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“Insulting someone isn’t generally the best way to ask a favor.” Posy started the engine. “As long as you’re not expecting couture, I’m sure we can kit you out. Mom will have knitted you a sweater for Christmas. You could open that early.”
Beth pulled a face. “Is it the itchy, scratchy variety?”
“People pay a fortune for her sweaters, and no, I don’t think she’s knitting itchy, scratchy at the moment.”
“Any smiling reindeer? Delirious-looking Santas?”
“She hasn’t knitted that kind of thing for at least two decades. Her knitwear is gorgeous. Last time I looked, she was making something in a soft purple cashmere.” She drove out of the pub car park, taking care because the roads were icy.
“Remember the year she knitted us matching snowman sweaters?”
“Yeah. Hannah put hers on the goat because she was worried it was going to be cold.” Posy wondered if those early Christmases were really as trouble free as she remembered or whether it was simply that she hadn’t been aware of the tensions when she was younger.
“It was a good year. You’re right. I should probably talk to Mom.” Beth leaned her head back against the seat. “I don’t know what I want, but I do know what I don’t want.”
“Llama pajamas?”
“No.” Beth stared out of the window. “I don’t want another baby. But Jason does, which means we’re in trouble.”
11
Suzanne
Suzanne sat at the table with her friends, listening to the gentle hum of conversation and the rhythmic clack of needles.
The café was closed, but it felt as warm and lively as it did during the day. If anything, the atmosphere was more intimate, because this was a gathering of friends, not strangers.
Her fairy lights were strung around the windows and the glow of the wood burner in the corner gave the place a warm, festive feel.
Suzanne knew it wasn’t the atmosphere that offered comfort, as much as the friendship.
“Those blue hats are selling well, Rhonda. I can’t keep them on the shelf.” She reached for another ball of yarn, checking as she did so that everyone in the group had drinks and food.
On the evenings when she ran her craft sessions, she and Posy pushed the tables together to form one large one, a setup that allowed for chat and companionship.
“It’s because the weather has turned so cold. I’ll have another twenty for you by Friday.”
“You’re a wonder.”
“It’s given me something to do while the weather has been so bad,” Rhonda said, “and you’re the wonder, giving us somewhere to sell our goods. You’ve turned this place into a destination. I almost died when I walked past on Saturday and saw the coach in the car park. How many people descended on you?”
“Forty-five. They were Americans, on a tour of Scotland. I had to bring a few extra chairs in and we ran out of shortbread, but we managed.” She never minded being surrounded by people. The more the merrier. “Fortunately, they called in advance.”
“You’re part of a tour itinerary now?”
“It seems so, which is good because they bought out the place. Cleared me out of everything tartan, spent a fortune in the café and bought a ton of secondhand books, especially those Highland romances that have a half-naked man in a kil
t on the front.”
“I’d love to see a man striding around bare-chested in the middle of a Highland winter.” Maggie had the dirtiest laugh Suzanne had ever heard.
They’d met the first week Suzanne and Stewart had arrived at Glensay.
Before she married Stewart, Suzanne had never lived in one place for more than a few months. She’d trained as a mountain guide. She’d lived in tents and vans, and traveled.
And then everything had changed.
She had a promise to keep and three grieving children to care for.
