“What’s wrong?”
“The shoulders are lopsided. One sleeve is longer than the other!” Tears welled in her eyes. “I wanted it to be perfect, and it’s a mess.”
With it on, he couldn’t tell what he looked like, but glancing down, he could see one sleeve hit above his wrist bone; the other drooped below it. But she’d made it for him. Nothing in the world was as special as this sweater. “No, I love it. It’s perfect.” He rolled up one sleeve even with the other. “See? Perfect!” He added, “And gray is my favorite color.”
He enfolded her in his arms and kissed her. “It’s the best sweater in the whole world. I’m going to wear it all the time.” The cake, the birthday song, the gift—he’d never celebrated a birthday before. She’d brought normalcy to his life. Thoughtfulness and joy.
“You don’t have to wear it. I’ll crochet you another one.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “But I can’t do anything about the color. Hornigers are gray. Darmaine hasn’t been able to find a dye to color the yarn.”
“I love gray. I love the sweater.”I love you.He jerked. Did he? Is that what he was feeling? “I don’t want another one. I want this one.”
“We don’t have a mirror. You can’t see it. The shoulders are droopy. You had to roll up one sleeve.”
“I don’t need to see it. I canfeelit.”
It felt like love.
Chapter Eleven
“How did the birthday surprise go?” Darmaine asked.
“It went,” she said, still glum.
“What happened?”
“The sweater turned out terrible.”
“No, it didn’t! I saw it. It was a great first effort.”
“Exactly. A firsteffort.” Why didn’t she practice a little first? Try a less ambitious project—like a potholder. “The shoulders were uneven, so one sleeve hung longer than the other.” As soon as he put it on, she’d been aghast. Fortunately, without a mirror, he couldn’t tell how awful it looked. Or maybeunfortunate—he’d left for work this morning wearing it.
“I’m sure he liked it because it came from you,” Darmaine said.
“He did like it,” she admitted. He hadn’t been merely acting nice. He’d gotten choked up. She wished all the more she’d presented him with something better.
“What about the cake?”
“It caught fire!” Overall, nothing had gone the way she’d hoped.
“Oh, no! They left it in the oven too long?”
“They stuck a ginormous torch in the middle of it. I asked for acandle. I guess the cook didn’t understand what Lucento meant.”
“Or maybe my husband misunderstood what you meant.”
She’d thought of that too, except she hadn’t wanted to say so. “Maybe candles don’t exist on Refuge?”
“We have candles. They’re made out of horniger fat.”
Of course they are. What else?
“I’m sorry the birthday surprise turned out less than you’d hoped for. On the other hand, since you said he’d never had a birthday party, he has nothing to compare it to. Maybe he thinks all birthday cakes are supposed to be set on fire.”
Amity laughed. “Then he’s going to be disappointed next year.” Assuming their marriage endured, and there was a next year. She hated to count eggers before they hatched, but the future looked bright. Strong and brusque, Marshall was also vulnerable and sweet, and she was crushing on him in a big way.
“I’ll crochet him another sweater and a matching hat.” He’d insisted he didn’t want another, but she wanted to get it right. Then maybe she’d crochet a sweater for herself and for Faith.I’m going to be an old pro at crocheting.“I know you tried some dyes, but I wish I could research possible substances to color fabric and yarn.”
“You don’t have an MCD?”
