Page 32 of We Can Stay
It will be simple. Easy. The definition of Sebastian and me.
To pass the time until Sebastian arrives, I decide to start dyeing another batch of yarn. The late afternoon sun filters through mykitchen window as I stir a fresh pot of dye. The smell of vinegar and warm water fills the air, familiar and comforting. Sharp and clean, like possibility itself. A new batch of pastel yarns sits on the counter, waiting for their turn.
The wooden spoon moves through the water in slow circles, the motion meditative. I’ve done this so many times my hands know the rhythm without thinking. Stir, wait, watch the steam rise. The wool soaks up the heat, fibers opening to accept the color that’s coming.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I glance at it absently, expecting another Etsy notification. Instead, it’s another DM on Instagram from @JustRaveled1018.
JustRaveled1018:“Those cotton-candy skeins are stunning! Can’t wait to see them in person. You always work magic in the kitchen. :)”
I freeze. My pulse picks up, and my breath catches in my throat. In person? My kitchen isn’t visible in any of my recent posts or streams. How would they know I’m working here right now? Setting my spoon down, I check my windows, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed the kitchen feels. The curtain above the sink is half-open, offering a clear view of the street. Did someone walk by and look in?
I pull the curtain shut, my fingers trembling slightly. It’s probably nothing—just another weird coincidence. Still, I lock the back door for good measure before returning to the counter.
JustRaveled1018:“You look so focused. Love the messy bun. ;)”
My heart races. I haven’t taken a single photo of myself today, let alone one showing my hair. The only explanation is that someone is watching me right now. The urge to call Sebastian tugs at me, but I hesitate. I don’t want to sound paranoid—or worse, helpless. Instead, I take a deep breath and type back a simple response:
Me:“Who are you?”
No reply. Minutes tick by, each one feeling heavier than the last. The silence is almost worse than the messages. Finally, I toss my phone onto the table and lean against the counter, pressing a hand to my chest.
Calm down, Flick. You’re safe. You’re home. Everything is fine.
Still, my eyes dart to the locked back door. Maybe I’ll ask Sebastian about installing some extra security cameras. Just in case. He’ll be here soon.
The yarn in the dye pot needs attention. I force myself to focus on the work, on the color blooming through the water like smoke. Pink today, soft as spring roses. The familiar routine helps steady my hands, even if my mind keeps spinning.
CHAPTER 10
Sebastian
“What can I bring?” I ask Flick, phone pressed to my cheek while I dodge Mrs. Sullivan watering her sidewalk petunias.
“Just yourself. I have everything covered. Do you like red wine?”
“I love it.” I run my fingers over some pink flowers in one of the town’s sidewalk pots, their velvety petals still holding the day’s warmth. This day is just getting better and better.
“See you at seven.”
“See you soon. Bye.”
I start to ask her if she’s at Knit Happens since I’m shopping on my lunch break and right down the block from the store, but she’s already hung up. She sounded a little bit off—a tightness in her voice that wasn’t there this morning—but maybe she was just busy. I’ll have to ask her about it when I see her later.
Sliding the phone into my pocket, I decide to pop into the shop myself, just in case we can say hi in person.
I had already hoped to see Flick tonight since I’m almost done making her a care package. After seeing her in pain the other night, I found a few products that should help with the soreness she experiences from hours of yarn dyeing.
There’s the tin of Tiger Balm that Dr. Chen swears by for his tennis elbow. The bag of CBD-infused bath salts from the new wellness shop on Main. A bottle of tart cherry kombucha and salmon jerky—two things that are supposed to help with muscle soreness, according to the overly enthusiastic clerk at the health food store. The care package is perfect. At least...I’m hoping it is.
Walking into Knit Happens, the scent of lavender and sandalwood greets me as the bell chimes overhead. I do a quick sweep of the store, looking for Flick. Hannah is standing behind the counter, though, her fingers flying over knitting needles.
“Hey, Sebastian.” She looks up from her project—something green and complicated. “How are you?”
“Good. Is Flick in?”
“No. She has the afternoon off.” She drops her gaze to the gift bag I’m holding, and something shifts in her expression. “That’s a pretty bag.”
“It’s for Flick.” I walk up to the counter, suddenly feeling hesitant to share what I got her. What if they’re all the wrong things?
