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“Stories? No. But I am trying to sew fifty-seven pillowcases before Christmas Eve.”
I laughed. Her admission was random enough to pull my thoughts away from my cranking heartbeat. She’d been knitting something on the flight to Montana, too. The images she’d sent me of some drawings she’d digitally put together for her portfolio told me this woman was extremely talented.
Making stuff must be her thing.
“Any particularreason?” I asked.
She placed her phone on the floor beside her bag so its light beamed upward, twined her hair around one shoulder, and crouched in front of me with such a delectable smirk on her face, I was that much more drawn in.
“I run a group called Stitches for Sierra,” she said. “We like to do crafty kinds of things for people in need.”
This wasn’t truth or dare. This was a conversation—an actual conversation.
“So the pink thing you were knitting…”
“I was making a blanket for the homeless shelter.”
Impressive. “There’s plenty of people in need this time of year,” I said, thinking of Faye. She had gotten along great for years since her husband died. All three of their children had passed away over the years, so she’d taken more interest in her grandkids and supporting their interests and needs.
Was she already waiting for me in the lobby?
I glanced at my phone. Nothing from her or Clary.
What was taking so long? I didn’t want to worry Faye or cancel on her. I’d give it a few more minutes.
“Yeah,” Ella went on. “One of my neighbors had a daughter who was at Harmony Children’s with leukemia, and it brought my attention there, you know? The kids would love to wake up to something new and different Christmas morning. They go through plenty of white pillowcases from day to day.”
“Why not make them something colorful for Christmas, then, I take it.”
“Exactly,” she said.
This woman had a heart of gold.
“Sounds like they’re going to love that.”
I thought of the order of candy I’d wanted to have filled out, but that only brought another swell of pressure with it. I closed my eyes, breathing through it.
“Need another distraction?” she suggested.
“That one was working pretty well. What else you got?”
I couldn’t bear to open my eyes. The visual reminder of the enclosed space didn’t help. Where was Clary?
“What are your Christmas traditions?” Her tone implied it was a suggestion and I didn’t have to answer.
I didn’t really want to. Talking about my family wasn’t the most comfortable subject. Gemma and I got along great, but neither of us had much of a relationship with our parents.
I decided to keep my response as superficial as possible.
I attempted to thrust the heavier thoughts aside. “My parents retired early, and they usually fly the family out somewhere. Last year, they took all the siblings and grandkids on a Disney cruise.”
Her voice animated. “Seriously? That sounds amazing. Where are you going this year?”
“This year, they’ve bought everyone a gift instead of a trip. I’m…excited…to see what that is.”
I supposed that was true. Mom did have great taste. She claimed she had a hard time shopping for me, but she and Dad usually ended up giving us high-end appliances or tech gadgets.
“You mean youdon’t know?”
