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Darla opened the register and waved twenty bucks at Paulo. “Why don’t you shoot next door and pick up cookies for everyone?”
“The sandwich ones with the marshmallow in the middle?”
“Make sure you get something a three-year-old can eat as well.”
I liked Darla. She was an island of sanity in a turbulent sea.
“Matty won’t be three for another few months; he’s just big for his age.”
“Does he like fruit?”
“Melon and strawberries are his favourites. Do you have kids?”
“Only a cat, hun.”
“Pickle lives here in the store,” Paulo said. “She was around five minutes ago, but she’s probably gone into the break room. Do you have pets?”
Darla interrupted before I managed to answer. “I’m sure Mr. Belinsky didn’t bring you in here so Paulo could start the Spanish Inquisition. Is there anything we can help you with? We have a new range of cross-stitch kits that are good for beginners. Do you paint? If you’d like to learn a new skill, we run classes every week.”
“I’ve never tried painting, but I used to love sewing. Customising clothes, mainly, but sometimes I made skirts and bags from scratch.”
“Do you have a sewing machine?”
“I don’t have much stuff at all.”
“If Katy wants a sewing machine, then we’ll purchase a sewing machine,” Nico said, and that was perfectly normal for him, wasn’t it? Buying whatever he wanted, never having to budget. When I first moved to New York, I’d kept track of every cent. At the time, I’d hated being poor, but after three years with Cesare, years when money hadn’t been a problem but I’d had to justify every request, I’d begun to miss my spreadsheet.
“Oh, I don’t need a sewing machine, but maybe I could try a cross-stitch kit?”
I didn’t mind staying indoors, not with Nico, not when it was for my own good rather than at somebody else’s command. But a hobby would help me to pass the time. There was only so much cooking I could do, and Matty liked to take a nap in the afternoons. Always for two hours at least, usually two and a half. Sometimes, I could swear he was part sloth, but other times, he behaved like the love child of a Tasmanian devil and an octopus.
“I’ll show you the kits,” Brooke offered. “We have a unicorn, a butterfly, a tiger… On second thought, I have another idea—what about stitching an alphabet for Matty? Each project has a letter and an object. A is for apple, B is for ball, C is for cat, you know?”
“I love that idea.”
“We’re missing the C at the moment,” Darla said. “Some folks over in Coos Bay named their daughter Cashmere, and her grandma loves to craft while she’s watching TV.”
“Can you order the C?” Nico asked.
“We sure can.”
One step at a time. “Maybe I’ll just try the A to start with.”
Nico took a step to the side to let Brooke and me pass, a big mistake because that put Matty a step closer to the yarn. He made a grab for his favourite colour—blue—and a second later, it was raining yarn balls. Then a cat leapt into the melee.
“Pickle!” Paulo shrieked, right before he ended up on the floor, covered from head to foot in silver glitter.
Oh. My. Gosh.
I was beginning to see that being confined to an apartment did come with some benefits. Matty’s ability to wreak havoc had been limited.
“I’m so sorry. Here, let me…”
Our skulls cracked together when Paulo moved to get up at the same time as I bent down to help, and I staggered backward into Nico’s arms.
“I’ve got you.”
He always had me.
