AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It unnerved me.
I liked Hawk. If she was out scoping my territory, looking for some kind of evidence to use against me for whatever she had in her conniving little mind, it wouldn’t work.
Hawk was picking me up tomorrow night. Hopefully, nothing would get in the way of that.
EIGHTEEN
ella
I pulledout my old sketchbook. I sharpened my drafting pencil, eager and disbelieving all at once that I had an excuse like this to use it. Since completing my portfolio, it’d been too long since I’d allowed myself to get lost in the drafting process.
There was something magical about creating.
Chloe and Brandy had delivered Stitches for Sierra’s last set of pillowcases to Harmony Children’s this morning, which not only cleared quite a bit of space in my dining-slash-sewing room, but also freed my calendar to do nothing but sew.
For me.
Energy zinged in my fingertips. I started with a single swoop. Then another, and another, until the lines blended together and formed a gown.
I’d had an image in mind since listening to the podcastearlier, but now, letting the pencil do its work, I held the sketch back and took in the full view.
“This is going to take some work,” I said, doing a mental calculation.
Fabric dimensions, amounts, styles. For the lace and satin, in the extents I figured, this would be anything but cheap.
Stitches for Sierrareceived regular donations that we used to buy things the organization needed. But I didn’t have a fund to provide cloth for myself.
I did have savings, but that was set aside for my upcoming move. Or emergencies.
An exquisite, luxurious gown wasn’t exactly an emergency. Then again, I supposed I could sell the dress when I was done with it.
“What the heck,” I told myself, slipping into my boots and warm coat.
I only lived once. I only got invitations from handsome men to esteemed, romantic gatherings once.
Something inside told me I only had one more shot at dancing with Hawk before Pris managed to interfere, too.
I had to beat her at her own game.
Mallory Fabric and Textile on December twenty-third was, in a word, a nightmare.
I’d had to travel to a neighboring town since Westville didn’t have a fabric store. Crowds filled the streets.Lines snaked from the front of the store to the back. What typically took me an hour had taken four instead.
This fabric, though.
This was worth it.
Back home once more, I created a new pile in the corner near my hand-me-down couch, relocating stacks of magazines and clothes waiting to be folded to make room on the table to lay out the fabric.
I wiped my table clean, dried it, and then fanned out the material, running my hands along the creases.
Light played on the silver flecks swirling within the flowers that were embroidered onto the lace. After working with the soft cotton from pillowcase after pillowcase, this lace—and the satin, chiffon material for the underdress—was delicate and seemingly opinionated.
It refused to stay where I put it.
The yardage for a sweep-train gown was expensive enough, but with the satin underdress and the lace flowing over it, I was essentially making two dresses.
I pictured its trumpet shape, its dipping V-neck, which I would cover with an additional swatch of glittering fabric so it would leave just enough to the imagination.
