Chapter 26
POPPY
By the time we get back to the house after wandering the village with our hot chocolate, my knees and my hips are stiff and sore, and I can’t help but limp as we walk through the front door.
Jett eyes me as I flop onto the bench by the door to take off my shoes, a wrinkle formed between his brows.
“Are you okay?” He asks.
I school my features to hide the discomfort I’m in.
“I’m fine.” I’ve been saying that a lot recently. It’s easier than explaining how I really feel, than trying to make someone understand how I struggle. I pull off my winter boots, preparing myself to stand again. “Skiing really does a number on the joints, though.”
I rub my knees with the heels of my hands.
“Come on.” Jett reaches out a hand to help me stand, and although I normally don’t ask for help, I’m grateful for it.
Because he just offers without fanfare, without the need for recognition, or thanks. He’s been doing that ever since we started this whole thing. Quietly offering me his steady support.
“I know just what you need.”
I follow him down the hall, his hand not leaving mine until we reach my room.
He only drops it as he wanders into the ensuite and turns the handle on the bathtub. He feels the water, checking the temperature, and I watch him silently as he scoops out Epsom salts from the jar on the side and dumps them in.
“This will help.” He sets the jar back down, wipes his hands off on a hand towel, and then makes to leave.
“Thanks,” I say, even though there’s a tiny voice screaming from the back of my mind that I should ask him to stay. To take off his clothes and sink into the steaming water with me. To put his hands on my body like he did last night.
To finish what we started.
But my limbs are heavy with exhaustion, so I don’t, and he leaves me alone in the bathroom.
I peel off my sweaty leggings and pull back the top half of my hair up with a claw clip to keep it off my face. And then I dip one foot into the water, followed by the other.
My body melts, all my aches and pains dissipating as I allow myself to become submerged, and then to float. I let the warmth seep into me, each of my joints loosening.
God, it feels good.
I soak in the tub until my fingers are pruney, although I make sure to get out before the water turns cold and seizes me up again. Jett was right, that was just what I needed, and despite still being spent from the day, I feel better.
Finding some sweatpants, another one of my cozy knitted sweaters, and some wool socks, I get dressed and head out to where Jett is sitting on the couch, the fire casting a soft glow in the living room.
He must have showered while I was in the bath, because I can smell his fresh shampoo.
It smells like evergreens and warm spices.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I say, landing on the couch next to him with a thud. “Even if I didn’t have arthritis, I think I’d still be wiped. And my knees. My knees officially hate me.”
“Daily training,” he answers. “Even at that, I’m not immune to injury. My ACL tear last season was a wakeup call, for sure.”
I remember that. The day it happened, and the fallout after the fact.
Jett was around Heartwood a lot more that winter than usual. He stayed with Grady and Spencer after his surgery, and while he was doing rehab. He’d been a shell of himself.
“But you bounced back,” I point out. “And here you are, on your way to another World Cup.”
“You had a lot to do with that.”
My face must give away my shock and confusion, because Jett searches for the right words to explain.
“You’ve always inspired me, Pops. I see how hard you work at the café, how you show up for everyone around you even when you’re not at your best.”
My heart flatlines for a couple of beats, because all this time I didn’t think Jett noticed me at all. And somehow, he’s seen a side of me that no one else has.
“After my injury last year, I didn’t know how I could get back to where I was. But I saw you, pushing through every day, not letting anything hold you back.”
“I’m not doing anything astronomical,” I say with a soft chuckle. “I’m just keeping the café running and living my life. It’s not like I’m competing at the highest level of my sport or anything.”
“Running the café isn’t easy, not with the amount you have to juggle,” Jett adds. “Do you ever take a break? To do something fun?”
“Yeah, of course. I take breaks,” I lie. Even on my days off, I’m balancing budgets and going over spreadsheets.
Come to think of it, I can’t remember the last time I truly had a day off before all of this. And although I was hesitant about going skiing today, I’m glad I did. “But the café is fun for me. I love what I do.”
Though I also know that I could have a little more balance in my life. Not just eat, sleep, and breathe Thistle + Thorne.
“I know,” Jett says, and we settle into a comfortable silence, each of us sitting at opposite ends of the couch, our socked feet almost touching in the middle. “Hey, would you teach me how to knit?”
I blink a few times, unsure if I heard him right, but my gaze catches on my canvas knitting bag on the ottoman. Jett must have brought it out from my room while I was in the bath.
“You want to learn how to knit,” I repeat, so he can hear how it sounds.
It’s not crazy, obviously anyone can enjoy knitting. But Jett is the last person I would have thought would show any interest in it.
“Yeah, I mean, I taught you how to ski today,” he answers with a shrug. “I want to learn to knit.”
I let out a giggle, and Jett nudges my leg.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“No, nothing,” I reply, schooling my features and pushing my laughter down. “Of course I’ll teach you.”
I reach for my bag, and pull out my current project, another sweater for Cordelia, who’s been curled up and fast asleep between Jett and I. Then, I find a spare ball of cotton yarn, and some needles Jett can use.
He inches closer to me, careful not to disturb Cordelia, but still close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off him, and I can hear each puff of breath from his nose as I show him what to do.
I demonstrate how to cast on the stitches, how to insert the needle and loop the working yarn over it at the back, how to keep his tension consistent so all the stitches stay even. He watches intently, keen to remember every step, and then I let him try it.
I start him off by making a cotton dish cloth. It’s how I started knitting.
He moves back to his side of the couch to work on it, and I do the same, adding another row to Cordelia’s sweater. Occasionally, I hear Jett mutter something under his breath that I can’t quite make out.
I quickly cast a glance up at him over my work to find him focused on his knitting, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He mutters something else that sounds a little bit like fuck this.
“How’s it going over there?” I ask, a teasing lilt in my voice.
“I don’t know,” he says. “How does this look?”
Jett holds up the first half of his dishcloth, and I’m impressed he managed to do so much already. But I hold in my laughter as I take in the uneven edges, the lumpy stitches. Each row looks like a different length.
Eventually, I can’t hold it in anymore, and a giggle escapes.
It triggers a booming, belly laugh from Jett that rumbles through me. I haven’t heard him laugh like that the entire time we’ve been together, and it’s addicting. It fills me with a bubbling joy that comes spilling out, until we’re both doubled over and wiping tears from our eyes.
“It’s fucking terrible,” Jett manages through gasping breaths.
“No!” I cry, when I manage to get control of myself. “Remember what you told me, you’re just new at this. Just keep at it.”
There’s a permanent smile on my face as we both go back to it, knitting in relative silence other than the few moments where Jett asks me a question or shows me a mistake and I instruct him how to fix it.
It’s a perfect way to end the day, contentment filling me up and expanding within me, settling over me like quiet snowfall.
At some point, my knitting needles fall to my lap, and my eyes close as I drift off to sleep.
The only reason I’m aware of it, is because I stirred enough to notice when Jett took my knitting out of my hands and covered me with his heavy fur blanket.