Page 36 of Alpha Wolf's Arranged Bride
“We don’t have to discuss that any further,” Mary says firmly. “We all work on our personal projects at these meetings, and plan for the next market fair. My husband and I are heads of the bakers' guild, and I made all these cakes and biscuits myself.”
“And you’ve outdone yourself as usual,” Lee mumbles through a mouthful of strawberry cream cake.
“You don’t have to show off so hard,” Ana says.
“I’m afraid I do,” Mary says, popping a small piece of biscuit onto her tongue. “We intend to win the grand prize at the next fair.”
“I’m working my butt off to make sure you eat those words,” Ana says, pulling out a small bag and placing it on the table.
“The only thing we’ll all be eating is my cake,” Mary says, smiling.
“Oh, really? Well, check out my new wares.”
Ana opens the velvet bag and pulls out necklaces, earrings, and bracelets made of silver and steel. The work is detailed and intricate, and every piece is completely unique.
“Did you make those?” I ask, astonished.
“I sure did,” Ana beams. “I even cut and polished the crystals myself.”
“They are beautiful! I’ve never seen such exquisite work.”
“I’ll make you a necklace,” Ana answers, blushing a little. “A special gift for the luna.”
One by one, the others explain their talents—Jess with her pottery, then Lee, who grows fresh produce and makes jams, condiments, and recipe bases. And finally, Delia, who does embroidery.
“That’s my talent, too!” I say excitedly. “I have a few garments at home I’d love to show you. Do you have any of your work with you?”
“Yes, I do. It’s in that big bag at my feet,” Delia answers, shuffling the baby in her arms.
“Don’t disturb the little one,” I say, reaching down. “I’ve got it.”
I pull the bag into my lap and pull out a few items. Delia has blouses, dresses, and shawls packed inside. All of them have inspired designs, but her technique needs a lot of work.
“These are very pretty,” I say. “But I’d love to help you with the stitching, if you’d like my advice.”
“I’d love some help!” Delia exclaims. “I just can’t quite make the delicate lines I want, and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
As the other women move off into their own conversations, I take out Delia’s sewing kit and show her a few simple tricks to neaten her stitches.
“You need a smoother thread as well,” I tell her as I finish off a delicate rose pattern. “It’s extremely difficult to get an intricate design with rough thread like this.”
“You seem to be doing fine,” Delia says, watching my fingers fly across the fabric as I dip the needle in and out.
“Years of practice,” I answer, getting ready to tie off.
The baby in Delia’s arms suddenly cries, making a little spluttering sound. Delia rocks her and pats her back gently, but the baby doesn’t settle.
“Can I have a hold?” I ask, putting down the embroidery.
“You sure can,” Delia answers, sighing. “I love my baby girl, but it feels like weeks since I had a decent sleep.”
“How old?” I ask, snuggling her against my chest.
“Six weeks. Her name is Lily.”
“How sweet,” I reply, rocking the baby gently. The little girl settles, smiling and waving her fingers at me.
“How did you do that?” Delia asks, wide-eyed.
