“Up a little. . . . A smidge to the left. . . . Right there. Perfect.” I hurried forward, pulling a pin from the little cushion that looked like a tomato. I fastened the end of the shawl to the display board, then added several more pins to support the weight of the wrap.
Stepping back, I took in the effect. The fluffy angora yarn was the exact shade of orangey-yellow the aspen leaves had turned, and the lacy leaf pattern brought it all together for anyone who didn’t make the color connection.
Brandon’s hands landed on my hips, pulling me against him. “It looks good. How long do you think it will take to set up the rest of your things?”
I reveled in his heat, even while glancing around to see who was watching. The covered atrium off the lobby of the resort hotel was bustling with local artists and artisans setting up their own displays, as well as hotel guests who wanted a sneak peek. No one was paying us any attention.
Not that it would have mattered if they were staring. Brandon and I weren’t a secret anymore.
“Jemma?” The amusement in Brandon’s voice reminded me he’d asked a question.
“I’m just getting started.” I gestured at the bags I hadn’t begun to unload. “Amy asked me to show a progression from beginning knitter to someone who mostly knows what they’re doing.”
“You’ve always known what you were doing.”
I shook my head. Six months ago I could crochet anything, but give me knitting needles and I couldn’t even cast on. Inheriting my grandmother’s yarn store had forced me to learn quickly.
“Take your time setting up, but when you’re done, come find me. Or send me a text and I’ll find you.”
I turned to face him, and his hands settled on the small of my back, sending tingles through me. “You don’t have to wait for me. I can catch the bus over to Clear Creek.”
“We have a date, you and I.”
I frowned. We hadn’t made any real plans, had we?
“The head chef is playing with some new recipes. He wants to use us as test subjects.” Brandon smirked. “I think he wants to impress you.”
The fact that the man could cook anything without burning it was impressive. That he could keep a hotel full of people well-fed and happy, and be creative enough to invent new recipes right out of his head was cause for awe.
“Should I tell him we accept, or do you want to go home and we can make dinner together?” Mischief sparked in his eye. “Leandro did say he was trying some Indian flavors.”
I wiped at the edge of my mouth in case any drool had escaped. “Curry?”
Brandon nodded.
Choices, choices. There were few things I loved more than watching Brandon cook. But curry and I were old friends who didn’t see enough of each other.
He kissed the top of my head. “I’ll tell him we accept.”
“You’ll cook tomorrow?”
Brandon nodded. “Anything you want.”
“Tacos?” While Brandon could cook anything, his tacos were magic.
“If that’s what you want.” Brandon frowned as a raised voice echoed through the atrium. “What the —”
I trailed after Brandon, our fingers twined, as he made his way toward the tall arch between two pillars that led back to the lobby.
One of the local artists, an older man who carved the most amazing things from chunks of wood, raised an eyebrow at me as we passed. I shook my head and shrugged. I had no idea what was going on.
Brandon drew to a stop beside a display of oil paintings.
I peered around his shoulder and blinked.
This wasn’t the kind of place you expected to see someone in a fancy business suit — bathing suits, ski pants, and jeans were more typical — but the man Seth was trying to calm wasn’t even trying to pretend he was on vacation. His suit was well-tailored to his rounded body, and his bald scalp was so shiny it could have been polished with wax.
“They’re not supposed to be in here.” The man’s face was mottled in anger. He jabbed a finger into the resort security team logo embroidered on Seth’s polo shirt. “You’re charging me a fortune. The least you can do is see that my team is sent to the right place.”
“We can’t force people to go to your meeting.” Seth’s fist tightened. “Maybe if you arranged some time for your employees to take in the sights, they’d be more likely to be where you expect them.”
Brandon ran a hand down his face.
“Are you saying this —” the businessman waved his arm to encompass the atrium and everyone in it “— is on me?”
Brandon sighed. “I’m sorry, Jemma, but I need to take care of this. Seth is good at a lot of things, but diffusing a situation isn’t his best skill, and this guy looks like a professional complainer.”
I nodded, then stood back to watch him work. He approached Seth and the unhappy businessman and spoke in a voice that didn’t carry.
“What?” the man blustered. “Who do you think you are?”
Even though I couldn’t hear Brandon, I knew he was explaining that he was in charge of security for the resort.
The businessman puffed up, and Brandon made calming gestures. Finally, the man nodded, and when he spoke his voice was at a normal level.
“The guy’s going to give himself a heart attack if he isn’t careful,” a woman beside me whispered.
I glanced at her. Her brightly-colored kaftan billowed as she moved, and an impressive number of bangles jingled on her arms. She looked every inch the creative artist. “He was certainly upset, but I’m sure security has it well in hand.”
“I’m sure he does.” The woman made an appreciative sound. “I’m Camille, by the way.”
“Jemma. Are these your paintings?”
She nodded. “They are. And you’re the yarn artist. I was watching while you hung the shawl.”
That was either flattering, or creepy.
I looked back to where Brandon was trying to have a civil conversation. The businessman said something heated and gestured to Seth.
Seth threw up his hands, shaking his head as he backed away. The businessman, brows furrowed, took a quick step toward him. Seth narrowed his eyes as he leaned in and said something.
The businessman’s face took on a purplish hue.
Brandon pushed between the two, speaking calmly to the irate businessman. Sparing a look over his shoulder for Seth, he motioned for the young security guard to leave.
Seth made an obvious effort to control himself before turning and storming away.
Brandon said something else, and led the businessman toward his office.
“Your . . . security man has a way about him, doesn’t he?” Camille asked as she watched them leave the atrium.
“He does.” A look around the room showed that everyone else had already returned to their own tasks. “I should probably go finish setting up. It was nice to meet you, Camille.”
“Likewise.” She fluttered over to straighten one of her paintings. “I’m sure we’ll see a lot of each other over the next week. So nice of the resort to host this celebration of local artists.”
I bit back my grin until I was almost to my display. Calling everyone here an artist was generous of her. Her paintings were definitely art, but several of the “artists” — like the teenage girl who glued googly eyes on rocks — were calling themselves crafters.
There was nothing saying crafters couldn’t also be artists — except for the crafters themselves.
I reached for my bags and started pulling out the items Amy had specifically asked me to include in the display.
After giving the green alpaca and merino blend hat a good tug to try to even it out, I gave up. The lopsidedness was part of its charm, if I squinted. It had been my first knitting project, and the unevenness of the stitches showed better than words that I’d been a baby knitter when I made it.
I moved down the display board and pinned it up. Next to it, I hung the little card I’d made with the pattern name and what yarn I’d used.
Next I pulled out the nylon and wool cowl that had been my second project. The brown and rust played up the colors nature had dressed herself in for the season — or it would have, if any of the atrium windows had offered a glimpse outside instead of just to different parts of the resort.
One by one, I attached the rest of my early knitting projects to the board. None of them could hold a candle to the shawl Brandon had helped me pin up before the crazy businessman episode, but they weren’t a total embarrassment, either.
I climbed onto a chair and pinned up one end of a banner, then dragged the chair a few feet to the right and climbed onto it again.
“Your end needs to go up about an inch,” a woman offered.
I adjusted it as suggested. “There?”
“Yes, that looks good.”
“Thank you.” I hopped to the ground and turned to see who my unexpected helper was.
The woman was short, not even reaching my shoulders, which emphasized the fact that she was a little on the round side. But the most striking thing about her was the happiness that seemed to seep out of her pores.
I held out my hand. “I’m Jemma.”
“Hi Jemma, I’m Elise. Did you make all these?” She motioned to my knitting.
I nodded.
She tilted her head back to look at the banner. Evolution of a Knitter. “I like that you’re willing to let people see your learning projects.” She tipped her head toward the rest of the room. “All of them are showing off what things they’ve made perfect, or as close to that as they can get.”
I didn’t try to stop the bubble of laughter that burst out of me. “I wouldn’t dare try to pretend anything I’ve made is perfect.”
Elise nodded. “It makes you human. Easy to relate to.”
“Thanks,” I said, choosing to take it as the compliment I was sure she intended, rather than as evidence that I wasn’t a true artist.
Her large, round eyes moved to something behind me. “How much is that shawl?”
I smiled. She liked my aspen shawl. “Nothing here is for sale. Amy, the resort’s event planner, thought organizing something to showcase local artists would add some flavor for the week’s guests. And maybe garnish some goodwill from the locals.”
“Nothing’s for sale?” Her shoulders drooped. “Are you sure? I’m getting married this weekend, and that shawl is exactly what I need for my Something New.”
“Congratulations on the wedding.” I hated to say no to a bride. I’d never say I was superstitious, but denying a bride — a kind bride, anyway — something to make her feel beautiful at her wedding felt like bad luck. “If you’re really interested in a shawl, I have more at my shop. It’s just down the road in the next town.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “I’m sure we could find you something.”
“Do you have more in autumn colors? We’re getting married here, outside, and I want to tie in the beautiful scenery.”
I did a quick mental inventory. “Solid color, or variegated?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m more concerned with how it flows, you know? The feel of it.”
“I know exactly what you mean. I have a few things that might work.”
She raised her hands in front of her chest and mini-clapped. “What’s the name of your shop? My mother and I will come as soon as we have a break in the wedding events.”
“Black Sheep Yarns and Woolies.”
Elise repeated it back to me, along with the promise that she’d call the shop before coming to make sure I was ready for her.
I grinned as she waltzed through the atrium, not bothering to stop and talk with anyone else. Maybe this little display would be worth the time away from the shop, after all.
My stomach grumbled. I pulled out my phone to check the time but, as usual, my body was right. It never needed a clock to tell me when it was mealtime.
With a final glance at the display board, I went to find Brandon — and the chef’s curry.
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