Because for as often as someone accepts the price I give for my homemade blankets, someone else will bemoan the cost as far too expensive.
They just don’t understand how much work my blankets take, how many hours I put in to each of my creations.
She runs her hand over one of the patchwork throws draped across the table. “These really are beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll take this one,” she says patting a cornflower blue and sunny yellow throw blanket. “And this one.” She strokes a finger over the twin-sized rainbow concoction—which shouldn’t work but somehow still does—that I have hanging along the back of my booth. “You should come up and sell these in Cedar Hollow. I bet you’d make a killing at the craft fair that Bits & Bobs puts on.”
I start folding up the blankets. “I haven’t been to Cedar Hollow before. Is it nice?”
A nod. “I grew up there.”
“Yeah?”
“I moved away for school but my parents still live there. I miss it a lot—the small-town vibes, never worrying about locking my doors, how everyone knows everything about everyone.” She smiles. “It’s still one of my favorite places on Earth.”
That sounds…lovely.
And also like a bit too muchknowingfor me.
“Do you ever think of moving back?” I ask as I finish with the first blanket.
“I’m in the process of it, actually.” Her gaze drifts away as she says, “There’s something about the giant redwoods”—a smile—“and the aforementioned cedars. There’s even a river that runs through the edge of town that’s lined with the cutest little beach and—” She waves a hand and cuts herself off. “Ignore me. I’m blabbering.”
“It sounds like you really like it.”
“I do.”
I start in on the second blanket.
“Anyway, they do the craft market every other month. If you want, I can give you Blossom’s information.”
More markets means more sales.
Which means a more kickass trip around the world.
“I’d love that.”
I finish bagging the blankets—then the set of kitchen towels she adds at the last minute and toss in a couple of potholders as thanks for her purchase (and for Blossom’s number). “Enjoy everything…” I pause, realize I don’t know her name.
“Clover,” she says, taking the bag from me. “It was lovely to meet you…”
“Finn,” I supply.
We exchange smiles and goodbyes and I sigh contently.
Because I love this.
The small talk.
My creations going home with people who genuinely want them.
I’m smiling as I turn to straighten a stack of fabric baskets?—
Only to stop cold.
Because Rhodes is walking down the aisle between the booths, Chloe holding his hand and skipping along beside him.
