’s already touching everything in sight.
“What’s this?” she asks.
“A potholder.”
“What’s this?”
I chuckle. “A table runner.”
“And what’s this?” she asks, reaching for the rope that’s strung across the top of my tent, keeping my quilts aloft.
“A thing you are not allowed to pull on.”
She giggles and drops her arm then runs over to a stack of kitchen towels, examining each with careful precision.
Rhodes steps farther in. “We won’t stay and bother you.
We just happened to be in the neighborhood and wanted to say hi.
And I”—he winks at me, sending my pulse fluttering—“wanted to see what kind of magic you were pulling off in your spare time.” A big shoulder lifts and drops in a shrug.
“Besides tackling my Laundry Hell and wrangling Demon Kittens.”
“She can stay if she wants to,” I say quickly. Too quickly. Because he’s been in my booth for all of thirty seconds…and I don’t want him to leave. Not just yet. Then, because his eyebrows lift slightly in surprise, I add, “If you want her too, that is.”
“Are you sure? It’s your day off.”
I shrug, affect casual. “I kind of like the kid.”
And you.
But thankfully I don’t say the quiet part out loud.
Rhodes chuckles, jerks his chin toward Chloe. She’s already tugged my folding chair to the table and is arranging pieces of scrap fabric with careful precision. “I think she likes you too.”
I smile.
Rhodes lingers.
Then, apparently giving up on the notion of a quick fly by visit, he moves behind the table and straightens the towels that Chloe looked through.
“Thanks.”
He shrugs. “I have many skills.”
“Yeah?” I tease. “Do they include more than skating and shooting and leaving laundry baskets of clean clothes around?”
“Okay, that’s rude.”
“And I know kitten wrangling isn’t in your skill set.”
“Only because those aren’t kittens I adopted—they’re tiny demons.”
“Who’s rude now?”
“They’re not demons, Daddy. They’re kitty cats,” Chloe chimes in.
His lips twitch. “Fine. So I’m not an expert kitten handler, but I can stand here and look intimidating.”
My brows lift in question.
“In case anyone tries to steal your stuff,” he explains.
I snort.
“You know,” an older woman says, making me jump and whip around. She winks at me then starts browsing the blankets. “Having an attractive man in your booth is a very effective sales strategy.”
Rhodes grins. “See? I’m useful already.”
Laughter bubbles up in my chest, but then I’m helping the woman and Rhodes is helping another customer with a blanket that’s clipped up in the back of the booth.
Over the next hour, I sell a few more blankets and several sets of towels and a couple of table runners and lots of potholders, and in between all of that I answer Chloe’s thousand questions.
When will I learn how to sew straight?
Why does some fabric come in squares?
Who decides what colors flowers should be?
Can cats use blankets?
Would Pear like one with fish on it?
Maybe it should be annoying.
Instead, it’s…nice.
Nice watching Chloe beam when I let her help me check out customers.
Nice watching Rhodes fold towels with absurd precision and keeping an eye on my booth.
Nice…feeling like I’m not alone for a change.
But by late afternoon, Chloe is fading.
She lasts another ten minutes before curling up on a stack of folded blankets in the back of the booth and passing out cold.
The remainder of my time passes quickly and Rhodes stays to help me break down.
I load the bins. He carries them to my car and stacks them in the trunk.
And something that usually takes me more than an hour is finished in less than half that time.
When he tosses the tent over his shoulder (it should be noted he does this like it weighs nothing…and maybe it’s demonstrating another of his skills—that being using those muscles of his to my benefit), I carry Chloe.
He stashes the tent in my car, shuts the hatch, and turns.
My breath catches.
Because we’re closer than I realized.
Close enough that I can see the faint stubble along his jaw, that I catch the clean, spicy scent of him in the air, that I can feel the heat of his body.
Close…just not close enough.
“I should get her home,” he says quietly and I jerk myself out of my thoughts, carefully transfer her into his arms.
“Of course. Thanks for your help.”
His gaze holds mine. “You make really beautiful blankets, Finn. I hope you know that.”
“I—” My heart stutters and, oddly, I feel like crying. “Thanks.”
He smiles, reaches out a hand as though he’s going to touch me. Then he freezes, wraps it around Chloe’s back. “See you back at the house?”
I nod and he turns, walks away.
I stand there, watching him go for far longer than I should.
Then I force myself to get into my car.
Because this—whatever this is—
It’s not something I should get used to having.
To wanting.
To needing.