Page 73 of Love You, Mean It

“Let me run some numbers. I amveryintrigued by this opportunity.”

The rest of the evening sped by, a blur of overpriced snacks and drinks, laughter, and that sparkling, effortless stream of conversation that I hadn’t found with anewfriend in…longer than I could remember.

For the moment, it drove the scheme, the increasingly confusing situation with Theo, even the looming threat of Mangia, out of my mind. Maybe it wasn’t too much to hope that we could somehow pull this off.

In fact…maybe things would turn out even better because ofit.

I’d gone an entire week without getting Pinskied. I suppose I was overdue. Ruth was bent so low over the cheese section her breath fogged the glass.

“The provolone’s always reliable, but I wonder if cheddar wouldn’t be better with ham…and Jimmy does like a Muenster…”

I returned to the sketch I’d been playing around with during downtime all morning, a mod-influenced dress, all bell shapes, but instead of classic seam piping, seam-vineswriggled up the skirt from multiple directions and snaked around each sleeve, undulating sinuously before bursting into cascading arrays of flowers around the neckline and sleeve openings. I was imagining it in shades of green, a foresty base color with new-growth-bright vines unfurling over it, perfect for spring days thatweren’tjust around the corner—New England winters were as stolidly enduring as our Puritan forebears—but that were finally starting to feel possible, now that we’d clawed our way through the worst of winter to days when sunset was later than four-thirty.

I always imagined clothes on myself first; it was long habit to pattern for the measurements I knew best. But for some reason, every time I imagined the reality ofthisgarment—which fabrics would hang right, what lines would be the most flattering—I was imagining Theoseeingme in the dress. I’d already tweaked the design, picturing the furrow of his brow as he took in the drift of flowers on one shoulder. And shortened the hem, remembering the heat in his gaze when he talked about my tennis skirt…

“Did you hear me, Ellie? A half pound of the cheddar.”

“Right, sorry, Ruth.” I moved over to slice the cheese, trying to push the unwanted thoughts from my mind.Theo’s off-limits, dummy. Because youwanthim to be.“So the ham, the cheese…anything else for you today?”

“That’s all.” She moved to the register as I wrapped her slices in wax paper. “Oh…these are new.”

She picked up one of the five sets of cloth napkins I’d managed to whip up since the drinks debrief. The gift baskets would take a little planning yet—turned out half my suppliers carried woven baskets, but I wanted to find ones that matched thefeelof each concept: date night, housewarming, and an “anytime” option for thank-you gifts or birthdays.

Ruth turned the set over in her hands, peering at the mixed geometric patterns in bright orange and red—remnants from curtains I’d made for Ma years ago—tugging at the corners to see each individual napkin.

“Is this price for the whole set?” She flipped the tag toward me, as though I hadn’t written it myself just yesterday morning.

“Yup. Four napkins for sixteen dollars.”

Her eyebrows went up.

“You’d pay twice that at Crate and Barrel. Maybe more.”

“Making them myself saves a lot on shipping.”

“Making…no.” Her mouth dropped open into a little o. “Youmadethese, Ellie? But they look so professional!”

“I’m a woman of many talents, Mrs. Pinsky.”

“You really are,” she said with a dazed smile, turning the setover in her hands again before tossing the napkins onto the counter. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to take those too. It’s always nice to have a little something you can use as a gift tucked away. Especially if it’s made locally. Everyone seems to love that these days.”

“I, for one, am very glad people feel that way. It’s what keeps the lights on.”

“Oh, we’d never go anywhere else, Ellie. But you know that.”

My throat thickened with tenderness as I rang up her order. Jesus, whoever thoughtRuthPinskywould induce that?

I managed to hold back the full-on grin until she’d exited with a little tinkle of the bell. Yes, it was just one sale, and not even alargesale, but I couldn’t help but feel excited. This was the first change I’d made that felt like it broughtmeinto play. In fact, it merged parts of me I’d always thought couldn’t coexist, the Ellie who loved this place more than anything, who deeply wanted—needed—it to succeed, and the creative person I worried was suffocating beneath practical Ellie’s daily routines.

And this was just napkins. Tablecloths were practically as easy, and if you paired one with a napkin set that didn’t match so much as complement, you had instant character for a dining table. And I hadn’t forgotten the apron idea; cute fabrics and vintage inspiration could really make them pop. Carried on by enthusiasm, I shot Sam a quick text.

TO: Samantha Lindsay

Sold the first set of napkins

I was thinking tablecloth+napkin sets. And aprons?

Oh my god DEF do aprons

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