Page 35 of We Can Stay
“I just dyed some yarns here, then I had a doctor’s appointment, then after that I came back home and dyed more yarns before you got here.” She takes a long sip of wine.
“How was the appointment?” I put my fork down, giving her my full attention. surprised at how intensely I wish I could have been at that appointment with her.
Assuming she would even want that—and I know that I’m getting ahead of myself. Still, I don’t like thinking of her going to appointments all alone. It must get tiresome…and sometimes scary.
“It was fine. Just a routine check-in with my rheumatologist.”
Something about the way she says it—too quick, eyes not quite meeting mine—makes me think she might not be telling the whole truth. But I’ve learned that pushing doesn’t help with Flick. She shares when she’s ready.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
She nods. “Yes, I just?—”
She trails off at the sound of delicate crunching, and we look over to see Cat at her tiny bowl, eating some dry food with the dedication of someone who’s never been fed before.
“Look who made it,” I say.
“She probably worked up an appetite destroying half the place,” Flick says, although she’s not even done speaking before she’s checking the little drinking fountain to make sure there’s enough water for the kitten.
I chuckle.
“What?” She shoots me a look.
“Nothing.”
“Mm-hm.” She sits back down and I don’t say anything else, but we both know what’s up. She’s falling in love with this kitten.
Just like I’m falling for her.
“Would you like to see what I dyed today?” Flick’s voice pulls me out of my abrupt reverie.
“Of course.” I put my napkin on the table, already standing.
Leaving her own half-eaten dinner, Flick leads me into a room off from the kitchen. “This is my craft room. Studio. Office. All of the above.”
The amount of color in the room is mind-blowing. The yarns hanging from wooden racks are bright pink, soft lavender, baby blue. The late afternoon sun streams through the window, making the fibers glow like stained glass. The sharp scent of vinegar mingles with something sweeter—vanilla, maybe.
“It’s like we just walked into a real-life version of Candyland,” I say in awe.
She whirls around to face me. “Really? Because my collections are called Sweet Like Candy and Have Your Cake.”
I know that, of course. I’ve already thoroughly researched her online. “And they’re aptly named.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” She says, smiling quickly but avoiding eye contact.
Odd.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask again softly, tipping her chin up so her eyes meet mine.
She nods, but I can tell it’s a lie by the way she nervously twists the fabric of her dress in her hands.
“Flick,” I say gently, stepping closer to her. “Talk to me. I can tell something has been bothering you since we talked on the phone earlier. Was it your appointment? If something is wrong, you can tell me.”
She opens her mouth and then shuts it again as if she doesn’t know what to say. Her eyes look conflicted and uneasy. “I think...” her voice cracks and she swallows hard. “I think someone is watching me.”
My stomach drops. “Watching you?” I repeat, making sure I heard her correctly. “What do you mean?”
She takes a deep breath and tells me everything—the DMs, the increasingly personal comments, how they somehow knew details about her day that she hadn’t shared anywhere.
