Chapter Eighteen
Breakfast at the tavern is served buffet style, on long wooden tables decorated with pumpkins and gourds and set with carafes
of steaming coffee. Piper’s first decision of the day is choosing between farm-fresh scrambled eggs or steel-cut oats topped
with dried cranberries and brown sugar.
Beside her, Maggie pours maple syrup over pumpkin bread French toast and fills two mugs with coffee. Together, they find a
table near the windows. The only other knitters in the room are Kalli and Laurel, who briefly look up from their conversation
to give them a wave. The rest of the restaurant seem to be a mix of tourists and locals. Two guys from the bachelor party
walk in, one she recognizes as Cole’s cousin. She thinks about her conversation with Cole in the lobby, and she’s still resolved
to be more appreciate of her mother today.
She finds the workshop schedule on her phone and turns her screen to Maggie. “So . . . which of these are we registered for?”
Maggie had told her the Saturday agenda yesterday when she wasn’t paying attention.
“Piper, I just have one last thing to say on the topic of Ethan. Try not to overthink things. I’m certain you don’t have anything
to worry about.”
“Mom,” Piper says, reaching across the table and touching the back of her hand. “I’m not going to let this ruin our weekend.” She turns to the course listing on her phone and says, “I think I want to do the Shetland Hap workshop.”
She looks up and finds a man approaching the table. She doesn’t recognize him, but he’s looking at Maggie as if he knows her.
He’s tall with auburn hair and broad shoulders and thick brows. He’s handsome.
“Good morning, Maggie,” he says, his deep voice accented in a local Pennsylvania dialect she’s starting to recognize. Cole
speaks the same way. “I hope you’re still up for the challenge.”
Her mother smiles tensely. Piper is confused. When it becomes clear Maggie’s not going to introduce her, she stands up and
offers her hand.
“Hi—I’m Piper. Maggie’s daughter,” she says. Before he can reply, her mother jumps up too.
“Actually . . . Piper and I have a full day of workshops,” Maggie says. “Sorry about that. I really thought we were just making
conversation.” She gives a forced laugh.
“So you’re welching on the bet?” the man says.
She looks at her mother, who’s now red in the face. Piper is so confused.
“How do you two know each other?”
“We met last night before dinner,” Maggie says quickly.
“Your mom seems to think knitting is more challenging than outdoor survival skills,” Aidan says. “And we bet on it.”
“I see,” Piper says. And she does: Her mother has a little flirtation going on. Good for her!
It’s only recently, in the past few years, that Piper has given some thought to Maggie’s love life—or lack thereof.
Growing up, it seemed normal. Preferable.
It was the two of them against the world.
But now that she herself is older than Maggie was when she became a mother, things are beginning to look different.
Sometimes, she feels responsible for her mother’s happiness.
In a way, she has always felt that way. Maggie, to her credit, never acted like a martyr.
Still, Piper’s always been aware of Maggie’s selflessness.
Even now, first thing this morning, Maggie is worried about Piper’s relationship.
She wants to talk about Ethan, to fix it for her.
But it’s not her problem to fix. She needs to start thinking about herself.
And this attractive man is a good place to start.
“So what’s the bet?” Piper repeats. When Maggie stays silent, Aidan fills her in on their conversation from last night. “So
we join you on one of your bushcraft outings, then you take a knitting class?”
“That’s right,” he says. “I’m Aidan, by the way.”
His handshake is strong.
“It was just talk—”
“Mom, a bet’s a bet,” Piper says, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Aidan.
“I’m not missing the lace class starting in a half hour,” Maggie says. Then, to Aidan, “When’s this thing happening?”
“Not until the afternoon. Unless you want to head out with us right now for compass training. I wouldn’t want to be accused
of having an unfair advantage after you two lose.”
“Unfair advantage? I learned how to use a compass in fourth grade,” Maggie says.
“The afternoon it is, then,” says Aidan.
When he’s gone, Piper asks, “Did you really learn to use a compass in fourth grade?”
“It was the eighties. I don’t remember a thing, but I think there’s an app for that now anyway.”
Piper smiles. That’s the spirit. Now the weekend is starting to feel like an adventure. Like the two of them against the world.
Like it’s always been.
Estonian lace is a high-level craft. Maggie once read that an Estonian lace shawl is so delicate, even a large one can fit through the circumference of a wedding ring.
But instead of focusing on the workshop, she’s still buzzing from the unexpected breakfast encounter with Aidan Danby. Waking
up that morning, she doubted he even remembered the conversation, or gave it a second thought. She was fully prepared, if
she happened to run into him in the lobby, to simply give a friendly hello and leave it at that.
“Welcome, brave few who dare to tackle this centuries-old knitting tradition,” Belinda says. They’re only a group of six,
including Kalli, Laurel, and Sheila. Each place at the table is set with a skein of delicate white fingering-weight yarn,
a pair of thin bamboo knitting needles in size seven, stitch markers, tapestry needles, a notepad, and a printout of patterns.
A finished lace shawl is displayed in the center of the table.
Today Belinda’s wearing a turtleneck with intricate colorwork and blue jeans decorated with hand-embroidered hems. “Estonian
lace is part of a historical craft tradition, with symbolic meaning often tied to the patterns.”
Maggie loves that idea. Beside her, Piper is already taking notes. Maggie watches her scratch away at the notepad, her hair
falling forward and obscuring her face. She knows her so well, but her daughter can still surprise her. What on earth made
her so enthusiastic about the bushcraft challenge?
Belinda talks about the qualities of fingering-weight yarn and why it’s the right choice for this particular knitting style.
Maggie uses one of the notepads to write that down, trying to keep herself in the moment.
“First we’re going to go over some key techniques,” Belinda says, holding up a shawl. “Most of what you’re looking at here
can be accomplished with yarnovers and basic decreases.”
Belinda uses a swatch to demonstrate stitches. Maggie leans over and whispers to Piper, “You surprised me at breakfast.”
“How so?”
“Your enthusiasm for the bushcraft bet,” she says.
Piper, her eyes on Belinda’s demonstration, says quietly, “Mom, that guy clearly likes you.”
Maggie shakes her head. No way. She didn’t get the sense that Aidan was hitting on her. Maybe he’s bored with the family weekend,
or he wants to mix things up for his son so he stays more involved. He’d practically said so, right?
“You’ve got the wrong idea,” Maggie says.
“I don’t think I do. And, for the record, good for you.”
Maggie frowns. “I’m not here to hook up with some guy. This is our weekend.”
Piper works her needles confidently, barely looking over. “Mom, stop putting so much pressure on that, okay? We’re here together.
It’s our weekend, sure. But that doesn’t mean you can’t meet someone.”
Maggie doesn’t know where this attitude is coming from. She decides that the only explanation is Piper would rather play matchmaker
for her than deal with her own relationship uncertainty. Maggie would never say this to her, of course. If Piper doesn’t want
to talk about Ethan any more this weekend, that’s just fine with her.
Maybe the bushcraft bet is the distraction they both need.