“Aye,” Kristen breathed. “Twilight.”
She did not lift the fabric. She let her hand rest there for a breath, porcelain to blue, heart settling with the thought of a child held safe by a music that belonged to them all.
“Shall I cut ye a length?” the dressmaker asked.
“Aye,” Kristen said softly. “A sash’s width for the boy, a little for the Anna’s dress, and a strip for a wee hair tie if I lose this ribbon. And two fingers’ length for later mends.”
“A sensible head.” The dressmaker nodded. She measured, her string whispering over the blue silk, then cut it with neat snips.
Kristen reached into the pocket in her skirt and took out a handful of coins. “What do I owe ye?”
“Ye owe me nothing till I finish the clothes,” the dressmaker replied. “Keep the ribbon and the strips for now.”
“Nay,” Kristen said with a small smile. “I will pay for what I take.”
“All right, if ye must.”
She counted out the coins, lined them evenly on the counter, and tucked the ribbon in her pocket. She felt Neil near her shoulder before she heard him. His nearness hummed like a fireplace behind her back.
“Ye will want leather laces for the boy’s shoes as well, me Lady?” the dressmaker asked.
“Ye see everything,” Kristen said.
“Only the very best for the lady of the clan.” The dressmaker smiled. “Nothing less.”
Kristen’s cheeks flushed, and she dipped her head. “Ye flatter me.”
“It is only the truth.”
“Do ye have everything ye came for?” Neil asked, his voice low.
Kristen kept her eyes on the dressmaker’s hands as they wrapped the blue strips. “Aye. For the bairns.” She tested her smile to be sure it held. “I promised Finn a sweet if he minds his letters. We will find one at the bakery.”
“Good.” Neil nodded.
The dressmaker tied the parcel with twine and slid it across the counter. “There. Tell the little ones that I expect a twirl at the cèilidh.”
“Daenae worry about that,” Kristen said. “They will give ye as many twirls as ye want.”
“I cannae wait.”
Kristen let out a light laugh and reached for the parcel, only for her fingers to brush Neil’s. It was the briefest touch, yet it sent a quick shock up her arm. She closed her hand around the parcel and drew back as any calm woman would do.
“Thank ye,” she told the dressmaker. “We will see ye soon.”
“Aye,” the dressmaker said, her eyes twinkling. “Even with this, I daenae believe I can thank ye enough for everything ye have done in the past few years.”
Kristen’s mouth curved. “It wasnae only me.”
“It felt like it.”
The words hung in the warm air with the lavender and chalk, simple and kind.
Bells chimed as the door opened again. The cool air touched Kristen’s cheeks.
She stepped out into the light with the ribbon tucked safely and the blue strips bound neatly, and she turned her thoughts to Finn’s height and Anna’s curls and nothing else.
Neil followed her out of the dressmaker’s, the bells giving a faint ring as the door fell shut. She lifted the small tunic toward the light, measuring by eye, talking about hems and how fast Finn grew. He heard the words, yet his mind stayed on the clear blue pressed to her cheek and the peace that had settled on her face when she forgot the world.
