Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Rowan
B y early Saturday afternoon, I still couldn’t get the intense look on Chance’s face out of my mind. The one when he’d said, with conviction, that he wanted to be in the baby’s life.
I’d lain awake for hours again last night, my brain chugging overtime, sorting through all the decisions to be made. Feeling alone. Overwhelmed. And yes, remembering Chance’s expression. Trying to push it aside. Trying not to be affected by it. It wasn’t just about how damn appealing he was to me on a physical basis or how handsome. A man who felt fiercely responsible for a baby he’d helped conceive? That was sexy.
Would his sense of responsibility infringe on my ability to parent? That remained to be seen. We hadn’t begun to discuss how to make it work. I didn’t feel threatened by his interest. To me, that was a sign of a caring, accountable man.
We’d created this baby together, and I was hopeful that we could work out an agreement with the baby’s best interests at heart. My gut told me Chance was a reasonable man. I’d give him the benefit of the doubt until he gave me reason to think otherwise.
I’d come to Dragonfly Lake to focus on my needs, to reconnect with myself, so today I was trying to do exactly that while distracting myself from my thoughts. I’d come downtown to explore the shops.
I focused on my glorious surroundings: racks of gorgeous handmade paper, shelves teeming with beautiful notebooks, an entire wall of colorful pens… The Lily Pad stationery store was just as dangerous as I’d imagined all those weeks I’d refused to let myself stop in.
I might not have much money for a treat, but my office-supply-loving heart got a thrill just browsing this unique store. And yes, I was allowing myself to spend a little. While some girls’ retail therapy was a splurge on a new pair of shoes, my happy place was right here in this charming shop.
I planned to keep a pregnancy journal, and I’d need notebooks to organize the gargantuan changes in my life. And pens… You could never have too many pens. I was overdue to restock. When you spent your days devising distractions to keep a dementia patient calm and your nights half-listening for said patient to wander the house, pens and notebooks became irrelevant and forgotten.
I took my selections to the checkout counter and handed them over to the thirty-something strawberry blonde with porcelain skin. If I wasn’t mistaken, she also worked at the inn. I’d seen her at the front desk some evenings when I came in from work, said hello a few times.
“These pens are the best,” she said as she rang up each of them.
“I hope so. The brand is new to me.”
“You’re Rowan, right?”
“That’s right,” I said.
“I’m friends with Chloe. My name is Magnolia.”
“Nice to meet you. You work at the Honeysuckle Inn too?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you ever sleep?” I asked.
She laughed. “Not very well. I heard you might be looking for a place to live?”
“Yes,” I said. “Do you know of something?”
“Possibly someone looking for a roommate.”
“Oh.” I tried to keep my disappointment out of my voice, but a roommate wouldn’t work. Not unless they were open to sharing space with a newborn.
“I heard Harper Ellison is moving in with her fiancé, so her roomie, Dakota, might be looking for someone. They have an apartment here on the square, above Earthly Charm.”
“Great location,” I said noncommittally. It sounded perfect…except for the roommate. I didn’t know Dakota, but even if she was a baby lover with the patience of a saint, I’d never feel comfortable bringing a baby home with a roommate.
“Would you like me to pass her your contact info?”
“Not yet,” I hedged. Think fast . “I’m hoping for no roommates. I’m up in the middle of the night a lot and would hate to bother someone.”
Magnolia laughed again. “Too bad I don’t have room for you in my apartment. We could be insomniacs together.”
“Right,” I said with a smile. “Do you live nearby?”
“Right upstairs.” She gestured above us. “But it’s tiny. Dotty, who owns this shop, uses part of the upstairs for storage.”
“Well, at least you don’t have a long commute.”
“Those are hard to find in Dragonfly Lake.”
Once she’d checked me out, I told her I’d let her know if I changed my mind about roommates and Dakota. “Thanks for telling me about her.”
“Of course. Enjoy your goodies.”
There were definitely good parts of living in a small town, I thought as I exited the Lily Pad. The people were friendly, and even strangers acted more like neighbors. I’d been fairly isolated for two years, so I treasured the connections.
There was also a downside of small-town living. My pregnancy wouldn’t stay secret or anonymous for long. If Chance meant what he’d said, our hookup would become common knowledge. I’d either need to prepare myself for that or get the hell out of town. I was leaning hard toward preparing for that, because as uncomfortable as it might be at first, I was falling for this place.
I took a right on the sidewalk and passed Lake Girl Boutique next. The clothes in the window were cute, but I wasn’t in clothes shopping mode.
I crossed to the next block, inhaling the sweet aromas coming from Sugar and fighting off temptation. I made it past the door like a champion and kept walking to the next shop—and froze in my tracks as I caught sight of…a llama? I thought it was a llama, but my llama identification skills were untried.
Whatever it was, it was coming straight toward me on the sidewalk, looking like it was on a mission. The door to the next store was within reach, so I yanked it open and hurried inside as the furry white beast got closer.
“Oh, there goes Esmerelda,” a voice said from somewhere inside the store.
I looked out the front window as the llama pranced past. With my mouth hanging open, I whipped my head around to find the woman who’d spoken.
“Good afternoon,” the older woman with blond-highlighted hair said as she walked toward me. “I see you nearly met our local llama on the run.”
“You know the llama?” I asked, glancing out the window again but seeing no trace of the animal now.
“Everyone knows Esmerelda. She belongs to Dr. Holloway, the veterinarian.” She laughed and shook her head. “I guarantee you she’s camped out in front of the bakery by now, waiting for that door to open. It’s the rainbow-sprinkled sugar cookies she’s after.”
“That’s relatable,” I said, still wrapping my head around coming face-to-face with a llama in a small town.
“Welcome to Fat Cat Yarn. I’m Loretta.”
“Rowan,” I said, finally taking in the racks and racks of yarn in every color. “Wow.”
The outer walls were floor-to-ceiling cubbies of yarn forming a rainbow of hues from one end to the other. The interior had more racks that were shoulder-high, filled by still more colors and types of yarn.
As I skimmed my gaze over the expanse of variegated skeins on the nearest rack, something brushed against my pants leg, startling me.
“Oh!” I pressed my hand to my heart when I spotted the chunky gray cat who’d sideswiped me on its way past. “Look at you.”
“That’s Purl. She doesn’t mean to be rude, but you caught her between her lunch and her afternoon nap in the window display.”
“Naps are important,” I said, watching the chubby cat waddle to the window and jump up on a cat perch.
“To Purl, naps are everything. Well, and tuna. Are you a knitter, my dear? Crochet?”
“Well…” I glanced around again, the colorful yarn awakening my creativity much in the same way the paper store had. “Calling me a knitter would be an exaggeration.” I stepped down the aisle in her direction, to a section of muted, variegated pastel-toned skeins that screamed baby blankets. “My grandmother taught me, but I never fully mastered it.” I smiled, running my fingers over the soft skeins, my chest aching as I remembered Gram’s infinite patience as she taught me, then sat next to me as I practiced, answering my questions or fixing my mistakes when I made them—and I made a lot of them.
“Oh, how sweet she was able to share that with you. Her legacy was teaching you what she loved?”
“She did love to knit. She had Alzheimer’s, and that’s something it took from her in her last few years. She died in December.”
“That’s heartbreaking,” Loretta said.
I nodded, drawn to a particular yarn with lavender, mint, and cream variations. “She had a closet full of yarn,” I said. “During one of her clearer days, she asked me to donate it all to a local knitting club, so I did. This is so pretty.”
“That makes the softest blankets.”
I picked up a skein, my mind churning. My baby would need a blanket. If Gram were alive and well, she’d knit a special one.
Grief gathered in my throat, and my eyes went teary. I kept my gaze averted, running my fingers over the yarn that was indeed remarkably soft. “I’d like to make a baby blanket, but I’m not sure I could pull it off.” I laughed quietly, mostly to divert myself from crying. Then I added, “I know someone who’s pregnant.”
“I’d be happy to help you. We have knitting groups where we help anyone who needs it.”
I considered the idea. “I need so much help I’d be annoying.”
“Never,” Loretta said. “We were all beginners at some point. Most of us had someone to help us. For me it was my mother.”
“Do any groups meet on weekends or in the evening?”
She tilted her head sympathetically. “I’m afraid not. Our demographics are retirees and a couple young mothers.”
I nodded, disappointed, because the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to knit my baby a blanket. In honor of my grandmother. It would be connecting the past with the future.
“I’ll tell you what though,” Loretta said. “If you’d like to learn, I’ll meet you here any time you want—except Thursday evenings. Thursdays are when the Dragonfly Diamonds meet, and I can’t miss that. I’ll help you with a blanket.”
“Dragonfly Diamonds?”
She chuckled. “A bunch of us ladies like to get together to play a little poker.”
“Good for you,” I said, thinking I’d never met anyone like Loretta. Gram would’ve liked her too.
I made eye contact, hoping she wouldn’t notice the teary remnants. “You’d really sacrifice your time to help me?”
“It wouldn’t be a sacrifice.” Her smile was kind, forming deep crinkles at the corners of her eyes. “It would give me such joy.”
I studied her face, looking for any hint she didn’t mean it, but all I saw was kindness.
“Knitting is good for the soul, Rowan,” she continued. “It’s been shown to lower stress levels and decrease anxiety. I find it therapeutic. It’s soothing, something you can do for the rest of your life. It’d be my pleasure to refresh your grandmother’s gift to you.”
“I can tell you’re passionate about it.”
“Passionate.” She laughed. “Honey, I sank everything I had into opening up this little shop just so I could share it with others, create a gathering place, a community of creative souls who like to keep their hands busy.”
I read the yarn label, not really remembering anything Gram had taught me to look for. “You said this would work for a blanket?”
“That’s a four weight. It’ll be perfect.”
I’d barely had time to imagine a tiny baby in a crib. My tiny baby in a crib in my home, wherever that ended up being. But that’s what I wanted. My baby in my home with a beautiful blanket stitched with love. I nodded. “If you’re serious, I’ll take you up on it.”
Loretta took the skein from me to read it, did some figuring in her head, then said, “You’ll need about four skeins for a baby blanket. You can pick a time whenever you’re ready, and we’ll get you started.”
She took me to the next room, where there was a long table with comfortable-looking chairs around it and containers of scissors and knitting needles scattered on top. The walls were covered with more yarn, needles, scissors, books, and other supplies I couldn’t name.
Once I had the supplies she recommended, I paid at the counter in the front room.
“You just let me know when you settle on a time,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said. “I can’t wait to get started.”
“We’ll have fun.”
We said goodbye, and I walked back outside, darting a glance toward the bakery, scanning for the llama. That’s when I noticed traffic was stopped, a small crowd had gathered on the other side of the street, and a guy was guiding the llama away from the bakery.
This town was something else. I was beginning to think it was something special. Maybe exactly what I needed.
Just today I’d met a pen-loving girl who’d tried to help with my search for a place to live and a kind woman who was willing to help me honor my sweet Gram.
If Loretta could work a miracle, maybe I’d gained a new hobby. A soothing, stress-reducing one. God knows I needed it to keep me from freaking out about being pregnant and worrying about having a baby with a man I barely knew.