Page 15 of Sew Matcha in Love
Behind us, the twins erupted into giggles again. “Daddy’s in trouble!” Isla sang.
“I amnotin trouble,” I called over my shoulder.
Arwyn’s quiet “hmm” suggested otherwise.
Finally, she stepped back. “I’ve marked and pinned everything that needs to be adjusted. Please, take it offcarefully.”
“Promise,” I assured her.
I retreated to the corner behind the quilt and changed. She reached for the costume the moment I stepped out, and she returned it to the mannequin-thing. A dress form, she’d called it. And each of them had names. June, July, and August.
A strange sense of humor, but I liked it.
“Your turn.” I leaned toward her. “Need any help?”
Her cheeks pinked again. I did love that reaction. As long as I was just catching her off guard—I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.
Arwyn raised her chin. “I’ve got it, thanks.”
The girls and I were a captive audience as she removed the first dress from June and carried it behind the quilt.
“Do you want a drumroll?” Isla shouted.
“Sure!” Arwyn called back.
I held out my fist for a bump. “Good suggestion,” I praised.
She pressed her little fist to mine. “I know.”
I hooted. “Let us know when to start.”
“Now works!” Arwyn called out.
The three of us gave it our best effort as Arwyn emerged around the quilt. The dress was big, heavy, and seemed to swallow her up. The girls and I watched as she turned in a circle, clutching the fabric at her thighs to keep it from bunching on the floor.
“I’d have to hem it, but … I’m not feeling this one,” she said.
“Yeah, it’s too big,” Amelie said.
“Next one!” Isla called.
Arwyn removed it from July and disappeared again behind the curtain.
“Drum roll!” she called a few moments later.
This time, we were louder, and when she emerged, the girls stopped clapping and squealed.
“That one!” Isla ran to her. “With a big tiara!”
“And a fur cape!” Amelie suggested. “In case you get cold.”
Arwyn looked over the girls to me, and our eyes locked. “What do you think?”
I tried to think of a snappy reply, but I couldn’t speak.Stunningdidn’t begin to describe her in this dress. The top was elegant and fit like the gloves on her arm. The waistline hit just below the curve of her hip, then flared out. She’d piled her hair on top of her head, held with a pencil, and?—
“It works,” I managed to squeak out.
She rolled her eyes, but the tinge of annoyance was missing this time.
