She looked down at her hand still wrapped in his strong one as if he was giving her strength to tell her story. She reached for her glass with her other hand and took a sip. They sat there, hand in hand, as the gentle breeze caressed them. A lone gull called out as he soared past. This was a night she would remember for a long time. A perfect evening.
They finished their wine and snack and she reluctantly rose. “I should get home. It’s really late.”
He nodded and took her hand, his calloused fingers interlaced with hers as they crossed the cool sand to her cottage. They stood facing each other at the door. Tension crackled between them, and a look flickered across his face that she knew said he wanted to kiss her.
But he didn’t. The moment lingered, then he simply reached up and swept a lock of her hair away from the side of her face and traced his thumb across her cheek. “Good night, Amanda. Thank you for a wonderful night,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.
She swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat. “Thank you. I… I had a great time.” She barely managed to get the words out.
His lips curved into a brief smile, and he headed back to his cottage. She reached a trembling hand up to where he had touched her, feeling the lingering heat.
“I can’t quite figure you out, Connor Dempsey,” she said softly into the darkness.
CHAPTER 18
Amanda didn’t see one sign of Connor on Sunday, not that she was really looking for him, of course. Much. His workshop door remained closed, and she never saw him out on his deck. But that was okay, she told herself. She had lots to do for the festival.
She got up early on Monday and made a light breakfast before heading over to Darlene’s for her first knitting lesson. She walked over, the morning sunlight illuminating her steps as she crossed over to the bay side of the island and found Darlene’s bed-and-breakfast.
A cozy Victorian-style house sat back with a long lawn stretching before it. Wicker chairs were scattered across the front porch, inviting everyone to come and sit down. Cheerful flowerpots spilled over with bright blooms. She climbed the stairs a bit nervous, but excited.
“Come in,” Darlene greeted her. “We’re just getting started. Here, take a seat by me.”
Amanda was acutely aware of the friendly but curious glances as she sat down beside Darlene.
“Ladies, this is Amanda. She’s a brand-new knitter. And she’s the one organizing the Heritage Festival this year.”
The women greeted her warmly. Darlene introduced her to everyone, and each one showed her their project, from a lacy shawl to a striped baby blanket to a light cotton sweater. A Mrs. Thompson was busy knitting a baby sweater for her first grandchild in a delicate shade of pink. A younger woman, Sally Ann—was that her name?—was knitting a bright pair of socks. The pastor’s wife was knitting a prayer shawl, her nimble fingers moving with ease and grace.
Watching their skilled hands, she felt a twinge of self-consciousness. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get to their level of mastery, but at least she was going to give knitting a try, ready to start her new creative endeavor.
“Now, here are the needles I have for you. Some nice bamboo ones. They won’t be as slippery as metal ones.” Darlene handed her the needles and then plucked a skein of soft, creamy yarn from the basket in front of her. “And I have this worsted weight yarn. A good yarn to learn with—not too thick or too thin. First, I’m going to teach you an easy cast-on. That’s where you start to put stitches on the needles.”
She watched Darlene carefully as she demonstrated, her fingers deftly moving the yarn and making stitches magically appear on the needle. Then she tried it on her own as Darlene patiently corrected her and soon she had a row of stitches—albeit uneven ones—on the needle.
“That’s enough for a simple scarf,” Darlene nodded. “Now I’ll show you the knit stitch.”
She struggled a bit at first but soon got into more of a rhythm with the movements, and they didn’t feel so strange. Her stitches weren’t as even as Darlene’s, but she kept trying, each row looking marginally better than the last. The friendly buzz of conversation and clicking needles surrounded her as she concentrated on her work. Darlene kept nodding encouragingly at her as her work grew slowly.
“I heard that we’re going to have fireworks again this year at the festival.” Mrs. Thompson’s voice cut through her intense concentration.
Amanda paused, stilling her needles, though Mrs. Thompson seemed quite capable of knitting and speaking at the same time. “We are. We raised enough funds and I’ve got them all ordered.”
“I’m pleased to have fireworks again. It’s been years.” Mrs. Thompson smiled approvingly. “You’re doing a great job with the organization this year. I’m afraid the last few years we just couldn’t get people to volunteer or donate. I’m willing to help with anything you need. Just ask.”
“I’ll help too,” Sally Ann offered.
“Thank you, both of you.” Soon the others were offering up items to be donated to the auction for next year’s festival.
As they all turned back to their work, a sense of belonging crept through her. She looked around at the women, busy chatting and knitting, their needles never pausing. A sense of kinship surrounded the women, a camaraderie that was unfamiliar but something that she craved. Just simple friendship and a sharing of a craft they all enjoyed.
After a few hours, the group slowly disbanded, with everyone heading out. She looked at her slightly lopsided beginning of a scarf and was proud of what she’d accomplished.
“You take that with you,” Darlene said. “And here’s a bag I knit. You can use it to carry your project. If you have any problems, you just drop by here and I’ll help you. And if you come next week, I’ll show you how to purl.”
“Thank you, Darlene. I really had a good time. You have such a nice group of friends.”
Darlene smiled. “I do, don’t I? I’m a lucky woman. And I’m glad you joined us. You’re welcome anytime.”
