Chapter Nineteen
When Belinda teaches a knitting class, the rest of the world recedes. She falls into a state of flow that’s like the meditative
act of knitting itself. She needs that flow this morning, but halfway through Estonian Lace, she’s still waiting for it. The
conversation with Max last night was troubling. Sure, they’d discussed accepting the offer on the inn. It was certainly worth
considering. But she never viewed it as a foregone conclusion. Now Max is acting like there’s nothing left to talk about. She never should
have entertained the idea for even a second. But how could she have known Max would dig in like this?
“Knit into the same stitch five times, leaving loops on the needle, and purl them together on the next row. This creates a
‘nupp,’ a key Estonian feature that adds texture.”
Of course, the financial aspect is seductive. But she knows that she’d regret it the second she let the inn go. Max would
too. She truly believes that.
“Remember to relax the tension in your yarn.”
Maggie Hodges, sitting next to her daughter at the table, is busy working her needles, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Last night, upset about selling the inn, Belinda experienced an unexpected urge to confide in her guest. She’s glad she resisted; knitters are there to relax, not give her emotional support.
No, that should be her husband’s job. But sometimes that’s just not possible.
So Belinda keeps a lot of emotions to herself.
There’s even a part of her history with Max that she’d never told anyone about, not even her closest friends.
Belinda and Max had been married eight years when he had an affair with a copy editor at the newspaper. And when Belinda found
out, she did what a lot of women do: she blamed herself. Running the knit shop required long hours. Sometimes, she felt like
she spent more time at the store than in her own apartment. Meanwhile, Max was constantly on the move, running on adrenaline
chasing the next big story that would break out his career. It was just enough of a chasm for someone else to step into.
When Belinda confronted him, he didn’t deny it. In fact, he admitted having feelings for the woman.
“Are you in love with her?” It was the most painful question she’d ever asked.
“No,” he said. “I’m not. But I’m in love with how much she cares about the things I care about.” Belinda understood what he
meant—sort of. And she’d heard once that infidelity has less to do with sex and more with other needs not being met. So she
tried to think of something they could undertake together, something to bring them closer and keep them that way.
They talked and talked but as long he worked at the same place as the woman he’d cheated with, they couldn’t move past it.
His only other job offer came from a small paper an hour north in rural Bucks County. They drove out for a visit, took a detour
to New Hope, and the rest, as they say, is history.
She checks her phone, mindful of the time. This particular workshop tends to go over, but she wants to keep things on track
so everyone has some free time to explore the town in the afternoon.
“Great job, everyone. As you continue to practice, don’t be intimidated by mistakes. There’s a reason stitches can be unraveled! As you continue practicing your technique, embrace the imperfections. Lace is as much about the process as the result.”
The door opens, and Max walks in and with him, the delicious aroma of chocolate. It’s the first she’s seen of him today; Still
a bit stung from the conversation last night, she left their bedroom before he was awake this morning.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says. “Genevieve’s Hot Chocolate Cart is in the lobby.” That’s when Belinda hears the distinctive
tinny bell of the infamous traveling treat-mobile. Genevieve, wife of the local candymaker, has a roving hot chocolate van
where locals line up, food-truck style, on the street or she brings a rolling cart by appointment. If Genevieve is in the
lobby, it’s not a coincidence; it’s Max’s way of apologizing for last night ending in tension. Or maybe it’s to acknowledge
her sadness over selling the inn, to show that he cares.
Max is great with grand gestures. It’s the subtler, everyday relationship upkeep that gets tricky for him.
Once the room empties out, she turns to him and says, “You shouldn’t interrupt a workshop.”
“Then you shouldn’t have left without saying a word this morning.”
He’s right. That wasn’t a relationship-positive thing to do. But she’d felt hurt.
“I think this decision should be more of a conversation,” she says.
He holds up his phone, showing her an email, an update to the offer on the inn. It’s more money. It’s a debate-ender. So she says nothing.
“This is our retirement, Belinda. I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine a more important priority.”
Maybe he’s right again. Maybe sentimentality is getting the best of her. She’s gotten set in her ways.
Still, when he leans forward to kiss her on the cheek, she feels her body stiffen.
Really, she can’t blame herself for not giving more pushback to the idea of selling when he first brought it up a few months
ago. They’d been having such a carefree summer. After years of ups and downs, they’d finally settled into a relationship that
was the perfect balance of comfort and a lingering spark of passion. Each year that passed gave them more history, more shared
memories. So of course, when he brought up the sale and the move, her first impulse was to say yes. To be agreeable.
Agreeability has always been her impulse. And now she’s wondering if it’s time to change.
Aidan and Cole stand on the riverbank, the morning sun casting a golden glow through the canopy of vibrant foliage. Crimson,
amber, and fiery orange leaves reflect off the water’s surface, creating a patchwork of color. The air is cool, with a mist
wrapping the landscape in an ethereal haze. Aidan can barely see the rest of the guys searching for their own fishing spots
nearby.
He’s thankful for a quiet few moments with Cole. Last night, he heard from Ritchie that Cole never joined up with the other
guys, so he stopped by Cole’s room to say good-night but he didn’t answer the knock. It seemed early for Cole to be going
to sleep, but since he’d been on edge all day, maybe that was exactly what he’d needed.
When Aidan woke up that morning, his first thoughts were about the conversation with Barclay at the bar.
He’s now concluded that there isn’t anything strange about Cole not confiding in him; he’s a private person.
Aidan understands, because he’s the same way.
That’s why it’s been so challenging for him to get serious with any woman.
By definition, it would involve going public with his son and the Cavanaughs.
And he couldn’t do it. Now Barclay’s telling him that somehow contributed to Cole’s bad relationship judgment?
He’s not sure he buys it. And so, although he promised Barclay he wouldn’t betray their conversation, he feels compelled to say something.
Cole’s first cast sends the line arcing gracefully over the water, landing softly in a pool where the current slows. Aidan
follows with his own line, and they wait for any sign of movement. The river’s stillness is interrupted only by the distant
call of a heron and the rustle of a squirrel foraging in the underbrush.
“So, are you gonna tell me what’s going on between you and your cousin?” he says.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Cole says.
“That’s not how it seemed yesterday. Why didn’t you say something about having a beef with him heading into this weekend?”
“Because it’s not ‘beef.’ He’s just pissing me off. I showed up this weekend for you. And Grandpa. But no, I don’t want to
team up with him for these activities.”
He wants to be supportive of Cole. If he can’t talk to him about the problem, he can at least do something about it.
“Well, here’s the good news: We won’t be partnering with Ritchie and Scott today.”
“Thank you.”
“Instead, I lined up some new partners for the afternoon. To mix things up a little.”
Cole looks skeptical. “You did? Who?”
“Remember the woman who was upset with our table at lunch yesterday?”
“You mean, the one who freaked out for absolutely no reason?”
“Yeah. That one. Anyway, I ended up talking to her at the bar last night. She actually believes that knitting is harder than outdoor survival skills. So I challenged her to build the fort with us.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Cole says.
“Nope. Not kidding. Totally serious. We have a bet. Fifty bucks.”
Cole shakes his head. “You can’t just invite a random person along.”
“They’re not random. They’re staying at the inn.”
“Who’s they?”
“She’s here with her daughter.”
Somewhere in the distance, Barclay and Ritchie hoot and holler over a catch.
“Does Grandpa know about this?”
“Not yet. But you know your grandfather; he loves to mix things up.”
Cole narrows his eyes. “Dad. You better not be trying to set me up with someone. Because I will save you a lot of trouble
and tell you that is not happening.” Then, something seems to dawn on him. He looks at him closely. “Unless . . . you’re setting
yourself up. And you need me as your wingman. In which case—no problem.”
“Absolutely not,” Aidan says, starting to get annoyed. He knows Cole is probably just teasing him, but it makes him uncomfortable.
Even if he did find Maggie Hodges attractive—which, objectively she is—he wouldn’t be so tasteless as to pick up a woman at
his nephew’s bachelor party. He has discipline when it comes to his personal life. Unlike his son, apparently.
He feels a tug on his line and gives a subtle pull to set the hook. Once he reels the fish from the water, he sees it’s a brown trout, its shimmering body a blur of golden-hued spots and stripes. Aidan admires it for half a minute before gently releasing it back into the river.
“No one’s setting anyone up,” he says. “I just thought a friendly competition would lighten the mood.”
Cole raises an eyebrow. “Sure, Dad. Let me know if Grandpa buys that.”