Page 49 of When In Doubt

She nods rapidly. “So good.”

“Amazing!” I clasp her hand and give it an excited little shake. “Freya, that’s awesome.” Sensation zips up my arm as I hold her fingers. They’re cold in this hall and I want to cradle them between my palms.

“I’ve been wanting to do more commission work, and this would be such a cool piece.” She stares at the woman’s back. “I hope she actually calls.”

“She will.”

The space between her brows creases and I resist the urge to rub it away. “She might have just been being polite.”

“She wasn’t, I saw her.”

“I dunno, maybe I came on too strong and she didn’t know how to say no.”

She has this habit of finding ways to doubt herself. I can’t fucking stand it. She allows herself these flashes of confidence, of certainty, but as soon as she notices that she’s let them out, she slams the lid shut again, caging herself inside.

“Hey, stop it.” I squeeze her hand again, my thumb brushing against the delicate ring she’s wearing. “She’s the one who brought it up, she loved your work.”

“You think so?”

“There’s no doubt. I saw the whole thing.”

“Yeah.” She frowns, looking at her shoes. The red toes of her kitten heels tap together nervously. “You’re right. She asked me.”

“And you’re going to kill it. Whatever you make for her is gonna be beautiful.”

“I’m really excited,” she whispers, like it’s a secret.

“You should be,” I whisper back.

Another customer approaches and Freya drops my hand like a hot stone. I find myself gripping the air as if I’ll find her again, but she’s already across the booth, talking to the guy looking at the wall of sock yarns I mounted this morning. He’s wearing a polo shirt, dark hair slicked back with too much gel. My hackles go up as he watches Freya with obvious interest. His eyes flick over her, lingering way too long on things he’s got no business looking at.

She smiles up at him as they talk, and I can’t help but preen when I see it’s not the same smile she gives me. I watch the two of them out of the corner of my eye, pretending to count quarters as he picks up skeins and listens to Freya describing each one.

The coin I’m holding slips from my grasp, clinking against the table as I notice his foot move, inching in her direction. The step he takes is small, but it’s only the first, and in a couple of movements he’s in her space, looking down at her as she talks. I straighten, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back against the table to take in the scene.

Freya gives a nervous chuckle at something he says, his voice too low for me to hear. She inches back a step and he follows. I don’t miss the way his gaze darts down, stealing glances at where the neckline of her dress gives way to pale, smooth skin.

Is he fucking kidding? He’s going to ogle her in the middle of a craft show? I rock forward onto my toes, fisting my shirt in each hand to stop myself from closing the distance and moving him out of her orbit myself. He says something else, his face split in a shit-eating grin, and I can’t contain it any longer. In three long strides I’m behind her, the fabric of my shirt brushing against her shoulder.

“You ready to buy those?” He narrows his eyes, squaring his shoulders. He’s probably got an inch on me and I can tell he notices. Probably loves it. What he doesn’t know is that I don’t give a shit how tall he is, if he looks at Freya like that one more time, I’m putting him on his ass. Then we’ll see how much that inch helps.

“I’m being helped,” he drawls, raising one eyebrow.

“We’re fine, Oscar,” Freya hisses over her shoulder.

“Yeah.” The guy smirks, and I want to smack it off him. “We’re fine.”

I don’t reply, I just lock eyes with him, staring him down until he drops his hands with a huff. He puts the yarn he’s holding back on the display—on the wrong hook—and turns on his heel, muttering something over his shoulder as he goes.

I watch him until he’s moved out of sight, disappearing between the rows of booths. When I’m satisfied he’s gone, I turn to the wall, lifting up the skein he put back and returning it to its rightful home.

“What the hell was that?” Freya keeps her voice low, but there’s no disguising the fury in her tone. When I look at her, I’m greeted by a sharp scowl, her hands braced on her hips.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”

I sigh. “He was a dick.”