Page 54 of Seale the Deal

Fabric Delights.

The sign hangs crookedly on a building a little past its prime. The paint, once probably white, is now cracked and flaking, curling like parchment paper at the edges. Two small planters sit beneath the windows, filled with flowers that look like they gave up a month ago.

I look back at my phone. Apple Maps stubbornly insists I should turn around.

Stupid app, I mutter, shoving my phone into my pocket before heading toward the store.

The bell above the door jingles as I step inside.

In the windows, mannequins are dressed in skirts, jackets, and dresses. I assume they were designed by the owner. Some are dated and have a layer of dust on them. Others look experimental with odd construction, but equally as charming. The shop smells of mothballs and cedar. Aisles of colourful bolts of fabric run the length of the small store. The walls are panelled in old, varnished wood, making the shop feel a little smaller and darker. The orange carpet is worn, flattened in the walkways by years of footsteps.

Toward the back, a large wooden counter with a glass display has an old-fashioned-looking till resting on top of it. Behind it is a half-wall partition, where I assume is the space to cut fabric and mend clothes that come in, though I can’t see over it.

The whole place feels like it hasn’t changed in twenty years. Maybe thirty. But it’s warm and inviting. I think I’m in love.

Damn it! a voice calls from behind the partition.

Hello? I walk toward the sound.

A woman with a halo of dark, curly hair and thick black glasses pops up from behind a partition. She beams when she sees me. Hi there!

I can instantly tell this woman recognizes me, even though I’ve never met her.

Here we go.

She walks around the partition with her hand extended. I’m Audrey.

Hi. I take her hand. And while in the city, this would be the weirdest way to enter any store, I’ve come to learn that I’m basically a mini celebrity here.

I’m Wrenley.

Oh, I know who you are, Audrey says with a smile. What brings you here?

Up close, I catch the faint smile lines near her eyes, and something about her feels familiar, though I can’t quite place it. She’s stunning with her golden-tan skin and honey-coloured eyes.

Pins. Ideally, thirty millimetres.

She hums thoughtfully. I’m pretty sure we have some of those. Come take a look.

She leads me to a display stocked with needles, pins, and emergency sewing kits. I find the right size pretty quickly, then start scanning for needles. Mine are dulling fast, and sharpening them with an emery board is getting old. These little tools are the unsung expenses of garment design. I miss the equipment I had access to in Vancouver.

So, Audrey says, how are you liking Alpine Harbor?

I’ve rehearsed this answer so many times it practically lives in my pocket. I love it. It’s different from Vancouver, but I’m adjusting. The slower pace is kind of nice.

And how did you and Ruger meet?

I came here about a year and a half ago, met Ruger, and we just never stopped talking, I say almost a little too robotically, but Audrey doesn’t seem to notice.

She laughs. You must be sick of people asking the same questions. I’m sorry.

Don’t be, I say, warming to her. I get it. This town seems really close-knit.

We are, she says with a fond sigh. I used to babysit Ruger and Remi.

Being alone, I realize this is a good time to ask her a little more about them.

What were they like? I ask.