Dakota Love (25 page)

Mark abandoned the envelope beside the cash register and rounded the end of the counter. “Mind if I tag along while you pick out your material?”

“Company would be nice. I could use a distraction.” Sarah’s stance straightened as she pushed the cart, but her pace remained slow as she made her way down an aisle.

Her flowery fragrance lured Mark closer to the cart as they walked to the back corner of the quilt shop. “Are you making a wall quilt or table runner?” As they passed by the section with heavier-weight material, Mark straightened a bolt of denim someone had pulled forward.

“I planned on a wall quilt, but since I might be doing all the sewing by hand, I’m thinking maybe I should go with the table runner.” Sarah stopped the cart in front of patterned cotton fabric.

“What did I tell you?” Mark waited for Sarah to look at him. “You can use my extra machines anytime.”

“I know.” Sarah pulled the paper with fabric requirements for the class from her purse. “And that’s very generous of you, but…” Sarah’s voice trailed off.

“No buts about it. Those machines sit in the workroom and only get used during quilting class, so don’t worry about it.”

Sarah pulled her pretty mouth into a pucker. Was she considering his offer to use the machines or thinking about telling him to back off? Her grip tightened on the cart. “Here’s the thing. Will it really help to use the machines, if I don’t know how to sew? I mean, I don’t want to ruin my fabric, ripping out mistakes.”

Mark crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “I see your point.”

“So it’s settled. I’ll sew my quilt by hand and make the table runner.”

“Hmm. Tell you what.” Mark dropped his arms and crossed the sales floor to a book display. He couldn’t let her get out of coming into the quilt store so easily. He pulled out a hardbound book and returned to the spot where Sarah stood. “I happen to have in my possession a manual on sewing basics.” He held it out for Sarah to see.

Sarah took the book and turned it over. Her eyes focused on the bottom left-hand corner.

“You don’t have to buy it. Use it when you come into the store to practice on the sewing machines. And you can practice on remnant fabric.”

“You’re making it hard for a girl to say no.” Sarah lifted her turmoil-filled eyes to search his face. It appeared as if she wanted to say yes, but something was keeping her from it, something other than the fact that she lacked sewing skills.

The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. “I’m just saying, if you want a wall quilt, make one. Don’t let a tiny obstacle like not having expert sewing skills get in the way.”

Sarah laughed. “Tiny obstacle?”

Mark shrugged. “It’s all a matter of perspective.”

For a few seconds Sarah drew her brows together, and then a smile lit her face. “Okay, I’m convinced. I’ll make the wall quilt.” She handed the book back to Mark.

The jangle of the door alerted Mark to another customer. He shelved the sewing book and greeted his customer. By the time he turned his attention back to Sarah, she and her fabric bolts were waiting patiently by the cutting center.

“Ready?” Mark slid a bolt of light blue paisley fabric toward him.

“Yes.” Sarah ran her finger down the paper with the fabric requirements for the wall quilt. “I need three yards of that one.”

Mark flipped the bolt over several times, releasing the tightly bound fabric before he grabbed the cut end of the cloth and stretched a length of material over the yardstick attached to the Formica-topped cutting counter. His sharp shears whooshed down the material, cutting it loose from the bolt.

“A yard of each of the light blue and white.” Sarah pushed the solid bolts of cotton to Mark.

“This will make a pretty quilt. The paisley’s the back and part of the block pattern, right?”

Sarah nodded her head. “Is that the name of the fabric’s pattern—paisley? I just thought it was tear shaped and fitting for a Job’s Tears quilt.”

“Guess I never saw that in the paisley pattern. But you’re right. Some of the print is tear shaped.” Mark slid the cut fabric to the side. “That it?”

“No.” Sarah handed Mark another bolt. It was from the clearance area with preprinted Christmas pillow panels. “The printed instructions on the fabric make this pillow project sound easy. Would a project like this help me learn to sew?”

“It would.” Mark cut on the solid black line to cut the panel from the bolt.

“When is a good night for me to come in and practice?” Sarah’s eyes shone in spite of the dark circles that underscored them.

He bowled tomorrow, and Friday at four started the first weekend he’d had off in six weeks. Mark wanted to be in the store when Sarah came in to practice.

“Monday?” Some of the glow started to diminish from Sarah’s face. Mark added hurriedly, “I’m sure you’re busy Friday night.”

“No.” Sarah shook her head.

“Friday it is.” Mark didn’t really have any plans anyway. He could hang around the store.

M
ark sat in his office, surfing the Internet, when the workroom illuminated. He swiveled in his chair and caught a glimpse of Sarah through the glass window. Dressed in hip-hugger jeans and a white T-shirt, she carried a denim tote bag. Sarah walked to the demonstration machine Mark showed her how to work on Tuesday night.

Sarah laid her tote bag on the table and studied the sewing machine. She reached a finger out and touched the power button. Light reflected on the arm of the sewing machine, and Sarah pulled a fist back and forth in a victory fashion.

When she looked up, Mark waved. Sarah wiggled her fingers. Her sheepish smile conveyed her embarrassment at being caught celebrating her success at remembering how to turn on the sewing machine.

Mark rounded the corner of the door. “Hi.”

Sarah giggled. “No one was supposed to see that.”

“What else do you remember?” Mark watched the extra flush on Sarah’s cheeks brighten the sparkle in her eyes as he crossed the room. No sign of the smudges of darkness that half-mooned her eyes on Wednesday.

Sarah lowered to the chair. “This is where I choose the stitch I want to sew with and this”—Sarah expertly lifted the lever behind the arm of the sewing machine—“lifts the presser foot.”

“A quick learner.”

“Remembering how to work the machine isn’t really sewing.” Sarah gave the machine a good once-over. “For example, how do you make it work after you turn it on?”

They hadn’t gotten that far the other night. “You run the machine with the foot feed on the floor, or some people put it beside the machine and use their forearm. Would you like me to demonstrate the machine for you?”

“I would, but do you have time? I don’t want to take you away from your business.”

“Actually, my sales floor shift ended at four. I stuck around to do some special orders.” Not a lie. He’d placed two special orders while he waited for Sarah to arrive. Mark held up a finger. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

On the sales floor, Mark grabbed some lavender fabric from the remnant bin and a spool of black thread. He’d found when demonstrating the machines that dark thread on light fabric allowed the customer a better view of the stitches.

“Mark, didn’t you want to take this to your office?” Terri, one of his part-timers, held the MS envelope in the air.

“Thanks.” Mark took the envelope from Terri.

Back in the workroom, Sarah had apparently pulled her Christmas project out of her tote bag while she waited for Mark to return.

“Do you have scissors in your bag?” Mark asked, dropping the envelope on the front table.

“Yes.” Sarah peeked in her bag and retrieved them.

“We’ll practice on this fabric.” Mark took the scissors Sarah offered. He cut the wrapper off the lavender material then scooted another chair close to the sewing machine and patted the seat. “Mind switching?”

“Not at all.” Sarah slid from one chair seat to the other.

Once seated, Mark ripped the cellophane covering off the spool of thread. “This is how you thread this machine.” Aware of his adeptness at this task, Mark took his time putting the thread on the spool holder and pulling it through the necessary path to the needle.

Sarah stood so she could have a clearer view. “Looks easy enough.” She smiled at Mark.

“Since you just want to practice a straight stitch, that’s all I’m going to show you.”

Sarah leaned forward and peered around Mark. “That is the stitch the machine is set to sew.” The light scent of her perfume teased him to move closer.

“See, you are a quick learner.” Mark closed his eyes and breathed deeply, filling his memory with the flowery scent. Sarah’s scent.

Sarah sat back, and the pleasant fragrance drifted away from him. Mark wanted to follow the fading bouquet the same way hungry cartoon characters used to follow an animated cloud of food aroma into trouble.

As if on cue, Mark’s stomach rumbled. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

“Am I keeping you from your dinner?”

“Not really, I just had an early lunch.” Mark reached for the lavender cotton material. A long, low growl cut through the silence in the room.

Sarah placed her hand on his, stopping his movement. “Mark, you’re hungry. You don’t have to stay and demonstrate the machine. I’ll get the manual and try to figure it out myself.”

Her concern showed not only on her face but in her voice. It melted Mark’s heart. Why would any man lucky enough to be Sarah’s type break it off with her? Anger toward her unknown ex-boyfriend sparked in Mark. The unexpected emotion shocked him back to the moment.

“I’m serious.” Sarah’s silky hand patted his before pulling away.

“Okay, I admit it. I’m hungry but…” He should have run out for an afternoon snack before she arrived. He didn’t want to leave to go get dinner now because it was evident that Sarah planned to stay and practice. How would he explain leaving and coming back when he already told her that his shift had ended? Plus on Wednesday night he’d intended to ask her to dinner, but his last-minute customer had interrupted and Mark had lost his nerve.

“But what? I’m sure I can figure this out.” Doubt flickered through Sarah’s dark eyes as her gaze left his and rested on the sewing machine.

“I promised to help you.” Mark didn’t intend on breaking this promise. After all, Sanders men only broke big promises, not little ones. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No.” Sarah never took her eyes off the sewing machine.

“I could order a pizza.” Mark hoped Sarah would go for his idea. “We could continue the demonstration while we wait for it to be delivered.”

Happiness skipped through Mark’s heart when Sarah’s eyes met his and she nodded. “I’d like that.”

The squeak of the folding chair’s legs reverberated through the room as Mark stood. “What do you like on your pizza?”

“Anything and everything.”

“I’ll be right back.” With a quick flick of his wrist, Mark pulled the thread off the sewing machine and handed it to Sarah. “Try rethreading the machine while I’m gone. If you succeed, go ahead and celebrate.”

Sarah gave him a lopsided grin as she took the thread.

Once back in his office, Mark, looking through the wall window, watched Sarah thread the machine as he ordered the pizza. When she looked up and saw that he was watching, she smirked, fisted her hand, and pulled it back in victory. Mark erupted in laughter, confusing the pizza place employee on the other end of the line.

Mark came back into the workroom. “Pizza is ordered.” He checked the machine. “Victory celebration deserved. Now I’ll show you how to wind the bobbin.”

By the time the pizza was delivered, Sarah had practiced sewing a straight stitch several times. Mark placed the pizza on the first table in the workroom, along with two cans of soda and napkins.

“I think I’ll do a few more practice runs then start on my pillow.” Sarah moved from the folding chair in front of the sewing machine to a folding chair across the table from Mark.

He lifted the lid of the pizza box.

“That smells great. What’d you order?”

“All meat.” Mark used a plastic fork to serve Sarah a piece of pizza. She placed it in front of her then clasped her hands and lowered her eyes. Mark hadn’t prayed before meals since his mom passed away. Not because he wasn’t a believer. He’d just gotten out of the habit. Following Sarah’s good example, Mark bowed his head.

Thank You, Lord, for this nourishment and the blessings of new friends. Amen
.

That felt good. He’d have to remember to say grace more often. Mark lifted his eyes to find Sarah patiently waiting for him to finish.

She smiled. “Next time we’ll have to say grace out loud.” She lifted her pizza to her lips.

Mark retrieved a piece of pizza for himself.
Next time
. That was a good sign.

“What’s Gert’s Gang?”

He raised his eyebrows in question as he chewed a bite of pizza. Had he been daydreaming and lost a thread of conversation?

Sarah used her pizza slice like a pointer, motioning toward the envelope lying on the table.

“Oh.” Mark sipped his soda before he continued. “That’s a team packet for the MS walk. My mom had MS. A few relatives and friends still participate to raise money in her honor. Her name’s Gertrude Sanders.”

“Your mom had MS.”

Sarah’s comment was barely audible. Or was it a question? Mark couldn’t tell. Her eyes focused on the envelope, and her expression sobered.

“Pardon me?” Mark searched Sarah’s face as she turned her attention back to him.

She cleared her throat. “You said she
had
MS.”

“She passed away two years ago from”—Mark looked down, breaking Sarah’s compassion-filled gaze—“natural causes.”

“I’m sorry.” Mark’s forearm warmed where Sarah rested her palm.

“Thank you.” He lifted his eyes.

Sarah patted his arm. “Tell me about her.”

Disbelief swirled through Mark. None of the other women he’d dated since his mother’s death had asked that question. They talked about themselves, and he let them. It was all part of his dating system.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready.” Sarah had apparently mistaken his silence as reluctance.