Click-click

## Meta

**Timing:** 30 July 2025, bracketing "Surprised" (see internal note)

**Setting:** Nanny's flat

## Text

Holly bustles the prep bowls and plates from lunch into the dishwasher, wipes down the countertop.

The landline jingles, caller I.D. shows a familiar number.

She tucks the handset between her shoulder and ear, "Hello, love."

""Hi, Nanny,"" greets Logan. ""Can I use your back room for a video call, please?""

"Of course. I'll be at home all afternoon and evening, so drop in whenever you want."

""Thanks, Nanny.""

"You're welcome, Logan. Dress warmly."

Huffs.

"Love you."

""See you soon."" He hangs up the payphone.

Her back room? An odd request, even for Logan.

Oh, well. It'll be sorted out once he arrives.

Which he does thirty-seven minutes later, signaling his arrival with a knock at the door.

Holly checks the peephole, unlocks, and opens the door with a bright smile. "Hello, dear."

"Hey," says Logan as he steps inside, his hair and coat spangled with droplets from the sleet falling outside.

"Dear, you need a hat in this weather." Closes the door, locks up.

Logan rolls his eyes, hangs his coat on a hook behind the door, unlaces his shoes and leaves them on the mat.

"I put snacks and water in the back bedroom for you."

He grunts thanks.

"Do you need to borrow my mobile or tablet?"

"Have my own for the day," he answers absently. Shoulders hunched, fingers twitching; he crosses the flat without his usual confidence.

Something's wrong, but it's useless to push Logan to talk.

When he's ready, he'll tell her.

The bedroom door clicks shut behind him.

Holly sighs. Logan may be thirty-three in the spring, but he's still her grandchild. She worries.

She also has the /**perfect** navy alpaca wool for a hat to match his coat. She finds the skein in her basket—

Snicket flows into the hole, fur sticking out in all directions, buries himself in wool.

Nanny scratches an uncovered patch, picks up her five-millimeter needles, settles in her favourite chair, and casts on.

.

["Surprised"]

.

In fifty-two minutes, Holly finishes the cap, sets it on the chair's arm with a gentle pat. She retrieves her project-in-progress (a jumper patterned after Jupiter for its tiny namebearer) from the basket—

Snicket comes with it.

—and sets to.

Snicket hops onto an easy chair.

Logan slouches into the living room six minutes later, sighs into the easy chair—

Snicket shoots out, dives under the coffee table.

—braces elbows on knees, props his chin on his hands.

His twitch is gone, but all of his energy and colour have drained away with it.

Holly sets her knitting in her lap. "Are you feeling alright?"

Logan scrubs his face with a hand, mumbles, "'m fine."

No, you're not, dear.

The /*click-click* of needles helps.

Holly picks up her work, keeps her eyes on it. "Was it bad news?"

"No," answers Logan.

"Whatever it is, love, you can tell me."

Snicket scales the back of the chair, oozes onto Logan's shoulders.

/*click-click*.

Quietly, "I ever tell you about Blossom?"

"The little dear with the pink hair?"

"Yea. Her."

"She was so sweet when I met her." She was also very clearly sweet on you.

/*click-click*.

"When ...?"

"She dropped you off at Jack's wedding, love."

"Oh." Logan shifts. "Right."

/*click-click*.

"Has something happened to her?"

Logan chokes on a laugh.

Something terrible, then.

/*click-click*, *click-click*.

"She had a baby." Deep breath. "Today's his first birthday."

Holly pauses her knitting.

[Snicket yawns.]

She takes a deep breath, offers, "I could make the little one a jumper or socks as a late gift."

"N-no, thanks." Logan hands twitch between his knees.

You didn't think of that because you're upset, dear.

She hums, resumes.

/*click-click*, *click-click*, *click-click*.

"You have a project I could work on for a bit?"

"Of course, dear."

She has the /**perfect** thing.

Holly tucks her knitting away. "There should be some lovely butterscotch reclaimed silk in here and a pattern for a toddler's jumper and matching hat." Digs about in her basket. "Aha!" Has them in hand, passes them to Logan, smiling kindly. "It uses four-millimeters."

He accepts, pulls the proper needles from the case beside his chair, squints—

"There are readers on the table."

"Thanks." Settles them on his nose, reads, casts on.

/*click-click*.

Holly picks up her work, picks up where she left off.

/*click-click*.