Page 40 of Snowed In
This is true, so I do, putting on a generic playlist called Classic Christmas Hits before taking out my knitting.
“That for Andrew?” Christian asks, eyeing the wool with interest.
“It is.” I unfurl the patch of blue I’m working on, smoothing it out on my knee.
“You can knit in the car?”
“I can knit anywhere.”
Christian watches me with a thoughtful expression as the stream of traffic crosses in front of us. “Will you have time to do one more?”
“You want to give him twosweaters?”
“A matching one for his girlfriend. Or fiancée, I guess.”
“I can try,” I say, even though I know I’ll definitely be able to. But, you know. Love to be humble. “Wait. Fiancée? Andrew’s engaged?”
“He’s going to propose over Christmas.”
“That’s brilliant!” I exclaim, and he glances over at my enthusiasm.
“I’ll send him your regards.”
“No, I mean— Yes, do, but that’s great news. It means all the attention will be taken off us.”
He looks a little grumpy at that. “I wouldn’t mind ifsomeof the attention was on us.”
“A new relationship is not going to compete with an engagement.”
“So, you’re saying we should also get fake engaged to keep up appearances.”
“Cute,” I say, as the light goes green. But I feel a lot better now. An engagement. We can definitely fade into the background with that. “I’m warning you now, though. A potential wedding will cause some side-eyes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Runaway bride, remember? I’ve got baggage.”
“You’ve also got me,” he dismisses. “I’ll deal with any side-eyes.”
“Oh yeah? What are you going to do?”
“Punch ’em,” he says, and I laugh as I check my bag for more wool. I’ll have to stop in town on the way and pick up some more if he wants another sweater. “What does she like?” I ask. “Andrew’s girlfriend?”
“Something colorful,” he says casually. “And very Christmassy. With pom-poms.”
“I don’t have any— Wait.” I totally do. “No, we’re good.”
He glances over again as I cast on a fresh set of stitches. “I feel like you’re going to poke your eye out.”
“Well, drive carefully, and I won’t. But thank you for your concern.”
He doesn’t look convinced, and I swear he even slows down a smidgen, but he doesn’t make me put them away, and I’m soon lost in the familiar click of the needles, my hands moving like they’ve got a mind of their own.
“Do you think I should make something for your parents too?” I ask.
“Nah.”
“What about your sister?”
