Page 7 of Sew Matcha in Love
Viki.We’d hit it off on Day 1. She’d been surprised this big dumb jock was able to speak French and English fluently and discuss the classics.
You don’t grow up in a home of two sisters in the Western hemisphere without learning Austen, Shakespeare, and Disney.
The gilded picture frame, with its fleur-de-lis accents, had previously held our last family photo. I’d tried everything to hold our family together. But after over a year of counseling, Viki had determined we were no longer compatible. There wasn’tanything I could have done to change her mind. But in the end, she’d been right. We’d grown up and grown apart. She didn’t love me anymore, and I had to confront my deepest secret—that I loved the idea of being married and having a family more than I loved her. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us to stay in a loveless marriage. And we didn’t want to set an example for our girls that it was okay.
“It’s a replica,” I stated. “I couldn’t see spending the money for the real thing when this looks just as good.”
I swung my head back to Arwyn, who patiently held up a length of measuring tape with one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised.
I tried to mimic the one-eyebrow thing, crinkling my forehead and squinting one eye, but nope, couldn’t isolate the one.
“Are you okay?” Arwyn asked. “Your face is twitching.”
Fail.
I waggled my eyebrows to recover.ThatI could do. “I’m fine. Why the eyebrow raise?”
She shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting you to be frugal. I’m impressed.”
“I don’t like to waste money on things.” I tipped my chin to the girls and grinned. “Except for them. Their room is an Arendelle paradise.”
Arwyn’s lips spread into a wide, genuine smile as she turned her head toward the kitchen. “I would love a tour sometime.”
“I happen to know the two best tour guides personally,” I boasted.
“I’ve no doubt. Ready to start measuring?” she asked.
“Daddy!”
Isla and Amelie slid off the barstools and ran to us. I squatted down, ready to catch them. They hit me like little squirmy cannonballs, and I swooped them up into my arms. I closed myeyes, inhaling their baby powder and cookie scent. I wish I knew how to box it up to take on the road with me. Someone should infuse that scent into a candle or something.
“Can we watch?” Amelie asked.
“Can we help?” Isla asked.
“I don’t think—” I peered between their heads at Arwyn.
“Absolutely,” she said, her smile widening. “I have two very important assistant positions I need to fill for this client. Preferably by little girls who are good listeners and experts in everythingFrozen. Do you qualify?”
“Yes!” they squealed in unison.
I set them down, and they practically tripped over their dresses to get to Arwyn.
“Do either of you like to write?” Arwyn inquired.
Amelie’s hand shot up. “I have three diaries and a book of lists I write in every day.”
“Wonderful. Taking detailed notes is important to creating a garment that fits. And who is good with their hands?”
“Me!” Isla shouted. “I do crafts. I made that—” She pointed to the lumpy ceramic bowl on the coffee table. “And that!” She pointed to the cross-stitched-by-number snowman in the frame on the wall.
“Excellent craftsmanship and needlework. Okay, girls, you’re hired. Mr. Marsch is expecting the highest-quality Kristoff costume, and we must meet his expectations. Are you ready?”
“Ready!”
Arwyn handed the tape measure to Isla and pulled a sketchpad from her bag. She scrawled something on it with a pencil, then handed it to Amelie. “First, we need to get your dad into position.”
“I’m ready,” I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the side of the stone chimney.
