As we’re walking back to his truck, Harrison pauses, turning to me. “You’re here all summer?”
“Until the end of August.”
He nods slowly, his eyes catching on mine.
“Are you and Charlie…uh…dating?”
I make a face. “Not even close.”
“Maybe I’ll see you around, then? I’m usually at the Tavern on Thursday nights.”
“The Tavern?”
“You don’t know it? I thought you and Charlie were friends or something.”
I cackle at that. “We just met yesterday.”
“Oh. The way he spoke…” Harrison frowns, and it’s adorable on him. “I figured you knew each other well. Anyway, the Tavern is Charlie’s family’s restaurant. Or, it used to be. Charlie and Sam sold it a couple years ago.”
“Sam?”
“Charlie’s younger brother.”
“Ah.”
“I could take you sometime? Food’s good.”
“Like a date?” I want to be sure about what’s going on here. I’m wearing rumpled pajamas and my glasses. My hair is a hornet’s nest.
With a nervous laugh, Harrison rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah? Or not. We could just have a beer. No pressure, obviously.”
We stare at each other in awkward silence for a moment. I’m not sure why I’m hesitating. Harrison could be number five on my bucket list. He’s more than kissable.
“Maybe,” I say. “I’m a bit busy taking care of my grandmother right now, but I’ll think about it.”
Stedmans is a Barry’s Bay icon. It’s something like a general store—clothing, housewares, and office supplies on the main floor, and outdoor equipment and kids’ toys in the basement. We bought all our puzzles here the summer I was seventeen. It’s a rainy day, and it feels like half the town is inside, stocking up on beach towels and sweatshirts and board games. There is a trove of fabric in the back of the store, arranged by color, and florals galore—botanicals and calicos, ditsies and damasks.
“How are we going to choose?”
Nan narrows her eyes to assess the inventory. “Joyce loved blue.”
“How did she feel about toile?” I pull out a bolt with a royal-blue pastoral pattern.
“I don’t think she would have opposed, but I’m not sure it would suit the cottage.”
“Too fussy?”
She hums a yes.
In the end, we decide on a blue and cream Liberty-style print, with dashes of orange, yellow, and green, for the kitchen and bathroom curtains.
We spend the rest of the day measuring and cutting and laughing over my clumsy use of the sewing machine foot pedalas I wind thread around a bobbin. While Nan naps, I set up a makeshift art studio for myself in the boathouse loft. When she wakes, she makes me practice sewing in a straight line, over and over, on a cheap piece of remnant we bought for this very reason.
“Straight enough?” I ask, bringing it over to Nan for inspection. She’s resting in the armchair with her tea.
She peers at the stitching through her glasses, as if she’s Coco Chanel herself. “You’ve got it,” she says. “We’ll start the curtains tomorrow.”
Charlie:Harry asked me to put in a good word, so this is me putting in a good word.
