Page 3 of A London Little's Pom Pom

Only there was Eloise behind the door, and fuck. Rosie was distracted.

Eloise had swapped her business attire for soft tracksuit bottoms that hugged her arse and a tank top that highlighted that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Rosie snapped her eyes up immediately, not wanting to be the creep staring at someone’s tits, but damn if she didn’t want to just curl up in Eloise’s arms and nestle close.

She didn’t miss Eloise’s appreciative sweep over her outfit either. She’d left the smart but scratchy suit at home, and thrown on the cutest ensemble she could find. Leggings, a very short, black and purple checked dungaree dress, with a blacktshirt underneath, all paired with the pinkest combat boots you could ever imagine.

Rosie looked cute as all hell, and she knew it.

“Hey,” said Eloise.

‘Hi,” she said back, and her voice came out all bouncy and chirpy. “I’m looking forward to the class!”

“Come on in then.”

The building was pretty quiet, with no one on reception, and Rosie had the distinct feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

“There are other people here, aren’t there?”

Eloise looked around, noted the empty desk and laughed awkwardly. “Ah shit, it does look pretty creepy, doesn’t it? Yeah, my boss is upstairs, and I think Charlie is working in the Restoration Hub. Wait one sec.” She went to the bottom of the stairs and shouted up. “Oi! Susie!”

“Yes?” came a shouted reply.

“I’ve got a client in for a one to one!”

“Oh oh oh! Wait there!” There was a loud scuffle upstairs and then a woman with burnished copper curls came bounding down the staircase. “Hi!” she said, holding out a hand for Rosie to shake when she reached the bottom. “I’m Susie, welcome to Stuffie Hospital London!” She then shot a glance at Eloise. “Is this the Rosie whom you met at London Craft Fair yester—”

“So that’s my boss,” said Eloise loudly, cutting off Susie’s question with a pointed look. Susie pulled a face behind her back and grinned at Rosie. “Don’t pay too much attention to her, or she’ll start thinking she’s important.”

Rosie giggled.

“Come on, the teaching workshop’s this way.”

She led the way to a small room, that was set up with tables and comfy, highbacked stools, which were wide enough for Rosie to sit on comfortably. That was a nice change. There werean array of crochet hooks, tapestry needles, scissors and yarn laid out on the table. Orange again.

“So, have you ever done any crocheting before?”

Rosie flushed red. “Well,” she admitted, “I’ve actually done quite a bit. But Essie seemed really keen, and I’m by no means an expert.”

Eloise looked mortified. “I’m so so sorry. You really didn’t have to sign up if you didn’t want to.”

“No no,” said Rosie. “I wanted to see you again, and I do enjoy crochet. I was thinking maybe we work on projects and talk, and you can correct my technique as we go? That really would be helpful.”

Somewhat mollified, Eloise nodded, and then the two of them got out projects. Rosie’s was a pretty simple pattern—individual squares with a star inside—and Eloise’s looked very familiar.

“Is that the pattern for Pom Pom?” Rosie asked.

“Smaller; I felt bad that he didn’t have any friends.”

Well wasn’t that the sweetest thing ever.

Rosie was used to doing her crafting on her own. She lived by herself, but in the tiniest of flats, which she couldn’t always afford to heat, so she’d taken to crocheting and quilting and knitting all kinds of blankets to have dotted around the place, and when she was done with work, she found she liked having her hands be busy whilst she watched the tv.

She supposed that she didn’t get out much, just to the occasional craft workshop. Covid had meant that her job, working as an administrator for a queer charity, had gone fully remote and Rosie had become a bit of a hermit. When she was home she could dress how she wanted, stim as she liked, and just be her usual quirky, neurodiverse self, that the world seemed to take a pretty dim view of. It was why she’d been wearing that ridiculous suit at the craft fair. Yes, it had been stiff and scratchy,but it operated in much the same way as a suit of armour, and for that she was eternally grateful.

So sitting here with Eloise should have felt awkward.

It didn’t.

They crocheted quietly, chatting sporadically about television and the news, and Rosie had never felt more comfortable. She liked the fact that Eloise didn’t rush to fill the silence with words, and that she felt open enough to sit quietly too.

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