Azam turned the dress inside out, then pointed along the neckline where she would stitch. He eyed the neckline, then cut it with shears. She was mesmerized by the quick way his fingers moved. He was so competent with his hands.
He threaded white into the machine then, showing her how to do it. Next, he pinned the lace to the neckline so it would stay in place, though he had done his stitching without any pins.
‘Just like this,’ he said, voice gentle. He was on his knees nextto her, his face beside hers. She felt the warmth of his body, his cheek almost brushing against hers.
‘Then we move the dial,’ he said, lifting her hand and bringing it to the dial. As they moved it together, she watched the needle shift up and down. His palm was soft over her knuckles. She felt his chest against her shoulder, steady and solid. His grip on her hand relaxed, and she moved the dial on her own.
‘Like this?’ she asked, turning to look at him.
They were eye-level, and when their gazes locked, a tingle shot down her spine, like a little jolt of lightning. His throat moved as he swallowed, eyes dark.
‘Yes,’ he said, voice low. ‘Just like this.’
She turned back to the sewing machine, and his left arm came around her to push the dress under the needle. They were nearly in an embrace.
‘Ease it in like this,’ he said, moving the fabric under the needle. ‘Then you begin, moving the fabric as you stitch.’
She moved the dial, pushing the needle into the fabric. He moved his hands back, but still kept them close in case she needed help. As she turned the dial, she moved the fabric, and she was doing it!
‘I’m actually stitching!’ she said gleefully.
Azam smiled. ‘That’s my girl.’
His breath was warm against her neck, making her skin feel feverish. Her stomach burned.
She kept going, until she reached the curve of the neckline on the other end. She was going too quickly, and the fabric caught. Trepidation ran through her.
‘Oh no,’ she whispered, moving her hands back. ‘I’ve ruined it.’
‘Nothing to worry about, Sonya,’ Azam said, voice gentle. ‘I can fix that.’
He waved his hand, and she watched with wide eyes as the stitch unstitched itself, magic undoing her error. She turned to him with her mouth open.
‘You’re extraordinary,’ she said. His cheeks flushed.
‘Try again,’ he said.
She tried again, this time successfully, until the lace was added on. Azam showed her how to cut the thread, then trimmed the extra lace. He pulled the dress back to normal so she could see.
‘It’s so pretty!’ she said, feeling proud of herself.
‘You’re a natural,’ he said. ‘It’ll look perfect on you.’
‘Thank you.’ She took the dress, hugging it to her chest. She felt warm, all the way down to her toes. He watched her, a tender expression on his face, and she felt a little shy.
‘You must think I’m silly,’ she said, putting the dress down.
‘No, quite the opposite!’ he replied. ‘My favorite part of tailoring is seeing people’s reactions. Especially since tailoring magic can change the way the wearer feels.’
She wondered how much of the warmth she felt was because of his magic, and how much of it was just because of him. ‘That’s incredible,’ she said. ‘Tell me more!’
He laughed. ‘It isn’t just about making the garment for us stitch-witches,’ he explained. ‘But how that garment can make someone feel. The way a kitchen-witch’s good meal can make someone feel nourished and cozy, or the way a garden-witch can grow plants to cure ailments, or even the connection a shepherd-witch has with animals—they all run deeper than simple actions.’
‘I love that,’ she said. He grinned.
‘Anyway—we should return to the others,’ he said, ‘or Grandma Kiri will be wondering where we are.’
Holding the sage-green dress, she followed Azam out of the room. He picked up the bread, and she collected the wildflowers.They entered the living room, where Dania was having a nap, cuddled with her stuffed animals on the sofa. Kiri was reading a book beside her, face glowing from the firelight.
