4. Sebastian
Sebastian
I stare at the yarn in front of me, which, spread out on the coffee table, is a lot more than I thought it would be. The chenille strands catch the lamplight, creating a maze of rose and cream that makes my head spin.
“Uh.” I rub the back of my neck. “Where do you want me to start?”
“I’ve got my first piece. Let’s find one for you.
Slow and gentle is key.” Flick reaches beside me and moves the kitten from the couch to the floor beside her.
Her fingers brush against soft fur, and I notice how she unconsciously flexes them afterward—a subtle reminder of the arthritis she mentioned.
Cat stretches, yawns wide enough to show every tiny tooth, then immediately pounces on a dust mote floating through the air.
“Let’s start with dinner. Are you hungry?” I pull out my phone, grateful for the excuse to delay the untangling project. More time with her feels like winning a prize I didn’t know I’d entered for.
“I could eat. How about pizza? With pepperoni.”
“Sounds good to me.”
My fingers hover over the delivery app, but my attention keeps drifting to Flick as she examines the yarn mess. There’s something captivating about the way she approaches the chaos—methodical but not rushed, like she’s done this a thousand times before.
“Got it!” She holds up a strand triumphantly.
“Looks like Cat is wanting to help too.” I point to the kitten batting at a string hanging over the coffee table’s edge, her tiny paws working with determined concentration.
“Huh. Guess she’s good for something besides creating disasters.” Flick moves around the table and settles cross-legged on the carpet, facing where I’m seated on the couch. The movement is fluid despite what must be stiff joints. “Have you found a home for her yet?”
I bite back a knowing smile. “Not yet. I’ve put feelers out, though.”
The lie comes easily. Truth is, I haven’t tried very hard. Something tells me this kitten has already found exactly where she belongs.
Taking the end of yarn Flick hands me, I start working the yarn between my fingers.
The repetitive motion is unexpectedly soothing.
My shoulders drop, tension I didn’t realize I was carrying melting away.
When was the last time I sat still like this?
Not checking emails, not mentally reviewing patient charts, just.. . being?
“This is actually fun,” I find myself saying. “Relaxing, even.”
Flick’s laugh is light and surprised. “I know, right? Try explaining that to someone, though. They’d never believe untangling yarn could be therapeutic.”
“I have a question.” My hands continue their steady work, muscle memory from years of delicate veterinary procedures making the task easier than expected. “Flick is such a cute name. Is that...”
“A nickname. My grandma gave it to me. My real name is Felicity.”
“Felicity.” I test the name, liking how it feels. “They’re both great names.”
“I like them okay.” Her lashes flutter, and something flutters in response deep in my chest.
“Okay, another question. How did you get into all of this? Yarn dyeing, I mean. I never even thought about it. I’ve just assumed all yarns are dyed at factories by machines.”
Her face transforms, taking on an almost ethereal quality.
“I was living in New York, working at this storytelling app. There was a knitting shop by my apartment—tiny place, squeezed between a bodega and a dry cleaner. I would pick up supplies on my way home and knit scarves and hats, things like that, in the evenings. Then one day, this woman was there. She had baskets of yarn she’d dyed herself, and the colors.
..” She pauses, lost in the memory. “They looked like captured sunsets, ocean storms, spring gardens. I just thought it was the coolest thing ever.”
Her hands move as she talks, painting invisible colors in the air.
“That was the start. Things changed pretty fast after that. I guess I was looking for a shake-up, you know? Even if I didn’t realize it. Because six months later, I had liquidated my 401k, opened my online shop, and moved here.”
“Why here? That’s such a huge switch, from New York City to this little island.”
Her expression shifts, a shadow passing over her features. “I was tired of the city. My boyfriend and I had just broken up—well, to be more specific, he had just cheated on me with a girl who worked with both of us?—”
“Yikes.”
“It’s fine. I only wish them moderate food poisoning and perpetual traffic jams now.”
I snort, and her eyes brighten with mischief.
“That’s also when the rheumatoid arthritis started. Everything changed then. The city belonged to another lifetime. All those stairs, the crowded subway, fighting for a seat when you’re tired and achy... I was ready for a fresh start.”
“I get it.” A particularly stubborn knot demands my attention, but I keep my focus on her. There’s more to this story, layers she’s not ready to share yet. “Do you have family close by?”
“Outside of DC. My parents work in politics. Campaign managers, so they’re always traveling.”
“So, you Googled ‘cutest towns in America’ and found this place?”
“Something like that.” She grins. “Actually, I threw a dart at a map. Hit the ocean first, so I figured that was close enough.”
“And when was that?” The yarn is becoming more tangled in my hands, but I can’t look away from her. She’s magnetic, drawing me in with every word, every gesture.
“Around five years ago.”
I shake my head, genuinely baffled. “I still can’t believe we haven’t met before.”
She tilts her head, considering. “I guess the island isn’t as small as it feels. You don’t go to the farmers market, I assume. I’ve never seen you there.”
“I’m at the emergency clinic on Saturday mornings.” The words come out apologetic, like I’m confessing a crime.
“I’ve also never seen you at the town meetings.”
“Uh, right. Well, I’m at my practice here on Wednesday evenings.”
She stops untangling the yarn, fixing me with those perceptive hazel eyes. “But you’re here tonight.”
Heat spreads through my chest. “If there’s something I really want to do, I make time for it.”
Pink blooms across her cheeks, but she holds my gaze. The air between us thickens, charged with possibility. I can hear my own heartbeat, can see the pulse fluttering at her throat.
“Flick, I?—”
The doorbell cuts through the moment like a scalpel. I stand, trying not to show my frustration. “I should get the door. That’s dinner.”
She laughs, the sound slightly breathless. “You do that. Thanks.”
Walking away from her feels like fighting gravity. The delivery driver gets a ridiculous tip—I’m too happy to care about being reasonable. When I return, pizza box warm in my hands, Flick is hunched over her phone, brow furrowed.
“Everything okay?” I set the pizza on the coffee table, worry creeping in.
“What?” She blinks up at me. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I was just checking my Twitch?—”
“What’s Twitch?”
Her head tilts, lips quirking like she’s fighting a smile. “You’ve never heard of it?”
“Nope. I’m painfully out of sync with the rest of society. Sorry.”
Her laugh is delighted rather than mocking. “That’s okay. I get to be the one to introduce you to it then, I guess.”
“You won’t hear me complain.” I wink at her, and her smile grows sweeter, more genuine. She’s pleased I’m interested, I realize. How often do people dismiss her interests?
She scoots over, patting the floor beside her. I abandon the couch immediately, settling close enough that our knees almost touch. “It’s a streaming platform. It’s mostly full of video game streaming, but there are other things too.”
“You game?”
“Not much. I mean, I used to, actually. I wanted to design games.”
“Really?” Another layer revealed, another facet of this fascinating woman.
“Yeah.” She shrugs, but there’s old hurt in the gesture. “A long time ago, in another life.”
“So, who do you watch on there?” I nod at her phone, steering away from what seems like painful territory.
“I have a page. I stream while I dye yarn.”
“What?” The laugh escapes before I can stop it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— It’s cool and surprising. That’s why I laughed. Can I...can I see it?”
She hesitates, vulnerability flashing across her face before she makes a decision. A few taps on her screen, and she hands me her phone. “Here are my reruns.”
I scroll through her videos, fascination growing. The screen shows her hands working with yarn, transforming white skeins into brilliant colors while her voice narrates the process. It’s mesmerizing. “You have a lot of followers.”
“Not as many as some people, but yeah. I just started the channel, and it’s awesome that I have those subscribers.”
“What else is on here other than gaming and yarn dyeing?”
“Hmm. How about this?” She takes the phone back, her fingers grazing mine. The brief contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. When she returns it, I have to force myself to focus on the screen instead of the lingering sensation.
“What am I watching?” The woman on screen is methodically sorting embroidery floss by color gradient.
“She’s organizing her embroidery floss.”
I shake my head but can’t look away. “Is it crazy that this is compelling to me?”
“You and thousands of other people.” She laughs and points at the view count.
“I am kind of a freak for organization.”
“Oh, a bad boy.” She sets the phone aside, eyes dancing with mischief. “I don’t know if we can hang out anymore.”
The playful challenge in her voice makes me feel bold, reckless. “I’m glad you called it hanging out, because I didn’t come by just because I wanted to drop off cat supplies.”
She holds my gaze, unflinching. “Hm. Good to know. I do have one question, though.”
“What’s that?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
She leans past me toward the pizza box, her body brushing against mine. The contact is brief but devastating. “There is pepperoni on this, right?”