Page 17 of Fibre and Ink

I couldn’t help myself. I had to knit.

I flicked on my Bluetooth speaker, ]putting on a podcast about books and dug out my current knitting project. A lacy crop top that Harlow had requested, loose fitting in pale cream. The wool was spun from our alpacas and undyed, lovely to work with.

Aster started tapping on his laptop.

“Is the podcast bothering you?”

“No, it’s fine.” Aster sounded distracted. Best not to interrupt the genius at work.

I relaxed into the familiar rhythm, checking the pattern every now and then and letting my mind wander.

Maybe I shouldn’t get involved in this whole data center thing?

But I had to... I couldn’t let it go ahead.

What was I actually worried about?

Being so close to Aster all the time and letting something slip, maybe?

I wanted this house to be a refuge for him, somewhere comfortable where he could fully be himself.

Come to that, I should be comfortable to be myself as well. I glanced at my hands, all big and rough with calluses, knitting a delicate top for my sister. I’d been shy to show Aster this, but that meant I was hiding even more from him. I couldn’t do that. I had to lead by example and show that my quirks were part of me.

The afternoon wore on. I gave the alpacas their evening feed and check over. Aster came with me, armed with carrot sticks and we spent a pleasant while petting them.

The soup Aster made for dinner was delicious, even more than I expected, and he’d gone overboard with breads to eat with it.

“So, you’re a knitter?” Aster’s expression was neutral. “You’ve kept that hidden.”

“Yeah,” I smiled at my soup. “I guess I was embarrassed about it.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

Aster smiled warmly. “It’s cool. I mean, I do all kinds of craft for drag and I never feel embarrassed about that.”

“Because your drag is awesome.”

“Aw,” Aster blushed and dropped his gaze down this time. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments, I was just saying.”

“I know.” I reached for another slice of bread and buttered it. “Thanks though. I guess I wanted you to think of me as Harlow’s cool older brother still, and knitting doesn’t really fit that profile.”

“Mm. You’re cool.” Aster said. “Actually, knitting makes you more cool. More men should be in touch with their softer sides. It’s good for emotional health and like, being well-rounded as a human being.”

“I guess I never thought of it that way. Harlow rolls her eyes but she gets custom pieces out of it so she never actually says anything. I guess... I imagine what my Dad would say, if he knew, and then I...”

I trailed off. I hadn’t meant to bring up something so sad.

Aster made a soft noise and took my hand in his, squeezing it gently. “Obviously I didn’t know your dad as well as you did, but from what I knew, he was a cool guy, and I can’t imagine him thinking less of you for this. Wasn’t...” Aster broke off, forehead crinkling. “Wasn’t he a painter?”

I blinked. Most of Mom and Dad’s stuff had been packaged up with the help of a well-meaning aunt and sent to a thrift store in Hartsville or stored in the attic. But... hadn’t he done the painting in the hallway? The one of the lake?

“I can’t believe I forgot about that...” I breathed softly. It was coming back to me. Dad on a Sunday afternoon with his easel out, pottering away with oil paints.

“Maybe you blocked it, somehow?” Aster suggested, voice gentle. “Sometimes brains do that to protect us.”

I nodded slowly, making a mental note to go up to the attic and open some of those boxes. Not today though. Maybe after all the data center stuff was behind us.

Aster was still holding my hand. It felt so natural, I hadn’t noticed. My chest ached with longing — and then I felt like a creeper. Aster was so much younger than me, I was sheltering him and here I was thinking about how much I wanted him.