When people started gathering their things, Gary sat for a moment longer, staring at his work.
"It's not much," he said.
"It's six more stitches than you had an hour ago."
He looked up at me. "Yeah. I guess it is."
When he left, he paused at the door. "Thanks, Hog."
"For what?"
"For not making me feel like an idiot." He zipped up his jacket. "See you next week."
The door closed behind him. Bryce's mom honked impatiently from the parking lot. Dorothy waved as she and Harold headed out into the snow.
Margaret started stacking chairs.
"Gary's been coming to the shop every day since October," she said, not looking at me. "Stands by the window, looks at yarn,never buys anything. Tonight's the first time he's come inside for real."
"What changed?"
"You did. He heard about how Thunder Bay's enforcer liked to knit."
I helped her with the chairs, thinking about Gary's shaking hands and six wobbly stitches. About choosing to show up and try something terrifying because staying still was worse.
Margaret locked the register with deliberate care. The cash drawer slid shut with a soft click. Outside, snow pressed against the windows in fat, lazy flakes that caught the streetlights.
"Connor." She didn't look up from counting bills. "That offer I made. Teaching, co-ownership. It still stands. When you're ready."
"The team might be gone by spring." I hadn't meant to blurt that out, but it was too late. "Sold. Moved. Scattered."
"And?"
I thought about Jake's shaking hands and Pickle's panic. I pictured my jersey hanging in the locker room with my name stitched across the shoulders—the name that meant something here in Thunder Bay.
"I don't know who I am without it."
Margaret stepped close, and I continued, "Teaching six people to knit feels small."
"Does it?" Margaret gestured at the empty chairs. "Bryce is going to teach his little sister now. Dorothy and Harold will sit together in the evenings doing something his hands can still manage." She paused. "Gary walked through that door for the first time in four months. That's not small, Connor."
I sighed. "Gram would've liked tonight."
"She would've loved it." Margaret grabbed her coat. "Think about what you want, not what you're supposed to want. There's a difference."
I helped her turn off the lights and lock up. Outside, the snow was falling heavily, coating the sidewalks in a perfect white that would be gray slush by morning.
"Drive safe," Margaret said, climbing into her ancient Honda. "And Connor? That boy waiting for a future with you? Don't make him wait too long."
I watched her taillights disappear, and my phone buzzed.
Rhett:Workshop light's on. Take your time.
I smiled at the screen like an idiot and then headed for my car.
Rhett's workshop smelled like sawdust and motor oil, the overhead fluorescents buzzing against the darkness outside. He was bent over a workbench when I walked in, measuring something twice.
He looked up when the door closed. "Hey."
