Eternal Stitch

There was a knot.

The tangle drew closer as her metal needles clinked together, stitches flying off one tip and onto the next. Elise furrowed her brow and stared at the single strand of gray mohair. How had this happened? She had wound the ball of yarn herself. Both the soft charcoal gray merino wool and the mohair. This knot should not exist.

With a low grumble, she pushed her stitches down on the needles to keep them from slipping and set them on the café table. She purposefully sat beneath a round ceiling light for better illumination—good visuals were essential for knitting and a key reason she frequented this place. That, and the array of delicacies displayed in the cases at the counter. All from freshly baked breads of to rainbow-colored macarons. What more could she want?

The bell chimed as the door to the bakery swung open. A few new customers scurried in, bringing with them a cool gust of wind from the city street.

Although she sat far enough from the entryway, Elise still felt the kiss of late October across her face. It wasn’t even 6 pm, but already the sky was a sobering black. Only the streetlights shined upon the city sidewalks, guiding people to their destinations this evening.

Long, pale fingers gently pulled at the delicate fiber as Elise attempted to undo the knot. She had to be careful. If she pulled too hard, she might snap the strand. Mohair was always tricky—but she was a seasoned fiber artist. Her mother had taught her knitting along with her letters. It was by her mother’s velvet maroon armchair where she developed a love for reading and crafting. A treasured cluster of memories she held close to her heart. She was as nimble with her needles as a barber with his scissors—or a surgeon with his scalpel.

Among her books and yarn was where she truly experienced peace. She needed little else. At twenty-eight years of age, Elise had perfected her introvert routine where she interacted with the fewest number of people.

A smile spread across her face upon her victory over the knot. She tossed the strand away, watching as it drifted in the air until it came to a rest on her backpack. Before picking her needles back up again, Elise lifted her porcelain mug of chamomile tea and took a sip. No longer too hot, the liquid soothed her throat. A perfect mouthful in the late evening.

In her handmade indigo sweater, Elise stared at the customers in the small café she frequented daily. There were two faces she recognized apart from the owners. One was a man in his late fifties, balding with freckles on his face, who occasionally stopped by to pick up some sweets for his family. She noticed the man always wore a suit, so she assumed he worked at some office job not too far from here.

The other was an old lady who sat two tables away from her. Her hair was impeccably styled in a tight white bun at the back of her head. Although wrinkles plagued her face like the surface of a prune, she wore her makeup proudly. Bold red lipstick painted her lips, mascara tinted her lashes and blush colored her cheeks. She ate her broccoli quiche with a knife and fork, occasionally dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

Elise looked down at her own plate. She chose a sandwich for dinner this evening—honey turkey with lettuce, tomato and Swiss cheese with a drizzle of honey Dijon dressing. It was more than enough for her. She tucked an escaped lock of ebony hair behind her ear and then pushed her glasses farther up her nose.

“Excuse me, are you using this chair?”

Elise looked up, her chest growing tight as a girl pointed to the empty chair at her table. Behind her, the group she came in with stood waiting expectantly, trays in hand. They looked like college girls—done for the day—ready to sit and gossip for hours on end and sip on their lattes. Elise swallowed hard and shook her head, motioning for them to take the chair.

The girl gave her a smile before grabbing the wooden chair and pivoting it with a loud squeak. Elise inwardly grimaced at the sound but forced her outward appearance to remain unchanged. Instead, she put her cup down and picked up her sandwich, taking a healthy bite as she observed the group.

Weren’t those girls cold? She stared at the length of their skirts—barely covering their rears. No stockings or leggings. Just bare skin and boots. No jackets either. Only flimsy cardigans—most likely acrylic and not wool like all of hers.

She chewed, sipping her tea as she eavesdropped on their conversation. Like she’d thought—it all boiled down to gossip. Boys, drama and parties…things she knew very little about. After taking one more bite of her sandwich, Elise rummaged through her bag for her earbuds, intent on blocking the outside world from her mind. She had an audiobook calling her name and work to do. With the white earphones secured, she picked up her knitting once again and got to work.

The narrator’s voice filled her mind, and soon Elise was immersed in her work. Knit three. Purl. Knit three. Slip the stitch. Yarn over. It was an easy pattern to follow. The work gave her purpose. A reason to keep going. She must finish.

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as the narration got more intense. The main character, a young female detective, had entered the suspect’s home without a warrant. It was foolish of the heroine, not to mention totally illegal. Yet the author had woven such a suspenseful tale, Elise felt her heartbeat quicken.

Knit. Knit. Knit. The detective heard a stair creak at the bottom of the first floor. Purl. She found the evidence she needed—this man was the one who murdered that young woman on Fleet Street. Knit. Knit. How was she going to get out of the room?

The stitches were flying off her needles at record speed. Elise was staring at the loops of merino wool, tense and expecting the murderer to confront the heroine in his bedroom. The door creaked open—the detective lifted her gun. Elise held her breath as the dramatic pause filled her ears.

It was her partner.

Both Elise and the heroine heaved sighs of relief.

A handsome detective with a five o’clock shadow and hair that was deliciously shaggy arrived to save the day.

A smile erupted on her face as she listened to the couple bicker—but ultimately embrace one another. She put her knitting down for a minute and took a sip of her tea, now cold. There was only room for a few bites of her sandwich before she felt satisfied to leave it. Pausing the book for a minute, she brought the sandwich closer to her and began to eat.

The bell on the door jingled, and a couple entered. Elise let her gaze trail down to their intertwined fingers as the woman pressed herself closer to the man. A slight pang echoed in her ribcage as she watched them approach the display case. They were probably around her age—if not younger. Pretty. In love.

She wanted that desperately. Craved a partner who would buy her flowers, share her joy and kiss her senseless like all the men did in her books. Her gaze flickered to the side, catching her reflection in the hanging mirror on the café wall.

There was nothing appealing about her appearance. Rose-framed glasses sat perched on her nose—a pair of average brown eyes behind them. Her black hair was thick and wavy, twisted away from her face in a claw clip at the back of her head. Although her sweater was beautiful—it did little to accentuate her body—because there was not much there. She was scrawny—mousy even, with a small chest and no bum. The stereotype of her chosen profession.

It didn’t help that by nature she was shy. Her voice was too soft, and at the library, people often said they couldn’t hear her. Even there, she needed to raise her voice to be heard. Elise wondered if she would remain forever alone. A life with a cat or two, her books and collection of yarn.

Alas, she didn’t even have a cat. Maybe she should get one. It seemed more likely a cat would cuddle her on the couch rather than a hot-blooded man.

She winced at the thought. It was rather disappointing. Swallowing her mouthful, she picked her needles back up again just as the bell on the door jingled once more. In walked a slender man dressed in a honey-colored, luxurious overcoat. It screamed money, as did his perfectly combed blonde hair that hit just at the woolen collar. Steel eyes scanned the occupants of the café—signaling for Elise to go back to her work.

Eye contact with random strangers made her uncomfortable.

With a tap on her phone to check the time, she made a mental note and resumed her knitting and audiobook. As her fingers found their rhythm once more, her shoulders relaxed. The sultry tone of the narrator carried her back to the murderer’s bedroom where the couple left off. Knit. Knit. Purl.

The handsome detective chastised his overzealous partner for her foolishness and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the room. Slip the stitch. Yarn over. They made it to his black sedan, and as he was opening the door for her, the perp showed up.

Elise froze, her fingers tightening as she caught a flicker from the corner of her eye—the sand-toned melange coat. The steel-eyed man sat on the bench beside her, occupying the small table to her left. Her breath hitched. Did he have to sit next to her?

There were several other free tables in the café. The gossiping girls were still gossiping on her right. Now she had this guy on her left? She glanced at his table, noting the black cup of coffee sitting on a white porcelain plate. Steam curled from its top, dissipating in the air like the tail end of a ghost.

Elise dared look further—and then jerked back to her knitting. He was staring straight at her. Those almond-slanted eyes bore into her from under a pair of full, tanned brows. She swallowed hard, missing vital parts of her audiobook as she tried shrinking deeper inside herself.

Just ignore him. He’s not looking at you, she told herself. The man had simply sat down at an open table to enjoy a cup of coffee. It had nothing to do with her. He wasn’t staring; he likely hadn’t even noticed her presence. She was just part of the background in the café, or so she tried to convince herself.

Coaching herself to breathe in through her nose, Elise willed her fingers back into movement. Her mind focused on the audiobook instead, pushing the handsome stranger to the recesses of her thoughts. As she found her rhythm again and the narrator’s voice coaxed her back into the scene, she lost herself in her work.

Row after row, the tiny clip of her progress marker drew further away. And soon she completed an inch worth of progress. Satisfied with herself, she shook out her knitting and examined the woven fabric. Beautiful. The pattern was developing nicely; stitches even and elegant. It was a perfect time to stop, now that her heroine detective had made it back to her home and gone to bed for the day. Tomorrow after work she would be back, ready to listen to her book and knit some more.

As she gathered her things, she was surprised to find the stranger still sitting there, his coffee practically untouched. Elise dared not look at his face, afraid of meeting his gaze by accident. Instead, she hurried her pace, gently folding her work into her knapsack and slinging it over her shoulder. She checked the time on her phone before slipping it into her pants pocket. Almost seven o’clock.

She had worked for a little over an hour. The stranger had remained sitting quietly beside her for most of that time. Even the group of girls had left a while back. Elise pursed her lips, picked up her empty teacup and half-eaten sandwich, and headed to the counter, meekly asking for a bag.

The cashier—already familiar with her odd habits—didn’t bother to look up and simply handed her a bag. Elise hurriedly stuffed her sandwich inside and rushed toward the exit. As she stepped out, her eyes unintentionally met those of the gray-eyed stranger. A shiver racked her slender frame as the door jingled closed behind her. She turned on her heels and hurried down the pavement as the streetlights flickered overhead.

Would love to hear your thoughts on the story! Should I continue it?