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She tsked. “Of course I did. I was just being entertained by the battle of the century.” She put on her best announcer voice. “Aya versus Knitting Nancy in aisle five, battle of the fifty-percent-off wool yarn skeins.”
My eyebrow spiked as I glanced at Aya. “And who won?”
Our friend plopped down at the island with a dejected sigh. “Knitting Nancy used her knitting-needle finisher on me.”
My head tipped back as I barked out a laugh. Tyr watched with a bemused expression.
“This Nancy individual sounds like quite the opponent,” he said.
Astrid snickered. “She’s the undefeated champion of the annual Christmas in July craft sale. We had high hopes for Aya this year, with all the training she put in.”
“I was so close, too,” Aya grumped. “If I didn’t care about this tapestry so much, I’d use cheaper materials. Now I’m going to have to hope my online shipment arrives in time.”
For the cultural festival, Aya was going all out. She knew traditional sewing and weaving techniques that she’d been sharing with Astrid and me over the years. This allowed her to accumulate a range of crafted items to use for the event, but she apparently still wanted more.
“Well, if it doesn’t, can we somehow use it to show as a work in progress?” Astrid asked. “I don’t expect us to be able to move that loom, but maybe use pictures?”
“Oh, we’re using that loom as a prop,” Aya said. “I don’t care what kind of muscle I have to wrangle up to help, but we’re using it.”
“Your family loom?” Tyr inquired.
Aya nodded. “The very same.”
“I’ll move it,” he said. “I’m intimately familiar with that thing, with how many times you’ve made me and your brother move it for you.”
She clapped, a beaming smile accompanying it. “You’re the best!”
I grabbed a cooled empanada and offered it to Astrid. “Now you can have one of these.”
Astrid eagerly took the treat.
“Just be careful. It might be a bit messy to eat.” I’d never made this recipe before, so I wasn’t sure how it’d go. Theoretically, the time I let it cool would make it less messy.
Astrid turned the treat in her hands. “What’s in it? This has a sugar coating, so it’s not your chicken empanadas.”
I smirked. “Abuela’scajetarecipe.”
Astrid’s eyes lit up. “Caramel? You made caramel?”
She bit into the snack without waiting for me to respond. The most adorable, delighted squeal came from her as she danced around.
Tyr laughed. “I believe that’s a stamp of approval.”
I smiled. It didn’t taste like Abuela’s, even though I followed the recipe. It had disappointed me since I wanted Astrid to have a taste of what I always bragged about after returning from a trip to see the family. But if Astrid loved it regardless, then I’d happily accept that.
“Did you find this in that cookbook?” Astrid asked, her mouth still full.
I shook my head. “No, I spoke to her today. Of course, she had trouble figuring out how to send it to me, and she wrangled inTíaCamilla.”
Astrid made a face. “Did she behave this time?”
My lips twisted. “Unfortunately, no.”
My eldest aunt wouldn’t let it go that Dad and I never returned to Spain after Mom died. Even now, she hounded me about when I would finally return to be with the family. She just didn’t get it.
Mom knew the doctors wouldn’t be able to fix her. Even though she tried to be brave when I was a kid, I now understood why she wanted to come back here. This was where she grew up. She’d worked at this very retreat when Pete and Randi ran it, and they’d repaid that in full by allowing us to stay while Mom went through her treatments. They let us stay even after we lost her.
We buried Mom in the cemetery in town, with some of her ashes spread at the base of her favorite tree deep in the forest of this property. Dad wouldn’t leave with her here. This place was the last thing we had of her. We made a new life and formed a family here. Pete, Randi, Darius, Astrid, and now even Aya. Everything I loved now was here.
