Page 43 of Axe-identally Married
Cole Hebert was a big, burly guy, built for swinging an axe or throwing kegs or hockey.
Yet here he was, delicately knitting, his entire body involved in the most magical way.
I took another step closer. “I didn’t know you knitted.”
He looked up at me, a bit sheepish, but he never stopped working as he spoke. “Debbie taught me. It’s good for my anxiety, and I was feeling anxious tonight.”
I sat beside him and pulled one leg up so I was facing him. “Wanna talk about it? My parents can be a lot.”
He kept knitting.
“I hope all that wedding talk didn’t make you uncomfortable,” I prattled on. “Mom would never say it, but I’m their only child, and they love this stuff.”
“It didn’t.”
“I mean it. When Dad is better, I’ll let them down gently. I promise.”
“It’s fine. He is excited to start his therapy.”
There was no stopping the way my eyes teared up. “I almost lost him.”
All Cole’s movements stopped, and he looked at me, not the least bit freaked out or upset about my tears. “You didn’t lose him,” he said softly. “And I know he will do everything he can to be here for you as long as he can.”
For a moment, we watched one another. I couldn’t speak, the lump in my throat too big to form words. The gravity of my reality was starting to hit me. I’d been going through the motions, trying to survive for so long, that I hadn’t stopped to process it all.
“Debbie dragged me to knitting club when I moved in with her.” He changed the subject, as if knowing I needed a moment to compose myself. “I was so annoyed the first couple of times, but she wouldn’t let me beg off. Eventually, I learned the stitches, and I find it really helpful.”
“It’s cool. But you have such big hands; I would think it would make it difficult.”
“Nah, it’s all about the rhythm and pace. It’s basically meditation with your hands.”
“How did I not know this about you?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if you’d think it was strange.”
“What’s strange is my husband not telling me he belongs to a knitting club.”
He smirked. “Don’t hate on knitting club. We meet in the library rec room every Wednesday night and take turns bringing snacks and tea. These ladies run the town. They are the power brokers.”
“So you’ve spent every Wednesday night for the last year hanging out with the elderly ladies of Lovewell?”
A chuckle rumbled from deep inside him, though his focus was fixed on his knitting again. “They would take great offense to be called elderly. And trust me: they get shit done. I mentioned having trouble recruiting sponsors for RiverFest at one meeting, and the next thing I knew, they were all pulling strings.”
“So they’ve formed a secret cabal that runs the town?” I was giggling so hard my eyes were tearing again.
His lips tipped up on one side. “Joke all you want, but I mean it.”
“I’m sorry you missed out on it tonight.”
“Happy to do it. Your parents are great.”
“What about your mom?” I straightened, watching his expression. “Should we call her?”
I knew very little about the woman, other than that she was really young when she got pregnant with him and she moved to Florida a few years ago. But given the reaction everyone was having to our marriage, it made sense we should probably tell her.
His face was a blank mask. “I’ll call her eventually.”
“Will she be upset?”
