Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
The House
“There’s a very good chance your father is going to fly out here and castrate me,” Archer said the moment he walked into the bedroom I was using as my sewing den.
“Doubt that. My mother wants grandchildren. She won’t let him.” I looked up from the machine.
“I can’t remember the last time I was grilled by a father,” he grumbled. “It was impressive, actually. I have to give your old man some props. I should have taken notes.”
“Notes?” I asked. “About what?”
“The questions he asked me. I’ll be asking Lenni’s boyfriend those questions in twenty years.”
“Might be a little sooner than that,” I said with a wry smile.
“Nope. She’s not dating until she’s thirty. I’m putting my foot down.”
“Okay,” I said, turning my attention back to my sewing project.
“Okay? No push back? No telling me I’m being overly protective?”
“A thirteen-year-old boy drew her a bouquet of flowers on a bakery napkin.” I smirked at him. “What was that about her being thirty before she had a boyfriend?”
Archer groaned. “Yeah, but we’re in complete control of that. It’s just a childhood crush and they don’t even live in the same state. We’re having boys. No more girls. Girls are terrifying to raise.”
“Okay.”
“No, don’t do that. You just used the same tone that tells me you know something more than I do and you’re pretending to let me have my way, but really, you know better.”
“You do know it’s the sperm that chooses the sex of the baby, right?” I quipped.
Archer looked down at his crotch. “Boys, we gotta have a talk . . .”
“And if I recall, you were something of a young stud. Weren’t you, Bandit?”
He looked up at me and blinked. “I’m screwed either way, aren’t I?”
“Well, technically I’m the one who’ll be screwed.” I flashed a grin. “But I think we can sort it out.”
The bedroom door hadn’t been closed all the way and Mildred’s snout appeared before her long noodle body. Lenni was right behind her.
“Hey.” She studied Archer. “You don’t look so good. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he wheezed, finally collapsing onto the bed.
“Don’t worry about him,” I said. “He’s still a bit rattled from the talk he had with my father.”
“Rattled? I’m not rattled.”
“Right,” Lenni said with an arch of her brow. “I just got off the phone with Wyn’s dad.”
Archer sat up and peered at his daughter. “Why did he call you?”
She blinked. “For a character reference. About you.”
Archer flopped down onto the bed again. Mildred yipped. Lenni scooped her up and put her on the bed. She went to his side and snuggled against him.
“And Mildred just became Archer’s emotional support animal,” I said.
“How did he get your phone number?” Archer asked.
“Wyn gave it to him,” she said. “They’re coming out this summer, you know. Mr. Larsen said he’ll take me fishing.”
I waved her over. “Come see my progress.”
Lenni came to stand next to the sewing machine. I snipped the thread and held it up.
“It looks great,” she said.
“Show me,” Archer stated.
I turned it toward him.
“Is that—”
“My old Aerosmith T-shirt,” I said with a nod. “It was one wash away from completely falling apart, but I didn’t want to throw it away. Now it’s been immortalized.”
“That’s pretty rad,” Archer said.
“Rad,” I agreed with a laugh.
“God, you guys are so old!” Lenni said.
“Hey,” I remarked.
“Sorry, Wyn,” Lenni said. “You’re dating Archer. You’re now like an adult and stuff.”
“Can we still hang out?” I asked. “Or are you not allowed to be seen with me anymore?”
“We can still hang out.”
I sat in the bookstore and wrapped books that needed to be shipped out.
“Are you excited for this weekend?” Poet asked.
“Very,” I admitted, pulling off a piece of tape. “I feel like you should be paying me for this.”
“I’m paying you in friendship,” she said. “And baked goods from Sweet Teeth.”
“You know what? I’ll take it.” I grinned.
“And you’re really okay if I take Lenni shopping for her dress?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? It’s your wedding. You should have her dressed the way you want.” I smiled. “Speaking of excited. Are you excited?”
“I am,” she admitted. “Only . . .”
“Only what?”
“I kind of already feel married. So, the wedding feels like a party with fancy clothes and good food.”
“I’m pretty sure you were married the moment you and Brooks met,” I said with a chuckle.
She beamed and rested a hand on her lower belly that was now showing. “Crazy, isn’t it?”
“Crazy,” I agreed. “My father had a talk with Archer yesterday.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked with a snort. “How’d that go?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I mean, Archer came in all dramatic about it. But I don’t think he was really put off by it.”
“Of course he’s not put off by it. You really think that man is gonna get scared off by your dad?”
“No. I don’t think that.” I paused.
“What?”
“Dad did ask me what I planned on doing for money,” I said. “Since, you know, I’m not really a nanny anymore.”
“Any thoughts on that?”
“I’m tossing over some ideas,” I said. “Nothing concrete yet.”
The door to the bookstore opened and a gaggle of women in scarves and gloves trampled in.
“Oh my God, this place is adorable!” one of the women exclaimed.
Poet rose from her spot on the couch. “Thank you. What can I help you find today?”
I watched my formally timid friend take charge and aid the women in finding their next read. Amusement stamped my lips when I saw them stockpile items at the register. Pens. Notebooks. Bookmarks. Stickers.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Poet said, “how did you find the store?”
“A friend of mine,” one of the women said, but then her gaze drifted to me. She scanned me from head to toe and then her eyes locked onto my bag. “That.”
I blinked. “That what?”
“I want that,” she said. “It’s adorable! Where can I buy one?”
“Oh, uh, actually, I made it,” I said. “It’s one of a kind.”
“You’re not serious,” the woman said.
I laughed. “I am.”
“Ladies,” she called to her friends. “Look at this bag!”
Her friends were effusive in their praise.
“You’re really not selling it?” one of the women asked with a pout.
“Actually, she is,” Poet announced.
I whipped my head around to look at her. “Poet?”
Poet nodded. “Yeah, she’s actually opening her own line. They’ll all be one-of-a-kind bags, upcycled from thrift store quilts and other vintage fabrics.”
They squealed in excitement.
“Do you have a card?” a woman asked.
“Not yet,” Poet said because I was still in shock. “But here’s my card. Email me and we’ll get your name on a list for when she’s ready to launch her site.”
Poet rang up the women and then made sure their bookstore bags had her business cards in them.
“How much are the bags going to be?” a woman asked as she took her purchase.
“They’ll vary in price,” Poet explained with a smile. “But they’ll be worth every penny.”
“Oh, I can’t wait!” the woman said.
When they left, I shot up from the couch. “Are you insane? I can’t make bags for sale!”
“Why not?” she asked in confusion. “You were literally just wondering what you could do to make money. Well, this seems like a pretty good idea to me. Tanya loved the bag. And now complete strangers loved it too. And if you’re going to carry it around, it’s basically free advertising.”
“But, how would I—I don’t even know how to—”
“I’ll help you,” Poet promised. “And Salem can help with marketing. And Hadley? Well, Hadley knows everyone in this town, including the organizers of town festivals. You could even have a booth at one of them. Maybe in the spring!”
“You’ve got it all figured out, do you?” I demanded. “I don’t even have a company name.”
She rolled her eyes. “Wynner Bags. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I muttered.
My phone rang.
“Hold your horses,” I stated as I dug around in my purse for my phone. I frowned when I saw the school’s number flash across my screen.
I prayed Lenni hadn’t gotten suspended again.
“Hello?”
“Is this Wyn Larsen? Lenni Murphy’s emergency contact?”
My heart drummed in my ears. “Yes.”
“Lenni’s had an accident . . .”