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I unzipped the pouch and a small piece of white paper floated to the floor. I ignored it for a second, fixated on the contents of the pouch.
On one side was a thick-handled crochet hook with a removable translucent head. Beside it was a USB charging cable. The other side held several more heads in a variety of sizes.
Pulling the main hook out, I turned it over in my hands with a frown. I mean, I did love crochet hooks. Given how often I lost them down the sides of sofas and under beds, I couldn’t have enough of them. But why would he get me ones with removable heads?
My fingers skimmed across a bump. A switch, I realised. I clicked it and light flared in the hook.
My mouth fell open. It was a rechargeable, light-up crochet hook.
Suddenly I remembered the piece of paper. Putting the pouch carefully on the bed, I picked up the accompanying note.
At first I couldn’t even focus on the words, too awed by the beautiful handwriting. Black calligraphy flowed across the paper in a style I was sure brides all over the world would pay to have on their invitations.
How had Sebastian learned to write like this? What other secrets was he hiding?
I am sorry for upsetting you. Thank you for the scarf. I shall think of you when I wear it.
Hopefully this gift will atone for my sins. I thought it might solve your problem with seeing stitches when working with darker yarn.
S. LeClerc
I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed as I read the note over and over again. There were so many layers to it, I didn’t even know where to start. It made it seem like he wanted my forgiveness, but equally didn’t give any indication that he wanted to see me again. He said he’d think of me when he was wearing it, which made me think he looked at it as a memento to remember me by.
Then there was the S. LeClerc. Seriously, who signed letters off like that? In fact, who even wrote letters these days? He could’ve just texted me rather than leaving a note.
It was an unbelievably thoughtful gesture, but it left me feeling hollow. A representation of everything I wanted but would never get.
Normally, whenever I talked about crochet with a bloke, I couldn’t even get through a few sentences before they’d be stifling a yawn behind their hand.
And there was Sebastian, tracking down a specialist piece of equipment based on a passing comment I’d made.
Who did that?
Each interaction with Sebastian made me fall for him a little bit more. But at every turn, he pushed me further away. It was silly, having a crush on someone who obviously didn’t want what I did. I wished my heart would get that message.
Sebastian hadn’t given any indication that he wanted to hear from me again, but I couldn’t let such a thoughtful gesture go unacknowledged.
Thank you for the crochet hooks. You’re right, they’re just what I needed.
The little read label appeared as soon as the message was sent. But that was all.
There was no response. Not even any dancing bubbles indicating that he was typing.
After staring at the text thread for an embarrassingly long time, I forced myself to put my phone away. Leo and Ferry were due back this evening and I wanted to make sure the flat was spotless.
There wasn’t much to do, but I kept myself busy. I cleaned the oven, scrubbed the floors until they shone, and reorganised the cupboards.
When that was done, I still had hours to kill. The loneliness began to gnaw at my edges, but I refused to let it in. I blew my fringe off my face in frustration before yanking out several pots and pans.
Making lasagna from scratch took hours.
By the time Leo and Ferry walked in, the scent of Italian herbs was wafting through the air.
Leo dropped his bag, making a beeline for the oven top where the dish was resting, Ferry hot on his heels. “Oh my god, lasagna?”
“And homemade garlic bread,” I said proudly, indicating the small loaf sitting to the side. “I was bored.”
Leo exchanged a look with Ferry, guilt flickering in their eyes. “I’m sorry we left you for so long. Were you okay?”
