Page 37 of Knot what I want for Christmas
“Yeah,” I say. “Never have.”
“What have you done when you’ve needed to fix a leaky tap or hang up a painting?”
“I’ve called someone to do it for me.”
“Oh, Hollie,” she says. “That is pathetic.”
I shrug. “I have certain skills, and DIY is not one of them.”
“Certain skills, huh?” Annie says, waggling her eyebrows. “Care to elaborate?”
“Nope,” I say. “Let’s go examine the tools.”
Annie is after something in particular for her dad, and soon she’s in conversation with the owner, so I browse around the shop while they’re chatting, amazed that there could be so many different shapes and sizes of nails and screws. Honestly, can’t you just use the same thing for everything?
When Annie has what she needs, she collects me and we head for the door.
“This used to be my brother’s favorite shop when he was growing up,” she says. “He used to save all his pocket money to come here.”
I peek back over my shoulder. “I find that hard to believe,” I say. “What could he possibly spend his pocket money on – 10,000 different screws?”
Most teenage boys I knew would have spent their money on video games or, let’s face it, porn.
“He likes to build things,” Annie explains. “He always has. He was always making dens in the forest for us. He built us a tree house all by himself. That cabin they’re staying in now – he built that too. And he’s going to build the house, eventually.”
“Wow,” I say. “So he’s a cowboy and a builder. He’s just one of those all-round handy guys.”
“He’s quite useful to have around at times,” Annie admits.
“To fix a leaky tap,” I say with a grin, “or hang a picture.”
“Exactly. And I usually can get him to do it for free.”
We laugh as we stride down the main street. The people we pass stop to say hello to Annie and ask her how her parents are doing, wishing her happy Christmas.
Next we enter the craft shop, and the little old lady running the store seems to know Annie too.
“I’ve always wanted to learn how to crochet,” I mutter as we browse the shelves.
“Excellent,” Annie says. “Then you should learn.”
She takes my hand and takes me back to the counter where the little old lady with curly white hair and a pair of spectacles hanging around her neck on a chain is reading a magazine.
“Priscilla,” Annie says, “this is my friend Hollie. She wants to learn to crochet.”
Priscilla lifts her spectacles onto her nose and examines me through them. “An excellent hobby,” she says. “What crafting skills do you possess?”
“Absolutely none,” I tell her.
“So a beginner.” She steps out from behind the counter and hobbles to a shelf full of needles and balls of wool. Humming to herself, she picks a few things out and hands them to me along with a book.
“There are lots of videos on the YouTube,” she says. “Or – that’s what they tell me. But this book is a good place to start as well. Everything you need to know about crocheting.”
“Ah, okay,” I say. I’d only mentioned it, but now it seems I am going to have a new hobby.
“We’ll take it,” Annie announces, then whispers into my ear as Priscilla rings it up, “You can make me one of those cute little crochet dicks.”
“It’ll be my first project,” I tell her.
