Page 41 of Marked By Shadows

“She’s a hoarder too,” Alex said with a bit of awe.

“Better organized though,” I said. “We need to find a good back for our quilt. These fabrics are 108 inches wide, meaning they fit most quilt tops without having to piece together smaller bolts of fabric.”

“Oh.” Alex held up the top beside the wall of colors. “More quilting magic. How about this green with leaves?” He pulled out one in pale green, with metallic gold leaves.

“Sure. But we should stop for lunch.”

“Or we could keep going and have an early dinner. How much is left?” He eyed the backing and the top. Did he remember the quilt sandwich part?

“All that’s left is sandwiching the quilt, then the actual quilting. Are you ready to try free motion quilting again?”

“What if I can’t do it?” he whispered. “The machine didn’t feel as familiar when I was sewing the seams.”

I set the fabric down and pulled him into my arms, tilting my head up to meet his lips. “Whatever happens is fine.” There was fear in his eyes, but I knew he wouldn’t let it hold him back. “If you can’t do it, then we just put it on the long arm and set a design. No pressure.”

“I want to be useful to you.”

I stepped into his space and put my hands on his face so he could see only me. “You are. Just having you hang out while I sew is one of the few things that quiets my brain. Your presence, even if you were only napping while I worked, helps me out. Whether you craft or sew or not doesn’t matter. I like having you close.”

“I like crafting with you.”

“And I love crafting with you too. Showing you stuff. Even with a ghost cat at my feet, I knew you were close and it was okay. I know this freaks you out a bit, but I think it will be alright. I would love for a ghost to stop in and give me some skill I could use,” I told him.

“Careful what you wish for, eh?” Alex muttered. “The cat is still here. Sitting in the chair you were using.”

I glanced at the chair as though I’d see something there. Nothing. Not even a divot where the cat might sit. I guess I wouldn’t be sitting back down.

“You missed my point. Having you here has been great. I’m so happy you came along.”

His cheeks pinked again. I worked to get us focused back on the project and soothe his internal panic about being gifted.

“Try to think of the finished quilt,” I told him. “What color do you want the thread?” Freya, like me, had a wall of colored threads meant for top quilting. Some were variegated, some even metallic. I preferred heavier cotton thread for quilting, and found a pale peach I thought would work well, blending in most spots, visible in others. “How about this one?”

Alex took it and sat down at the mid-arm machine, threading it as though he’d done it a thousand times. The contrast between machines stark, as the mid-arm he sat at had an elongated neck, and was built into a flat surface with the table to allow more movement space. The free motion foot was already on the machine, feed dogs lowered. Alex wound a bobbin of thread, then set the machine to ready, a familiarity with the machine he hadn’t had with the standard one.

“That’s not normal?” He asked quietly.

“Normal for who? Why does normal matter?” I held out the quilt for him. “We talk about normal way too much for men who are not average in any way.”

Alex grinned. “Your ass is beyond average.”

“Perv,” I teased him.

“But it’s your eyes I love best. And those little freckles across the bridge of your nose.”

Now it was my turn to blush. “Distractions aside, do you want to do this?”

He let out a long breath, adjusted the quilt into the machine, setting the foot on the edge, and stared at it. He ran through a fast outer basting stitch before re-centering the piece in the middle to work on one square at a time. After a minute he began to move, hands guiding the fabric with that same magic he’d displayed at the quilt shop.

“You okay?” I asked perching in a chair beside him, my back to the rest of the room, still keeping one eye on the chair with the cat, and one on Alex.

“Feels like I’ve been doing this forever,” Alex said. I barely heard him over the whir of the machine, his voice small and uncertain. “Natural. But it’s not really mine, yeah?” Alex said. “It’s cheating.”

“She gave you the skill because she knew you had the vision.”

“You don’t know that.” He paused, having finished one of the squares in a mix of textured lines, curves, and designs that made the space unique and intricate.

“She said the others in the shop, and her own kids, didn’t have the skill for it? A bit like art overall, I think. Someone can admire art, even love looking at it, but that doesn’t mean they can create it. You can create it; she simply gave you the muscle memory in which to create the vision in your head.”