Page 97 of Darn Knit All

His rejection felt like a slap. Hurt and confused, I opened my mouth to call him on it, but Michelle interrupted.

“You time restarts, now!”

I bit my lip, glancing at the clock. We had four hours left in the competition—precious few minutes so I couldn’t dedicate time to whatever was going on with him.

Shoving my concerns aside, I pointed at the fabric still to be pinned. “Can you do that?”

He nodded tightly, still not meeting my gaze.

I began cutting and pinning the bodice, hand stitching the delicate material while Theo worked on the skirt.

But with every passing minute, my anxiety mounted. Theo’s deft fingers fumbled with the delicate material, ripping the thin lace. His seams were crooked, and his hems half finished. At one point, he knocked over a tray of sequins, sending them scattering across the floor.

“Leave it,” I said when he bent to clean them up. “We don’t have time.”

He just shook his head, scooping handfuls back into the tray with shaking hands. Across the room, I caught Jude smirking at us. Unease slithered down my spine.

“Two hours remaining!” Michelle called.

My eyes widened in horror as I took in the state of our dress. It was a disaster—puckered seams, gaps in the beading, hemline uneven. Tears of frustration pricked my eyes.

“Theo,” I said, fighting to keep my voice calm. “I need you to either tell me what’s wrong or pull it together. Please. This is too important.”

His haunted green eyes met mine. I searched his gaze, struggling to understand what had happened.

“How can I help?” I asked, laying a hand on his arm. “Tell me.”

As we stared at each other, his vacant, hopeless look disappeared, replaced by something like determined resignation.

“Fuck you’re brave.” He gestured at the cameras around us. “You don’t even care that they’re watching me melt down.”

“I care. I just do it anyway.”

“Fuck.” He pulled me close, holding me tight. “You’re right. Thisistoo important.”

He let me go and turned to the mannequin, tugging the skirt free. Wadding it up, he tossed the material onto our workbench.

“Let’s get to work.”

Relieved to have him back, we found our rhythm once more. Our movements were synchronized, a seamless dance of fabric and thread.

“That’s it,” Theo said, passing me a perfectly presented skirt. “We’re nearly done.”

I draped the fabric, cutting and basting with efficiency as he tucked and stitched the final pieces.

Our dress took shape, transforming into its intended vision. The once-gaping holes were closed, the puckered seams smoothed, and the uneven hemline corrected. Imperfections were hidden by clever layering and strategically placed embellishments.

“Time’s up!” Michelle called, clapping her hands. “Congratulations, contestants! You’re done.”

I sagged to the floor, laughing as the reality of what we’d achieved hit me.

“We did it,” I breathed, tilting my head back to stare up at Theo. “We finished.”

My back and neck ached, and my fingers were half-numb from overuse. But we’d done it. And no one could take this away from us.

Theo returned my smile, a flicker of his old humor returning. “You better believe it.”

I pushed up from the floor, hesitantly reaching out for a hug. This time he didn’t pull away. He hauled me into his arms, holding me tight.

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