Delia did not look up from a sleeve.

“Yes, ma’am. After this seam.”

Julian began arriving once a week.

At first, his reasons were believable.

A torn cuff.

Loose button.

Suit trousers.

Then less believable.

A shirt that Delia had repaired three days earlier.

“Morning.”

Delia looked up.

“I lost another button.”

“That’s a lot of buttons, Mr. Whitlow.”

“I buy weak shirts.”

“You buy very expensive shirts.”

“Apparently badly made.”

She pointed toward a wooden box.

“Try the button box.”

He did.

Week after week.

No pressure.

No flowers delivered to embarrass her.

No expensive gifts.

No asking Eleanor to interfere.

Sometimes Julian helped carry fabric.

Sometimes he took Delia’s mother to lunch.

Sometimes he sat quietly while Delia worked.

The first time he asked her to dinner, she said no.

The second time too.

The third time:

“Coffee.”

He smiled.

“I accept.”

A year passed.

Paige eventually pleaded guilty to filing a false police report and accepted a civil settlement over the damage to Odessa’s shop.

The Prescott family disappeared from Whitlow society almost overnight.

Eleanor never spoke of them unless someone asked.

She had not dressed as a poor widow to destroy Paige.

She had wanted to know her.

What she discovered was Paige’s own choice.

One spring morning, Julian entered the shop.

Delia looked up.

“Another button?”

“No.”

“Torn sleeve?”

“No.”

“Coffee stain?”

“No.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“You’re making progress.”

Eleanor sat near the window.

She saw Julian’s hand move toward his coat pocket.

Her eyes widened.

“Finally.”

Delia turned.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Julian walked toward the work table.

Delia put down her needle.

“What is it?”

He took a small box from his pocket.

Eleanor covered her mouth.

Julian opened it.

“Delia Banks.”

She stared.

“Will you marry me?”

Delia did not answer immediately.

Eleanor whispered:

“A whole year.”

Earl stood beside her.

“That boy slow as his grandmother.”

Eleanor elbowed him.

Julian was still waiting.

Delia looked toward her mother’s sewing machine.

Then toward Eleanor.

Then back to Julian.

“You sure you know me?”

“Yes.”

“No test?”

He smiled.

“I think your grandmother used up enough tests for the whole family.”

Eleanor pretended not to hear.

Delia laughed.

Then nodded.

“Yes.”

Julian closed his eyes.

Relief.

Eleanor began crying before Delia did.

The wedding was small.

No four hundred guests.

No giant tent.

No magazine photographer.

Delia wore a dress she made herself.

But one piece of lace came from another gown.

Eleanor’s old wedding dress.

The one Paige had called the color of old teeth.

Delia cleaned it.

Restored it.

Placed a narrow strip along her own sleeves.

Eleanor noticed immediately.

“You used my lace.”