“Can you make me one?” His laugh rumbles against my back. “I’m serious, Rhode. I want one.” There’s a pause. “You really want one of my shitty cross-stitches to hang up at your place?” “Absolutely. I’d ask for two, but I’m sure you don’t have a lot of extra time to cross-stitch during the season.” Glancing over my shoulder, I find a deep divot between his brows. “What is it?” “Nothing.” He shrugs. “It’s just that you’re the first person besides my mom and sister to ask me to make a cross-stitch for them.”
