Page 115 of You, As You Are

“What are you going to do to not get bored?” She turned Iain’s question on him.

The dark look in his eyes that made her stomach flutter said‘you’, but his mouth said nothing at all.

Instead, he stood from his chair and wandered inside the cabin. Maisie craned her neck to follow his steps all the way to the edge of their bed where he bent down and searched underneath it, eventually fishing out the reusable shopping bag she’d forgotten was under there. She’d seen him carry it in but thought it was just some of Ted’s things that weren’t important.

When he sat himself down again and put the bag on the table, he pulled out yarn and a half-made blanket.

“Oh my god –youmade Vera that scarf for her birthday!” Maisie exclaimed. If she could without aching, she’d be on her feet.

Iain didn’t look at her. “Crocheting helps clear my mind.”

She was stunned – jealous of his talent, mostly. That scarf that he’d given to hernain– who they still hadn’t heard from to explain herself about this arrangement – had been amazing, and he’d passed it off as someone else’s work.

Maisie’s jaw hung open. Why didn’t he say that it was his creation?

Iain noticed her wide-mouthed staring. “Go ahead. Mock me.”

“Why would I?” A shock of hurt ran through her that he thought she’d be so cruel.

He put the yarn and a hook down with a sigh, fidgeting as he said, “How many men like me do you know that crochet?”

If by ‘men like me’he meant talented craftsmen, then not as many as she’d like.

“I don’t remember there being gendered rules for hobbies,” Maisie answered primly because she knew she was right. So long as it was harmless, she’d never shit on someone else’s fun, much less what Iain did in his spare time to calm his mind.

The corner of his lip pulled but Iain forced that grace of a smile away.

“How long have you been doing this?” she asked and tried to peer closer at his project.

“Since I moved to Aber,” he said, a thread of downheartedness in his tone.

Maisie wasn’t going to knock on those doors about his old life again; he would open them when he was ready. She watched him bundle the ball of baby-blue yarn and the already crocheted rows into his lap, then set up the hook between his fingers before going quiet. If his averted eyes were out of concentration or the embarrassment that she’d tried to reassure, she didn’t know. She only knew that she didn’t like this type of silence.

“You know, I’ve never done this before.” She’d attempted, fruitlessly, a couple of times. “Could you show me?”

Iain’s gaze cut up to stare at her.

Seconds ticked by, and Maisie’s skin began to feel awkward with how he said nothing at all. His stunned look at mindless things she said kept on happening, and she was certain now more than ever that there were far too many words he’d never had spoken to him in his life: first that she believed he’d be good as a hiking guide, then that he’d never disappointed her, and this time that someone else was interested in his hobby.

“Yeah.” Iain snapped himself into movement. “Here you go.”

Maisie exhaled one puff of an almost-chuckle. “I won’t be any good.”

“I was shit when I started, Daffy. You’ve got this.”

“I don’t really remember how.”

With the yarn, completed rows, and hook bundled in one hand, Iain pushed his chair back and patted his lap. “Sit.”

Blood rushed to Maisie’s cheeks when she looked at his open thighs. “Why?”

“So I can teach you.”

The offer was sweet, and she was excited about that, but her eyes wandered over the wooden chair that didn’t look the sturdiest of contraptions before snagging onhim. She swallowed. Iain had already eased her worries that he was capable of holding her weight, but it wasn’thiscapability that Maisie doubted – not when there were two of them on that chair.

He must have read her worry because he offered, “Would you rather sit on the bed?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Inwardly, Maisie calmed in relief.

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