Chapter 10

“Twelve thousand dollars?”

Margaret repeated the amount quietly.

Helen nodded.

“And that’s before utilities, insurance, or supplies.”

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Vanessa reached for the listing.

“Maybe we could ask the customers to pay deposits on future orders.”

Margaret looked at her.

“Before we’ve bought the fabric?”

Vanessa stopped.

She glanced at Eleanor.

Then slowly put the listing down.

“No,” she said. “You’re right.”

I understood what Margaret was thinking.

They had just spent three weeks repairing the damage caused by spending customers’ money before the promised work was ready.

Repeating the same mistake under a different company name wouldn’t make it better.

Helen sighed.

“It’s a beautiful space.”

Mrs. Ortiz nodded.

“Big windows. Plenty of room.”

“And expensive,” Margaret replied.

Vanessa leaned back.

“We could borrow against the orders.”

Margaret shook her head.

“I won’t ask these women to risk their homes.”

Nobody argued.

I watched her study the listing.

Then she asked, “What do we actually need?”

Helen frowned.

“A shop.”

“Do we?”

Margaret opened her blue notebook.

“We’ve been sewing in our kitchens and living rooms for years. That’s how we finished the Christmas orders.”

Mrs. Ortiz nodded.

“We need somewhere to meet customers.”

“And somewhere to fit dresses,” another woman added.

“Exactly,” Margaret replied. “But do we need a twelve-thousand-dollar storefront before we’ve earned twelve thousand dollars?”

The women exchanged glances.

I could see them reconsidering.

Eleanor quietly spoke.

“There’s a community hall on Taylor Street. The church rents it for meetings and small businesses during the week.”

Margaret looked toward her.

“How much?”

“I don’t know. But I can help you find out.”

Vanessa reached for a pencil.

“We could rent a fitting room two afternoons a week. Schedule the appointments together. Keep doing the sewing at home until we’re ready for something bigger.”

Helen smiled.

“That might actually work.”

I looked at the notebook.

There were fourteen requests for alterations and new dresses.

Not enough to support a luxurious showroom.

But enough to begin.

Luca had been listening from the end of the table.

“You’re making the decision Charles should have made before he expanded.”

Margaret smiled faintly.

“We’re learning from his mistakes.”

Eleanor looked down.

“And mine.”

For the next hour, the women discussed schedules, expenses, and what each person could reasonably contribute.

Nobody promised money they didn’t have.

Nobody was asked to work without pay.

And when someone disagreed, Margaret listened.

It was the most ordinary business meeting I’d ever attended.

It was also the first one I’d seen where every woman at the table seemed genuinely free to speak.

Then Helen turned toward me.

“Claire, what do you think?”

I blinked.

“You’ve been keeping our appointments organized since Christmas.”

I smiled nervously.

“I’ve just been helping.”

Mrs. Ortiz laughed.

“Helping? Honey, you know everybody’s measurements, appointments, and telephone numbers better than we do.”

Vanessa nodded.

“You also know when to tell people no.”

The women laughed.

I felt my cheeks grow warm.

Helen leaned forward.

“We’d like you to manage the bookings and customer arrangements.”

I stared at her.

“Are you offering me a job?”

“A paid one,” Margaret said firmly.

Everyone laughed again.

But I couldn’t speak.

For almost a year, I’d been proud to work for the Moretti family.

They’d treated me fairly.

Still, I had never imagined being asked to help run something that belonged to women like Margaret.

I looked toward Luca.

He smiled.

“Don’t look at me for permission, Claire.”

My throat tightened.

He continued.

“If it’s what you want, I hope you’ll take it.”

I wiped my eyes.

“I’d like to try.”

Margaret reached across the table.

“Then we’d like to have you.”

We agreed that I would finish my existing commitments with the Moretti family before starting the new position.

Luca promised nothing would change about the respect or friendship between us.

And for once, I believed a new beginning didn’t have to mean abandoning the people who’d helped me reach it.

A week later, the women secured two afternoons a week at the community hall.

The cost was manageable.

The customers accepted appointments.

And instead of opening an expensive showroom, they chose a simple name.

The Dawson Sewing Collective.

Margaret argued against it at first.

“I don’t need my name on everything.”

Helen smiled.

“Then think of it as your grandmother’s name.”

That settled the matter.

Vanessa helped prepare the worktables.

Eleanor contributed the remaining fabric and equipment from her old shop as part of her restitution to the workers.

She offered advice only when asked.

And Charles continued making his required payments without being invited back into the business.

Nobody pretended the family was completely healed.

Some disappointments still hurt.

Some apologies still needed time.

But the women were building something honest.

On the afternoon before the collective’s first official customer appointments, Vanessa returned to the Moretti restaurant.

I was there collecting the last of my things.

Luca had come upstairs to say goodbye.

Margaret was finishing the repaired lace for Patricia Harper’s shawl.

Vanessa stopped beside the dining table.

She looked at her mother.

Then at Luca.

“I need to do something.”

Luca studied her.

“What is it?”

Vanessa slowly removed the engagement ring from her finger.

The same ring she’d worn when she ordered Margaret out of the restaurant weeks earlier.

She placed it on the white tablecloth.

Luca’s expression changed.

“Vanessa?”

Her eyes filled.

“I’m not doing this because I don’t love you.”

He remained silent.

She looked toward Margaret, who gave her a small, encouraging nod.

Then Vanessa turned back to Luca.

“I’m giving you this back because I finally understand why I wasn’t ready to wear it.”