Page 6 of Sew Matcha in Love
When I saw Arwyn’s older model sedan pull into the driveway to our mountain cabin, I was mid-swing with the axe, splitting another log for the firewood stack on the porch.
The rhythmiccrackof wood splintering was therapeutic, and I’d had every intention of stopping after a dozen logs so I could shower and dress for company. Sweat soaked through my white tee, clinging to my chest and back. My athletic shorts were dusty, my socks were wet and muddy, and my team-branded slide sandals were?—
Not my best look.
Not that I was trying to impress her, but Arwyn was one of those women who werealwaysput together. Elegant, confident. Even when she was dressed oddly, like from another century. That took guts. And she didn’t give a rip about what people thought of her … eccentricities.
And now, there she was, standing next to her car, staring at me wide-eyed like I’d just stepped out of aHow Not To Make an Important Impressionsocial media reel. Her cheeks turned the same pink as the puffy scarf wrapped around her neck.
I let the axe rest against the chopping block and raised a hand in greeting. “Wynna-bun! Hey! Sorry, I—uh—lost track of time.” I glanced down at myself, mentally kicking every decision I’d made this morning. Fantastic.
Way to impress the one person who might actually save your backside.
A very sweet, demure, pretty person.
She blinked a few times, then cleared her throat, her hands clutching the strap of her vintage leather messenger bag. “I, um…” Her eyes flicked at me from feet to face, and not in an approving way. “I can wait if you need to finish.”
“No, no, I’m done!” I slung the axe over my shoulder and crossed the yard in long strides to lean it against the porch latticework, nearly tripping over a rogue piece of firewood in the process.Smooth, Marsch. Really smooth.“Welcome to the North Mountain! That’s what the girls call it. They’reFrozenfanatics. You know, the movies?”
“I’m familiar.”
“Great, ’cause we kind of went over the top with that theme up here.” Why was I rambling? She already knew how much I lovedFrozen. “I’ll just … uh … go freshen up. Just one second.” I opened the front door and called out to my sister to corral the girls’ dogs. The little West Highland Terriers were gated from the main part of the house, so I wasn’t worried about them attacking our guest, but she wouldn’t be able to work with them sniffing around.
“Sof! Wynnie’s here! Can you put the pups up? Sofi and the girls—and their dogs—are in the kitchen,” I explained.
“Got ’em!”
“You didn’t mention dogs!” she hissed.
“We have fish, too. Out in the hot tub.”
She laughed. “I heard about that. Tasha said it was Monty’s favorite prank to date.”
I grinned and gestured for her to enter ahead of me. Arwyn strolled in daintily, clutching a bag that looked like it belonged to Mary Poppins at her waist, with an unrushed air of importance, like she was walking a red carpet to be presented to a monarch. Then, before she was barely a meter into the house, I bolted, calling over my shoulder. “Be right back!”
Arwyn’s gaze flicked away, her usual mask of calm slipping into place, but not before I caught a hint of amusement twitching at the corner of her mouth.
Good. She wasn’t mad.
By the time I came back downstairs, freshly showered, beard trimmed, and wearing my favorite flannel and jeans, Arwyn was standing in the living room, holding a mug of tea and studying the fireplace like it might hold the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. She’d removed her outerwear to reveal a long dress, her hair in a loose bun behind her head, with wisps floating by her ears. The golden highlights in her auburn hair caught the firelight, and the faint scent of roses wafted over from her direction. Standing very still, she looked like a painting looking at my painting.
“French.” She pointed to the painting of downtown Montreal at Christmastime over the mantel. “Vintage?”
“Copy. Sorry about earlier,” I said, running a hand through my still-damp hair. “Not exactly a great first impression.”
She glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow arching slightly, then snorted. “First impressions are overrated.” Her lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. “This is your third.”
Was that a joke?
“Riiiight.” I waved to the girls, who’d looked up from their coloring books and were now giggling, their heads together, glancing at us and then back to my sister behind the counter and speaking in rapid French. Their presence gave the room a warm,chaotic hum of life, which was exactly how I liked it. It had been too quiet the last six months without them here.
When we’d separated, Viki had kept the condo by the arena, which we’d bought when we first moved to Denver. It was also close to the girls’ preschool and ballet studio. I’d moved into our cabin up here in the mountains, where we spent a lot of time in the summer and escaped to when I was home for more than a day during the season.
The cabin had been a dream of mine since I was a young boy. I’d lived my first few years in Denmark, and my German grandmother lived with us until Dad was traded to a team in England. Fairy tales shaped my childhood. If Oma wasn’t reading them to me, one of my sisters was. Hans Christian Anderson and the Brothers Grimm would entertain me during the day and feed my nightmares.
Some of those stories were dark and terrifying.
When I was sixteen, I was good enough to play in the Quebec junior league. My parents shipped me off to Montreal to live with my mom’s best friend from when she attended McGill. City life was busy and crazy, and I longed for a quiet retreat. Mom was from a little town outside Quebec City, but it was too far of a drive for my extended family to shuttle me back and forth, so I lived with Colette and Pierre Larioux, their hockey-playing sons, Patrice and Pascal, and their daughter, Victoire.
