Peter wrapped his oversized muscled arms around Amanda. The man could plow down quarterbacks like a semi over a bicycle, but the way he touched Amanda, he might as well have been wearing kid gloves and handling a priceless treasure. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “She’s my favorite cheerleader.”
I rolled my eyes and looked to Molly, thinking she’d be the most likely person to agree that the mush factor with those two was off the charts, since she and Ben had been the first to get together. Their honeymoon stage had to have worn off by now.
Nope. They both looked at each other across the room, a secret message passing between what could only be described as bedroom eyes.
I set the grocery bag down on the counter a little harder than necessary. I’d have to be careful opening the soda so it wouldn’t spray everywhere, but the thump had gotten all the lovebirds’ attention. “If sewing night has turned into couples night, then I’m out.”
Not that I really wanted to sew or knew how, even after a year and a half of weekly get-togethers with that as the umbrella, but stewing in this pot of lovey-dovey nonsense had less appeal than inviting Tate back to the studio for a free recording session.
“Sorry, Bets.” Jocelyn spun the jade beads on her wrist, looking chagrined.
I’d been surprised to see her when I’d rounded the hall, since she’d moved onto the Double B property up north to be closer to Malachi as she pursued her fashion career. Then I remembered that she and Malachi had driven down for the week so she could attend a symposium in the gaslight district in downtown San Diego.
“No more moon eyes.” She crossed her heart.
“Speak for yourself.” Drew lazily ran his thumb over Nicole’s collar bone as he stared at her profile. But then he turned to me and winked.
Even I wasn’t immune to his charms, though he didn’t make me weak in the knees like melted plant-based butter as he did Nicole.
“Why don’t you help me with these drinks, Drew?” He could open the ginger ale. A spray in the face with the carbonated sodas could help him cool off.
“Actually, I thought sewing night could literally be sewing night for a change.” Molly sat up straight.
Amanda rubbed her knuckles, a worried pinch forming in the middle of her forehead. “I’m not sure I can.” Her autoimmune disease often caused joint pain and swelling.
Peter held his paws—excuse me,palms—up in front of her. “I’ll be your hands, darling.”
I unscrewed the lid to the mason jars I’d brought along and poured some of the strawberry puree I’d made earlier into each of the glasses. The recipe for the mocktail was simple. Strawberry puree, ginger ale, sliced fresh strawberries, and ice. You could be fancy and add basil or mint, but I’d never been accused of being fancy a day in my life.
“How about I man the seam ripper and pick out any mistakes?” I asked as I stirred the final drink. I may not have used a sewing machine on any of the sewing nights, but I had gotten good at picking seams and cutting out patterns.
Molly looked at me over the bridge of her nose. A very teacherly scowl took over her face. She must have been practicing in a mirror, because it was better than her last attempt. Too bad I knew she was too sweet to ever be really intimidating. I stared back at her, crossing my arms over my chest for good measure. Her faux sternness couldn’t compete with my Latina glare that had been handed down to me in my DNA.
Molly blinked and broke eye contact with a huff. “Please, Betsy. You’re really the only one who doesn’t know how. Well, besides Peter.”
I flicked my gaze to Ben, then Drew. “What about Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum?”
“Doctors,” Ben said matter-of-factly.
“We could sew pretty little stitches with our eyes closed,” Drew added.
I handed Molly a glass of my strawberry mocktail that didn’t have an official name but tasted delicious, then gave Jocelyn the glass in my other hand. “I don’t really need to learn to sew though. My wardrobe consists of graphic tees and jeans.” I ran a hand down my front, emphasizing my black V-neck with the wordsA penny for your thoughts seems a little pricey.
“For me?” Molly looked up at me with her big doe eyes.
Well, shoot. Her glare might not have been effective, but I couldn’t say no when she looked at me like a puppy in the pound.
“Fine,” I said on a sigh.
Jocelyn grinned and pulled out a stack of fabric from behind the sofa, spreading each bolt out onto the floor. “I have some more remnants out in Malachi’s truck if no one likes these choices, but—” She looked up, her cheeks infusing with color in her excitement. “Nicole, I thought of you when I saw this.” She held out a folded square of mustard yellow with tiny white flowers on it. “It’s organic, fair trade, and sustainable.”
Nicole reached to take the material, her eyes widening as soon as her hands caressed the top. “It’s so soft.”
Jocelyn pulled out another bolt, a solid wash of navy except for the band of burgundy at the bottom.
“The Condors’ colors,” Amanda squealed, beaming at Peter. Not only did she work as the football team’s social media manager, but Peter played on the defensive line as well.
“The material is stretchy and breathable,” Jocelyn pointed out.
