Page 17 of Knit for Profit
"She's amazing," Isla says softly.
"Yeah." I turn back to my table, to the remaining pieces. A cable-knit throw. Two sets of fingerless gloves. One more baby blanket in the bluish grays that I love working with. "I'm almost out. Didn't think I'd sell this much."
"I did." She leans into me. "Are you going to tell me, or do I have to ask?"
She looks up at me, eyes wide. "Tell you what?"
"About the baby."
She freezes, then laughs softly. "How long have you known?"
"Noticed about a week ago. The way you touch your stomach. How you haven't had coffee in three weeks. The way you cried at that commercial with the puppy."
"That commercial was sad!" But she's smiling now, tears starting to form. "I was going to tell you tonight. After the fair. I took the test a few days ago, but I wanted to be sure before I said anything."
I pull her against me, not caring that we're in the middle of the fair, that people are probably watching. "Are you happy?"
"Terrified," she admits. "But yes. So happy. Are you?"
"Yeah." I kiss the top of her head. "Didn't plan it. But I don't regret it. Not for a second."
She looks up at me, her eyes shining. "Really?"
"Really." I cup her face, brush away a tear with my thumb. "We're having a baby."
"We're having a baby," she echoes, and she's laughing and crying at the same time.
"Birdie's going to lose her mind."
"Birdie's going to be insufferable." But I'm smiling. "She'll probably make the kid an entire wardrobe before it's even born."
"She crochets, you knit." Isla grins. "Poor kid won't have any store-bought clothes."
"Good. Store-bought is overrated."
A customer approaches the table, and I help them pick out the cable-knit throw while Isla watches with a soft smile. After they pay and leave, she moves close again.
"I love you," she says quietly. "I don't think I've said it enough."
"I love you too.".
That evening, we're back at the apartment, unpacking the empty bins and counting the cash box.
Isla curls up on the couch while I pull out a throw I've been working on for the shop. But my mind is already planning. Soft colors. Simple patterns. Something small enough for tiny hands to grip.
Something made with love. With hope. With the quiet knowledge that these scarred hands can create. Can build. Can hold a child and keep them safe.
"Want to start on a baby blanket?" Isla asks, reading my mind. "We could design it together."
"Yeah." I set aside my current project. "Let's do that."
She moves closer, her hand resting on her stomach, and I think about the future. About mornings with a baby between us in bed. About teaching them to knit when they're old enough. About Birdie being the world's most doting honorary grandmother.
About how three years ago, I came to this town broken and hollow, and somehow found everything I needed.
A purpose. A community. A family.
Home.
The needles click in the quiet evening, and outside the window, Silver Ridge settles into summer night. Somewhere, Birdie is probably already planning a baby shower. Somewhere, people are talking about the quiet loner who makes beautiful things.
And here, in this small apartment above a craft shop, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
