Page 48 of When In Doubt

Oscar shrugs off my thanks. It seems like such a small thing, him wearing nice clothes to work with me, but I feel like there’s a stone balanced on my chest. I guess I’m just not used to people taking me seriously. Back home, everyone always treated my work like a hobby, never believing I could build something real. But Oscar hasn’t doubted it once.

“I guess it doesn’t matter much either way,” he says. “Nobody’s going to be looking at me when you’re wearing that.”

I look down at my outfit, a cornflower blue tea dress with a white collar. I debated adding the petticoat that goes with it, but I thought it might get in the way when I’m working. “Is it too much?” I ask, getting nervous.

“Definitely not too much.”

“Are you sure?” I glance down, observing it through new eyes.

“You look beautiful, Freya.”

Chapter Sixteen

OSCAR

The underside of the food container threatens to blister my palm as I make my way back through the hall. It’s almost two, and Freya hasn’t stopped the entire day. From the moment we arrived, we’ve been moving, setting up, and then dealing with the flood of customers that came through the doors. I’m not too proud to admit that I seriously underestimated the knitting crowd, because they are not messing around today.

Freya’s been incredible. She’s so bright and open, so in her element. I’m fucking proud of her, but it’s been six hours and she needs a break. I had to ask three times what she wanted for lunch, and even then, I only got a vague answer that she was happy with anything. I figured a grilled cheese is probably a safe bet. If mac and cheese is her favorite, then this is basically the same thing, right? Dairy and carbs?

The smile she throws my way as I approach almost puts me on my ass. I haven’t had that smile yet. I’ve had others, her polite smile when she feels like she should, the shy one when she’s happy but doesn’t want to show it, but never this. It’s all light. Her hair tumbles down her shoulders in perfect waves and my feet start moving faster. That hair. I swear I used to have dreams about it.

She’s talking to two young women, each holding large bags already overflowing with yarn. The three of them laugh at something I wish I could hear as Freya shows them some of the fancy stripy yarn I put up on a pegboard against the back wall.

I don’t know how much help I’ve actually been. I don’t know anything about what she’s selling, so it’s not like I can really talk to the people stopping by. I’ve just been keeping all the stock topped up and trying to coax sips of water into her as she flits around.

I make it to the booth just as the two girls are leaving, having each bought a couple balls of yarn.

“Grilled cheese, and…” I reach into my pocket with a flourish. “Denver’s finest vending machine soda.”

She smiles, but her eyes dart around, distracted. “Thank you so much. I’ll have it in just a second.”

“There’s nobody here. You gotta eat. Sit down and have a break.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not gonna win this one, honey.” I take her by the shoulders and turn her, reaching down to untie the apron at her waist that she’s been stuffing change into. “Just take fifteen minutes. If I screw up, you’ll be right behind the partition.” I pull the apron off her and fasten it just above my belt. She doesn’t say anything about the name. I hadn’t meant to let it slip in the truck, but fuck it.

“You don’t have to wear that,” Freya says, turning to take me in. She always does this, acts like anything I do for her is some great burden. It only makes me want to do it more. So much that she stops noticing.

“What?” I raise an eyebrow. “You think I can’t pull it off?”

She rolls her eyes, not saying anything as she picks up the takeout box and reluctantly shuffles behind the partition. I know I’ve been joking around with her, but I want to get this right. I’m kind of in over my head here and this is Freya’s business. I can’t do anything that might reflect badly on her.

In the end it hardly matters. The customers that come by don’t need much help and even when one girl asks how much yarn I would suggest she buy for a sweater, Freya poked her head around the side of the wall, grilled cheese still in hand, and chirped out an answer I hardly understood a word of. She didn’t leave me to my own devices much longer after that. I’m not convinced it was long enough to constitute an actual meal break, but I don’t think there’s any use arguing. She’s got that look in her eye I’ve come to associate with “work mode,” all focus and clear intention.

I should absolutely not be thinking it, but it’s hot as fuck.

This whole trip has hit me like a smack across the face. All those feelings that I thought were just a childhood crush have come burning back full force. When I was a kid I thought she was so cool, so smart, but I didn’t know, then, everything that I know now. She’s kind, she’s sweet, she’s funny as hell when she lets herself be. She’s a hundred times stronger than she realizes and I just want her to see what I see.

But I know now’s not the right time to make a move. There’s something skittish about her, like a frightened animal. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on, what happened to make her this way, but she’s not ready for me. Not yet anyway.

We spend the next few hours in a peaceful sort of rhythm. I don’t give Freya back her apron and instead let her focus on advising people while I keep the stock topped up and take their money.

“That’s seventeen ninety-nine,” I tell an older woman with dyed green hair as I slide her purchases into a paper bag, stamped with the Malcolm Yarn and Crafts logo. The woman hands me a twenty and I count out her change before writing down what she bought in the notebook Freya started. 3 skeins— Freya told me an hour ago that I had to call them skeins— of worsted merino. I’ve been careful to copy the labels exactly so I don’t disrupt Freya’s inventory at the end of this.

She’s talking to another woman who’s not buying anything now, but has been asking about commissioning Freya for some sort of lace shawl. Freya’s got the soft flush on her neck that I’ve come to notice any time she gets excited, as if she can’t keep the feeling inside her body and it seeps out through her skin. The woman leaves with a business card and a promise to be in touch. Freya turns to me with eyes wide and her lip caught between her teeth, trying to bite back the grin I know wants out.

“That was good, right?” I ask, stepping closer.