Chapter 132

• After Julian left for home that night, I stayed in the workshop. I told myself I was just tidying up before locking the door, but my hands kept drifting toward the things Simone had touched. I found myself stopping at her worktable, my eyes drawn to the thimble she always kept in the top right corner, just where her hand would naturally reach for it. It still sat there, as though she had only stepped away for a moment and would be back before the kettle had time to boil. Beside it was the tiny scrap basket where she tossed threads that were too short to save for real use but too pretty to throw away without at least one more look. Some of the threads were still curled at the ends, catching the light when I tilted the basket.
• I picked up one of her fabric rulers. It was an old wooden one, the kind with worn edges and faint markings that had been dark once but had faded from years of handling. My fingers traced the indentations almost without thinking. The ruler reminded me of the first day Simone had come in for her interview.
• It had been raining hard that morning, the kind of rain that turns the street into a mirror and slows even the most hurried steps. She had walked in with her hair slightly damp at the ends and her tools wrapped in cloth, tied neatly with a knot at the center. She set the bundle down as though it was something fragile, unwrapping it carefully so I could see she had brought her own needles, her own shears, and a ruler almost identical to the one now in my hands. She had not been presumptuous or loud. She simply seemed ready, as though she had known long before she arrived that I would say yes.