Page 31

"Completely serious. I ran it by your aunt and she's on board—but it's not mandatory. If you'd rather stay here…"

"No way. Give me a second."

Claudia goes to find the floor supervisor to explain the situation and tell him what still needs to get done, and in under a minute she's back with a wide, genuine smile that Laia hasn't seen in a long time.

"Let's take mine," Claudia says when they walk out to the parking lot, pointing at her car.

"Yours?" The question is a dumb one, but for Laia, getting into that car feels like uncovering another piece of Claudia's life.

In her experience, cars tend to say a lot about their owners, and Laia isn't sure she wants to keep discovering things she likes about her.

"I feel like driving," Claudia explains into the silence. "But I have nothing against yours, if you'd rather…"

"No, it's fine. Let's take yours."

Claudia unlocks it, and when Laia opens the passenger door and sits down, the air catches in her lungs. Despite the citrus air freshener clipped to the dashboard, the interior smells like Claudia—that soft, subtle perfume she wears, which Laia now feels more intensely in this enclosed space. Everything is immaculate, not a speck of dust, though there's a hair clip hooked over the rearview mirror, two hair ties on the gearshift, a travel-size pack of tissues in the door pocket, and a sunglasses case in one of the compartments.

"Here—put the address in." Claudia hands her her unlocked phone, and Laia takes it as carefully as if it were made of glass and she's afraid to crack it with the pressure of her fingers.

Laia spends most of the drive staring out the window, rigid. She's been sitting in the passenger seat for ten minutes, breathing in her perfume in a very small space, stealing glances at her hands on the wheel and her relaxed posture as she drives in those sunglasses that seem designed to make her look even more attractive.

She swallows and feels ridiculous, because a part of her—one she currently hates with every fiber of her being—has fantasized about this many times: sitting beside her in the car, though not like this, not as someone who gets paid to follow her around like a shadow, but as something else, something she'd rather not think about because it only leaves her feeling hollow and unsettled.

The warehouse is on the outskirts of Mataró—a very tall industrial building, its interior packed with endless rows of metal shelving stacked with bolts of fabric. A middle-aged woman who reminds Claudia a little of Remei comes out to meet them.

"This is Claudia, Elvira's niece," Laia explains.

"Nice to meet you," the woman says. "I'm Eva. Give your aunt my regards when you get back."

"Of course," Claudia smiles, her eyes already wandering in every direction.

"Shall we take a look at the order? It's right over here," Eva suggests.

Laia pulls out the list to check it, but when she turns around, Claudia isn't beside her—she's over by one of the shelving units, running her hand along different fabrics, pinching the edge between her fingers, rubbing it, then moving on to the next.

"Is this a twill or a canvas?" she asks, turning toward Eva.

The woman smiles and walks over.

"It's cotton twill, three hundred twenty grams. There's a little polyester in the weave so it doesn't shrink as much when you wash it."

Claudia nods and keeps touching fabrics, completely absorbed, and Eva seems delighted by her fascination.

"And this one?"

"Cool wool. We can't keep that one in stock—everyone wants it for blazers."

"How does it drape?" Claudia asks.

"Beautifully. Look."

Eva unrolls a meter and lets it fall through the air, and Claudia catches it, holds it up to the light, drapes it over her own forearm to see how it folds—and for the next ten minutes she talks with Eva about weights, weaves, and a cashmere blend Claudia says she saw in a collection. Eva answers every question while Laia stands to the side, glancing back and forth between the two of them, following maybe half of what they're saying. She knows her basics when it comes to fabric, especially the ones they use at the factory, but Claudia talks about textiles Laia has never even heard of.

"Incredible," Claudia murmurs about one of the fabrics, and Laia glances over and decides that what is truly remarkable is watching her like this—eyes bright, a look of quiet satisfaction settled almost permanently on her face, that animated way she talks.

"Come back anytime," Eva tells her warmly as they finish up and she shakes Claudia's hand. "It's always a pleasure to talk with someone who doesn't look at the bolts like they're just a bunch of colored rags in different textures."

Claudia's smile widens, and Laia feels butterflies everywhere.