I smile, maybe a little too quickly.
“Yeah.Eventually.”
She gives me a knowing look—the kind that saysI know exactly why, Honey,but she’s too polite to say it out loud.
Her gaze catches on the apron I’m wearing—one of the ones I made from that old trunk of vintage fabric.
It’s all faded rose print and lace trim, the kind of thing that looks like it belonged to someone’s grandmother, but I modernized it.
And beneath the soft, pretty material is a fully functional canvas apron, so it’s got purpose to it, not just looks.
“You made that one too, didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” I say, pretending to fuss with the pocket.
“Don’t play coy with me,” Angie says, reaching out to tug at the bow I tied around my waist.
“You could sell these.I’m serious.Women around here love this kind of thing—something handmade, something with a story.”
I pause, blinking at her.“You really think so?”
“Think so?Honey, Iknowso.You’re sittin’ on a goldmine of creativity.”
“Well, truthfully, I saw thatArtist’s Alleyat the rodeo and it had me thinking,” I confess.
“That’s a good idea!Did you ever think about selling online?”
Her words hit me square in the chest because—yeah.
Ihavethought about it.
Last night, after Sawyer fell asleep beside me, all wrapped up around me like he couldn’t bear to let go, my brain wouldn’t stop spinning.
A stand at the rodeo to showcase my sewing projects.
I can call itLil Bit O’Love, a sort of homage to the nickname Sawyer gave me.
It’d be something to do with a skill I actually have.
Something of my own that I can share.
A way to contribute, to be useful, to give back to this place that’s starting to feel like home.
I lean my hip against the counter and smile at her.
“Actually, yeah.I’ve been thinking about it.I could start small—aprons, table runners, curtains, custom quilts maybe.Etsy or Shopify.Was thinking I’d call itLil Bit O’Lovecause sometimes all something needs is a little bit of love to be useful or beautiful again.”
Angie lets out a laugh so full of pride it makes my throat tighten.
“Lord, I love it already!We’ll need to get you some photos, a name, a logo, and—oh, Honey, we’re goin’ thrifting this week.”
I laugh with her, the sound bubbling out of me so easily I almost don’t recognize it.
“You’re serious?”
“Serious as a bull at auction.You need fabric, notions, buttons, and I know every thrift shop and consignment store in Barren County.We’ll make a day of it.”
The idea fills me with this lightness I haven’t felt in so long.I want to bottle it up and keep it.
