SquidgeWorld Archive

Bug heard the gasp of happiness from two aisles over. "Whatever it is put it down." The woman next to him gave him a conspiring smile.

"Child?"

"Almost." Bug looked over as Nigel rounded the aisle, four skeins of yarn in his hands. Not that Bug knew the difference between a skein and a ball and a hank. Not that Nigel had lectured him on that very issue just two nights before. "Put them back."

"But-"

"You have four milk crates full of yarn littering up the living room right now." Bug held up a hand to forestall Nigel's objection. "And I know about the storage box under the bed."

"But," Nigel held the yarn out to Bug. "They're on sale."

"No."

"But they're cashmere."

Bug fought very hard to keep his face neutral. Nigel knew he had a major weakness for cashmere. Especially when he got sweaters or socks out of the deal. "You have cashmere."

"I have cashmere *mixes*. This is 100% cashmere."

"Then definitely no. I've seen the price for a hunk of cashmere."

"This is a-"

"I know what it is." Bug shook his head at Nigel's general attitude. "You're not going to give me a good enough reason to okay your buying loads of yarn you don't need." Nigel's grin let Bug know he'd just been talked into a corner.

"It's eight dollars a skein, Buggles." Nigel's grin widened. "They're discontinuing the color and trying to get rid of the inventory. I could easily get enough for a sweater, a few pairs of socks, and a scarf and hat."

Bug didn't want to cave immediately. If he caved immediately, Nigel wouldn't let him live it down. "And for what low, low price can I get all those things?"

"Hold on." Nigel rolled one of the skeins of yarn until he could get a look at the weight on the label. "A sweater would take about four, the socks could take one, and I could do the hat and scarf with two."

"I like long scarves."

"Make that three."

Bug did the math in his head. Four plus one plus three was eight. Eight times eight was sixty-four. A good skein of 100% cashmere yarn would usually run about thirty dollars. Not that he knew that. Not that he had singled some out to buy Nigel for his birthday. Thirty times eight was two hundred and forty. Two hundred and forty minus sixty-four was one hundred and seventy six. That put the yarn at a 75% discount, give or take a decimal place. Bug knew he had to give in. Nigel wouldn't make him new socks if he didn't. "You're going to need a new milk crate."

"I've got an extra stashed in the linen closet." Nigel's grin was getting almost too wide for his face. He shoved his yarn into Bug's arms. "I'll go get the rest." He took two steps, turned back around, and grabbed the top skein off of the pile. "Need the dye lot." He walked away again.

Bug turned back towards the books, prepared to wait for Nigel while browsing through the _Beginning Crochet_ manual. He suddenly realized that the woman who had asked if Nigel were a child was still standing there. He had just outed himself to a random woman in a craft store. Although, when he considered it for a moment, standing around a craft store probably didn't make him look particularly heterosexual to begin with. But it was principle of the issue. He'd find a way to blame Nigel for this.

"Knit or crochet?"

Bug startled at her voice. He glanced over at her. "Excuse me?"

She jerked her head towards the direction Nigel had run. "Does he knit or crochet?"

"Oh. Crochet."

"And he makes sweaters?"

"Yes." Bug wasn't sure where the conversation was going, but when the woman smiled, he figured he was safe.

"Do you know if he makes them on request? I want to get something nice for my husband for our anniversary, and I've been thinking about attempting a sweater myself, but I've only ever made rectangular things." The woman opened her purse and dug around before coming out with a business card. "That's my name and number. Could you give it to him? Ask him to call me? I'm willing to pay for the yarn and labor."

Bug took the card in a state of amused shock. Only Nigel could be a chick magnet when he was buying yarn. "I'll ask him for you."

"Thank you." The woman smiled again, tucked her crochet book under her arm and began to walk away. "Ask him to try the cell number first. I always have it on me."

Bug nodded. "Okay." When she was around the aisle and could no longer see him, Bug broke into a very amused smile and walked over to the aisle with the cashmere yarn. Not that he knew where it was. Not that he'd been here enough with Nigel to know the contents of the aisles without having to check the placards on the ends of the rows. He found Nigel busily digging through a small bin of the same cashmere yarn he held in his hand, eyes darting from the number on the label in the bin to the number on the label in his hand. Bug held out the card. "You have a fan."

"Hmmm?" Nigel looked up and plucked the card from his hand. He read it. "Who's she?"

"The woman standing next to me by the books. She witnessed your yarn geek-out and asked if you'd make a sweater for her husband. I'd told her I'd ask. She offered to pay."

"Pay, huh?" Nigel pocketed the card and winked at Bug. "Well, I suppose it's true what they say."

Bug knew he was walking straight into a terrible pun. He went with it. "What do they say?"

"Anybody will pay for a good hooker."

Bug laughed so hard the three skeins of yarn he was holding tumbled out of his arms. He chased them down with a smile while Nigel finished finding his dye lot.