Knit Two Together E-Book

Ariel Tachna

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 116

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

When Wil Buchanan walks into the yarn shop in his hometown of Asheville, he isn't expecting anything other than to get an heirloom bedspread repaired as a Christmas present for his mother. He certainly doesn't expect the owner to be his age, single, and attractive. The only problem? Wil's life is in San Francisco… and he left Asheville behind for a reason. But the more time he spends in the city—and with Travis—the more he realizes it's not the city he remembers, and he's not the boy he once was.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Blurb

Dedication

Knit Two Together

More by Ariel Tachna

About Ariel Tachna

By Ariel Tachna

Visit Dreamspinner Press

Copyright

Knit Two Together

by Ariel Tachna

When Wil Buchanan walks into the yarn shop in his hometown of Asheville, he isn’t expecting anything other than to get an heirloom bedspread repaired as a Christmas present for his mother. He certainly doesn’t expect the owner to be his age, single, and attractive. The only problem? Wil’s life is in San Francisco… and he left Asheville behind for a reason. But the more time he spends in the city—and with Travis—the more he realizes it’s not the city he remembers, and he’s not the boy he once was.

To Nicki—this story wouldn’t exist without your help.

“OH, WILMER, look at this! My great-grandmother made it for my grandparents when they got married. I remember it being on their bed when I was a little girl, but I was sure it had been lost or thrown away!”

Wil Buchanan didn’t flinch at hearing his mother call him Wilmer. No one else was around to hear it, and while she didn’t always use it, she refused to acknowledge that he’d legally changed his name to Wil as quickly as he could after he turned eighteen. He looked over to see what she had pulled out of the cedar chest in the attic, prepared to smile and tell her what a wonderful find it was, the same way he had for every other “family heirloom” and piece of bric-a-brac she had pulled out of cupboards, boxes, and wardrobes in the three days since he’d come home for Thanksgiving.

Unlike most of the other things, though, what he saw was worth noting. The yarn had probably been white when it was new, although time had yellowed it somewhat, but the delicate stitches and intricate lace were as perfect as the day they’d been made—or if they weren’t, his untrained eye certainly couldn’t tell the difference.

“It’s beautiful, Mom.” Wil had only been partly successful at convincing his mother to declutter the family home before putting it up for sale, but something about this lovingly crafted bedspread touched him. It looked too delicate to use—a section of the scalloped hem was unraveling, and there was a hole several inches wide that looked like it had been eaten by moths—but he couldn’t bring himself to suggest throwing it away. He could only imagine how many hours it must have taken his great-great-grandmother to make it, and it clearly brought his mother joy. He wondered whether any of it could be salvaged. He didn’t know anything about knitting, or crocheting, or whatever kind of needlework it was, but if he could find someone to repair it, he’d have a wonderful Christmas gift for his mom. “Let’s put it in the ‘keep’ pile for now.”

His mother sighed as she set it aside with careful hands and a loving stroke. “I wish I’d realized it was up here. Maybe it wouldn’t have gotten damaged if I’d had it down in one of the bedrooms instead of up here in the attic. I won’t be able to make myself throw it away, but it’s not like it’s of any use, looking like it does now. So many old things, lost because I can’t take care of them like I should these days.”

Taking care of an ornate, three-story, eight-bedroom, turn-of-the-century Queen Anne home would be a lot for anyone to deal with, but since flying home from San Francisco, Wil realized it wasn’t only the family home his mom was having problems with. She wasn’t cooking for herself the way she used to and forgot to take her medicines regularly, and she’d had a recent close call when she’d nearly slipped in the bathroom. It was a hard decision for both of them to sell the house and look for a senior community for her to move into, but Wil knew in his heart it was the right decision. If something happened to her while he was on the other side of the country, he’d never forgive himself.

“Don’t be like that, Mom. You said you remember this on your grandparents’ bed. I’ve never seen it before, so for all you know, it’s been up here since before we moved in here with Gramma and Gramps. They could have put it up here because of the damage. Sure, the house needs some work, but you can’t take it all on yourself.”

His mother patted his hand, a bit of life returning to her eyes. “I know that, young man, but my great-grandfather built this house for his bride, and now you’re talking about selling it. I’m allowed to be sentimental, even irrationally so if I feel like it. This old place has been the one constant in my life.”

Wil didn’t have the same emotional attachment. As an only child, the big house had always seemed empty and imposing compared to his friends’ newer, more modern homes—homes that didn’t include their grandparents on top of their parents. Part of the provincial small-town atmosphere he couldn’t wait to leave behind as soon as he was old enough, heading to college and then the West Coast. He didn’t regret the move, except for how far away it took him from his mom, especially now that she needed help he couldn’t give her.

“I know, Mom, but we’ve talked about this. You can’t manage on your own anymore, and you keep telling me you don’t want live-in help, so the only other choice is a senior living facility,” Wil said. “And we won’t sell the house right away. We have to finish going through everything and then get it fixed up enough to put on the market. That’ll take months.”

“Maybe, but I’ll be in a ‘senior living facility’ while you’re doing it, and then it’ll be gone,” she said bitterly. Then she sighed. “Oh, listen to me, turning into a crotchety old woman. That’s enough of that for today. I have an altar guild meeting at church, and you can surely find something more enjoyable to do than dig through old linens—the ones here or the ones at the church—with your mother. Go take a walk through downtown, have a beer, or even get dinner since we’ll eat at church after our guild meeting. I know you aren’t used to the quiet life I live, so maybe you can find something more to your taste this evening.”

“You know I’m here to spend time with you, Mom, but I’m glad you’re still seeing your friends. How are you getting to church? Do you need me to drop you off?” She really shouldn’t be driving, though she still had the Oldsmobile that was the last car his father had bought before he passed. Another reason the senior community was a good idea—she wouldn’t have to worry about shopping or cooking, and she’d be closer to activities and friends her own age.

“Oh no, Ruby—you remember Ruby Smith, don’t you?—she’s picking me up and will bring me home after the meeting and social time. So you don’t have to rush home either. I’ll leave the porch light on for you.”

Wil had to smile. She’d told him that every time he went out at night since he was a teenager. “Okay. You say hi to Miss Ruby and the other ladies for me.”

“I will. And you enjoy yourself tonight. Maybe you’ll run into someone you know.”

Wil hid his smile this time. That was her matchmaking voice. He hadn’t kept up with any of the kids he’d gone to school with since leaving for college. He probably wouldn’t recognize any of them if he did run into them, but it was no use telling his mother that. “Maybe, Mom.”

WIL WANDERED through downtown Asheville, trying to decide what he wanted to eat. The good news was the variety of restaurants—much greater than when he’d lived here. The bad news was the variety made it hard to choose. He wandered along Battery Park Avenue and down toward College Street. He could always stop in one of the local brew pubs and see what they had on tap while he decided what he wanted.

He’d decided against Italian and Asian when the warm glow from Tupelo Honey caught his eye. A glance at the menu posted near the door convinced him to head inside. After all, it wasn’t like there were many Southern home-cooking restaurants in San Francisco. He ordered a locally brewed ale to accompany his smothered chicken, grits, and fried green tomatoes. Comfort food, all of it. The decisions to find an assisted living community for Mom and sell the house were weighing on him, even though he knew they were the right choices.

He sipped his beer while he waited for the appetizer and racked his brain for ways to make the transition easier on her—on both of them, really. It would be ideal if he had the space to keep the most important pieces, even if he couldn’t keep the house, but his condominium in San Francisco was about the size of a postage stamp, and even then, he was hardly there. He spent more time living out of the hotels he was bringing back up to snuff than he did living in his own condo. And it wasn’t like Mom ever got out there to see him, so even if he arranged to have a few pieces sent out west, she wouldn’t get to see him using them.

The arrival of his appetizer interrupted his thoughts, and he focused on the food in front of him. The tomatoes were crispy on the outside and not mushy on the inside. The grits were everything he expected them to be, but the addition of goat cheese gave them a little extra bite. And the roasted red pepper sauce added a smoky flavor that tied it all together, making it familiar in the way of comfort food but new and exciting at the same time. If nothing else, it drove home once again how Asheville had changed since he’d moved away.

When he was done with the dish, he picked up his beer and leaned back in his chair, looking idly around Pritchard Park. Even in the chilly November evening, a few people sat in a small group, backpacks on the ground in front of them. One of them strummed idly at a guitar, although Wil couldn’t hear the music through the restaurant window.

Across the street he could see a number of small shops, no doubt all different than the ones he knew as a child. The waitress set his entree down in front of him, and Wil returned his attention to the truly excellent food. She offered him dessert when he finished, but he was already going to need to walk off some of the calories before heading back home. After settling the bill, he pulled on his jacket and strolled through the park, enjoying the cool night air.

He was about ready to turn for home when the name of one of the shops caught his attention: A Stitch in Time. Intrigued, he crossed Patton Avenue to get a closer look. When he got there, the shop window was full of yarn, but most of the lights were off. He checked the posted hours to see what time to come back the next day, but according to the sign, he actually had ten minutes until closing, so he pushed the door open and walked inside.

“Hello?” he called when he didn’t see anyone in the shop.

An elderly woman walked out of the back room. “Oh, I’m sorry, hon. I didn’t hear you come in. What can I help you with?”

Now that he was inside, he wasn’t sure. The shop walls were covered with racks and shelves and baskets of yarn in every color of the rainbow. Samples of scarves and sweaters and socks and shawls hung and nestled among them, along with stacks of pattern books, but everything seemed aimed at new projects, not restoration. “I don’t know that you can,” he admitted. “I don’t know anything about”—he waved a hand around—“any of this, but my mother found a bedspread in the attic that her great-grandmother made, and it needs some repair. I was hoping you might know someone who could take a look at it and let me know if it can be fixed.”

“How sweet of you!” She smiled and reached out to pat his hand. “I don’t know the answer to that, but Travis will. Why don’t you come back tomorrow when he’ll be here? Tell him you talked to Nora. What Travis doesn’t know about stitchwork wouldn’t fill a thimble.”

“What time will he be in tomorrow?” Wil asked. He was on vacation, so that wasn’t a problem, but if he wanted to surprise his mother, he needed to be able to get the bedspread and leave the house without making her suspicious.

“Oh, he’ll be here all day. He owns the shop, you know. He just had to leave a little early tonight because of the Historic Resources Commission meeting. He never misses one of those,” Nora replied. “I keep telling him to run for the board. They’d snap him up in a heartbeat, but he insists he doesn’t have time for that. Like we wouldn’t all pitch in to help out when he needed it.” She patted Wil’s hand again. “The shop’s usually quiet after the lunch rush, so that might be a good time to catch him.”