Page 27 of Windward Hearts

“No, it’s all good,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear absently. “I probably deserved it, since I’m sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. I just couldn’t resist taking a look to see what your setup was like in here.”

“Professional curiosity?” he asked as he watched her take in the scene around them. He felt a surge of pride when she nodded approvingly at his space, which he had cultivated with more care than any of the rooms in his home. “Missing your waitressing job that much?”

“Ha, that would be a good excuse,” she said, scrunching her nose. Also adorable. “And I did love that job, and I’m still rather sad that it’s over. But the real reason is that I’m just a snoop, I’m afraid.”

“At least you’re a pretty snoop.”

The words left his mouth before he could think about them, and as soon as they did, he wished he could snatch them back. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Hope was pretty. She definitely was. But she had come to town to care for her sick grandmother, not because she wanted a local restauranteur to comment on her looks.

She blushed furiously, which was also also adorable, but Jared pushed that thought very deep down, because he apparently couldn’t trust the filter between his brain and his mouth anymore.

“Sorry,” he said, wincing. “I shouldn’t have⁠—”

“No, sorry,” she said, speaking over him. “I was the one who⁠—”

They both cut themselves off to let the other speak, then laughed a little into the awkward silence that followed. It worked to cut the tension a little, although part of Jared still wished that the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

“Sorry,” she repeated. “I bet you’re probably eager to get out of here for the day.” She looked around the empty kitchen. “I just came in to pick up a to-go order for my grandmother. Soup?”

“Right, yes, of course,” he agreed, feeling flustered himself now. He crossed to the shelf where he kept his to-go orders. There was only one left, but Miriam’s name was listed on the slip on the side. “Here you go. Tell Miriam that I hope she likes it, and that it helps her keep feeling better. Everybody misses seeing her around.”

The words sounded stilted, too polite. It wasn’t the way that Jared even talked to his customers around here. He’d spoken to customers in the bigger markets like that, but this was Magnolia Shore. He made more than awkward small talk with literally all of his patrons.

But something about the moment had gotten knocked off course by his compliment, and now it felt impossible to get things back on track.

“She’ll be really pleased to hear that,” Hope said. Her smile felt a little more forced now. “Anyway, I should get this back to her before it gets cold. Thanks again, Jared!”

“Good to see you, Hope!” he called as she headed for the door, pausing only to shoot him a wave over her shoulder.

After the door closed behind her, Jared put his hands on his hips and dropped his chin down to meet his chest.

“Well, that was a disaster,” he told his empty kitchen. At least he had sent the staff home. The only thing worse than whatever that had just been would have been the same thing happening but with witnesses. And while he appreciated that what he’d built here wasn’t like the stiff, overly formal kitchens he’d worked in at big-city restaurants, that did mean that if his workers got a hint that he had a crush, he would never hear the end of it.

He might not have minded a little light ribbing, but his compliment clearly had made Hope feel uncomfortable. And he didn’t want that. So. No more forward compliments from him.

He rubbed his hands through his hair once, then started gathering his things to leave. No matter how much a mess he had made of that conversation, there was one thing he couldn’t deny: Hope was definitely very pretty, and he hoped that he’d get to see her again soon.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Okay, new plan,” Hope said, coming into the living room with that week’s book club book in her hands. They only had the one copy between them, because it had seemed silly to have two copies of one book when they were living in the same house. But trading back and forth was also taking too long, especially since Hope had to catch up on some of the earlier chapters, since she’d joined the book club when they were already midway through.

“I’m going to read the pages out loud,” she told her grandmother, not yet looking up from where she was flipping through to find the place where she had left off. “That way, we can both absorb the information at the same time. I’ll be like your own personal audiobook narrator.”

“Perfect,” Miriam said. “That way I can finally finish this. It’s been mocking me.”

Hope glanced over to see her grandmother working on a quilt. Most of the work was done; the squares were each in a perfect pinwheel pattern that made the whole thing look like a gorgeous, whirling array of color. That part, Hope recalled, could be done by machine, and Miriam did have one in her spare room. This part, though…

“This part has to be done by hand, right?” she asked, joining her grandmother on the couch. The layers of the quilt were pinned together: the patchwork top, the batting in the middle, and the large, solid piece that would make up the back of the quilt.

“Yes, this part is called the quilting,” Miriam explained as she stitched a careful pattern with white thread that went through all three layers. “It’s what stops the batting from bunching up in the middle as soon as you pick the quilt up.”

Hope ran her fingers over the material. There was a faint drawing in the kind of water-soluble fabric pencil that she recalled from her own childhood sewing projects. Miriam was stitching carefully along this line, which added another layer of dimension to the quilt’s texture. The lines she’d drawn looked like lapping waves; combined with the pinwheel pattern in jaunty blues, with the occasional splash of red thrown in, it made the whole thing feel very beachy to Hope.

“I haven’t done any crafts projects in so long,” she said as she imagined what the final product would look like. After this elaborate hand-quilting process, her grandmother would take the border that was attached to the front piece of the quilt and wrap it around the edge of the batting, then connect it to the back. This was another aspect that had to be done by hand.

“Me neither,” Miriam said. “My mother taught me quilting, as I’m sure you recall. Your dad never wanted to learn. He was too much the consummate boy. Never happy unless he was covered in mud. And Felicity couldn’t sit still long enough when she was little either. But I taught you!”

“You did,” Hope agreed. She eyed her grandmother’s sewing kit. Just the sight of it brought back memories from childhood. Hope had only intermittent interest in quilting, which was a pretty long-term project for a small child, but she had sewed her own little ragdoll and then made tons of clothes for it.