Page 47 of The Weekend Crashers
“Great,” Maggie says.
Barclay surveys their work. “Great?” he says. “Little lady, I hate to break it to you, but you’re group is officially in last place.”
“Who won?” Cole says.
“That would be Team Crockett. Cole, your cousin bested you. Time to up your game,” Barclay says. “You have a chance to redeem yourself tomorrow.” Then, to Maggie: “Young lady, if you’ve learned anything from today’s exercise, I hope it’s that wildlife survival is a man’s work.”
“That’s exactly my takeaway,” she says, giving Aidan a playful wink.
Barclay walks off, calling over his shoulder for Aidan to be in front of the inn at “sixteen hundred hours.” When he’s out of earshot, Aidan says, “I don’t think he gets your sarcasm.”
“That’s okay,” Maggie says. “As long as you do. And like Barclay says, get ready toup your game. Because now it’s time to knit.”
Aidan didn’t think through the part of the bet where he’d end up in a knitting class. The truth was, he didn’t think it would actually get that far. He figured that Maggie would make it for about an hour out there in the woods, then duck out on them. Or if she stuck it out for the whole fort-building exercise, he’d concede defeat and pay her the fifty dollars to make good on the bet. But—surprise, surprise—not only did she stick it out with him until the (pitiful) end of the fort outing, he welcomed the excuse to spend more time with her.
So here he is, in a class about brioche stitch, which in his world is a type of bread. Aidan’s legs are already cramped under the low table. Maggie looks equally uncomfortable, though he suspects it’s for a different reason: The whole room is sneaking glances at them. The only one who doesn’t seem to find anything unusual about his appearance in the workshop is Belinda.
He was surprised how readily Cole agreed to join them. He seemed genuinely interested in who else would be there, asking Piper about the other knitters. Now Cole is sitting directly across the round table, next to a brunette with beautiful dark eyes.
“How do you two know each other?” the brunette asks Piper. Aidan learns her name is Kalli.
“We met yesterday,” Piper says.
“Welcome to our visitors from the bachelor party,” Belinda says, standing in front of the large windows and framed by the changing light of the sun sinking lower in the blue-gray sky. Her acknowledgment of Aidan and Cole elicits more curious looks from the rest of the group. “I’ve never had walk-ins at a retreat before. But I understand it’s all in the spirit of competition.”
Belinda looks at Maggie, and there’s a pause before Maggie realizes Belinda is prompting her to explain, and she stands.She looks around the room, and all eyes are on her. “Hi, everyone. So, yes, we actually have a little bet going. What’s harder: bushcraft or knitting. So... that’s why they’re here.” She quickly sits back down.
Her announcement triggers a cascade of conversation. He can’t tell if the knitters are amused, outraged or a little of both. It takes a full minute for Belinda to quiet everyone down, leaving only a few lingering glances in Aidan’s direction.
Belinda instructs them to “cast on,” and all around the table hands start moving in a flurry of activity. Aidan, unable to follow the first step in the knitting process, leans closer to whisper to Maggie.
“I thought you said this was a beginner’s class.”
“It is: Beginner’s Brioche.” Her fingers move so fast they’re almost a blur.
“You’re aware there’s no way in hell I’m going to get this yarn on those needles, aren’t you.”
“I told you that at the bar last night. You didn’t believe me.” She smiles, and when he leans closer she smells good—like the outdoors, but also something spicy and sweet, like nutmeg.
“I should leave now and preserve whatever shred of dignity I have left,” he whispers. “Do you accept Venmo?”
She smiles. “Nope. I’m not letting you get off that easily.”
He has to admit, he was hoping she wouldn’t. The knitting, he could take or leave. But he’s in no rush to leave Maggie.
Belinda is talking about things that might as well be in a foreign language: slipped stitches and yarnovers and some indecipherable instructions. But she’s interrupted when an Asian woman on the opposite side of the table stands up. She’s dressed in jeans and a half-buttoned black cardigan with a Lana Del Rey T-shirt underneath.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t just move on to knitting. Not after the sexist little bomb that was detonated in this room.” Herhands are on her hips, and she looks around the table as if challenging anyone to disagree with her. Or maybe she’s waiting for people to agree with her.
Regardless, no one speaks until Belinda says, “What’s on your mind, Lexi?”
“The bet is offensive. It implies the devaluation of a historically female craft. I’m willing to bet that any one of us knitters can keep up with whatever these guys are doing outdoors—but not a single one of them could knit a stitch.”
“Okay, babe. We get your point,” says the slight, pale woman next to her.
“No, there’s an important distinction to be made here: Knitting is a craft. It takes a certain type of intellect and patience. But survival skills? We’re born with those. Like any animal.” With this, she looks directly at Aidan, challenging him.
He turns to Maggie, and she shrugs.
