Page 30 of Sew Matcha in Love
“Growing potatoes,” Arwyn said. “And vegetables. Apple trees. Chickens. Hay for their dairy cow. Milking the dairy cow.”
“Sounds fun,” I said. “Thanks for catching me up.”
“Wynnie, can you start now?” Amelie pleaded. “Daddy, no more questions. Buy the book if you want to read along. I’ve been waitingall day.”
I snorted. “Yes, ma’am.”
Arwyn started. “Chapter four. Morning at Green Gables.”
“Wait!” The screen went awry as Amelie set it down and picked up her book. “Now I’m ready!”
“All right,” Arwyn said. “It was broad daylight when Anne awoke and sat up in bed, staring confusedly at the window through which a flood of cheery sunshine was pouring andoutside of which something white and feathery waved across glimpses of blue sky.”
Arwyn’s reading voice was controlled. Elegant. She sucked me into the town and the people of Avonlea, and three chapters flew by. I’d have to get the audiobook so I could keep up with the story since I wasn’t free every night at seven thirty. Somehow, I already knew that whoever would be narrating the book wouldn’t be as nice as Arwyn. I wondered if she’d ever considered doing voice work. For a woman of few words, she sure had a beautiful speaking voice.
I said good night to the girls and waited about ten minutes before I texted Arwyn.
Thanks for taking such good care of the girls. And including their mom. It means a lot.
It’s my pleasure. They’re the sweetest kids, and my heart goes out to Viki. I can’t imagine how much she must miss them. I miss them while they’re at school, and I just met them.
How much did I want to tell her about our situation? Probably the more she knew, the better she’d understand how hard it all was for all of us.
I texted:Yeah, it was really hard to take them from her, but she needed the surgeries and time in rehab. She never would’ve stayed at a facility if the girls were in Montreal, and that would compromise a full recovery. Bringing the girls here was her parents’ idea, and to be honest, I still don’t feel good about it, even though I know in my brain it’s the best plan.
Three dots appeared, indicating she was typing. Then they stopped. I watched the phone, waiting.
Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener, and I promise to keep it private.
That was nice of her, but I was reluctant to bring her into the family drama. It was one thing to tell her about it and anotherto use her as my therapist. I got the feeling whatever I told her she’d carry like a weight, and I didn’t want to put that on her.
Maybe another time,I texted back. I’d leave the door open in case I changed my mind or our circumstances changed and I had to tell her more.Thanks.
You’re welcome.
Good night, Wynna-bun.
Good night, Mr. Marsch.
I grinned at my phone. Her humor was understated, and it intrigued me.
There was so much more about Arwyn Baughn that I wanted to know. Not just because she was taking care of my girls but because she was a cool human. She didn’t care about the latest fashion or decor. She did her own thing, wearing outfits and decorating her house like she was living in another century. I wondered what she had against this one and if I could find a way to show her the present could be just as exciting as the past.
Returning “home”to Arwyn’s house was night and day to coming home to the Denver apartment. I’d hand my keys to the valet, wheel my suitcase and garment bag to the elevator, and key open the door to a quiet apartment. If Viki and the girls were home, they were practicing their ballet or working with their tutor or pretending to be princesses in their playroom.
I pulled into the driveway, and the front door flung open before I could put the van in park. My girls, dressed in their plaid school skirts, navy vests, and white button-down shirts with matching tights, ran down the steps shouting at the top of their lungs that I was home. I had to scramble to get out of the vehiclebefore they reached it. Laffy and Vennie joined the chaos with a cacophony of delighted barks. It only took a quick scruff to each of the terriers’ heads to get their tongues lolling to one side.
I scooped up my daughters and closed my eyes, inhaling their strawberry shampoo and … cookie dough?
“Have you girls been baking?” I asked. My stomach growled at the prospect of cookies.
“Yes!” Amelie held my cheeks in her hand and rubbed her nose on mine. “Your beard is tickly.”
“I thought you liked my beard?”
“I do. But it’s not soft anymore. But it’s tickly.”
“That’s ’cause it’s short, Amms. It needs to grow longer, and then it’ll get soft again.”
