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"I will, if they let me. It was a real pleasure."

When they leave the building, the atmosphere inside the car is different even though neither of them speaks, because Claudia radiates a contagious energy—one that actually lets Laia relax this time and enjoy the drive, until something catches her attention.

"This isn't the way back. You should've turned the other direction," she says, staring at the GPS screen in disbelief, trying to reorient herself.

"I know." Claudia taps the side button and the navigation disappears.

"Then what are you doing?"

"Relax. It'll only be five minutes."

"Claudia." Laia spins toward her in the seat, uneasy. "Where are you going?"

"To the beach."

"What?" Her eyes go wide and her heart leaps into her throat. "You're not serious. We can't—we have to get back to the factory and—"

"We went on an errand and nobody knows what time we finished." Laia is caught off guard by how calm she sounds. "I'm only asking for five minutes, Laia. I need to breathe before I go back to sealing boxes and sticking labels on things."

"But we're on work time. You can't just take a detour and do whatever you want."

"I've been good all week," she says, eyes fixed on the road, perfectly unruffled.

Laia sets her jaw.

"That's not entirely accurate. You've been going out and supposedly—"

"God, Laia, relax for once in your life. Five minutes and we go, I promise. I just want to put my feet in the sand."

Laia lets out a resigned huff and looks straight ahead. In the end, there's nothing she can do—Claudia is the one driving, and throwing herself across the center console to grab the wheel and force a turn doesn't strike her as a better option than five minutes on the beach.

They find parking easily at Varador Beach, which is deserted at this time of year.

"Come on, get out of the car," Claudia says when she turns off the engine.

Laia gets out and follows her to the edge of the sand, where Claudia stops, pulls off her ankle boots, and rolls her pants up a little. Laia does the same—slips off her sneakers, peels off her socks—and the two of them start walking toward the waterline, where the sand grows steadily damper as they get closer, and when the water reaches their feet, Laia lets out a muffled yelp that makes Claudia laugh.

"God, it's freezing," she says through gritted teeth as she adjusts to the temperature.

"It's the end of April. What did you expect? Besides, the water along the Maresme Coast isn't especially warm even in summer. Same with the Costa Brava."

"That's true," Laia murmurs, watching her out of the corner of her eye.

Claudia walks with her ankle boots in one hand and the other in her pocket, the wind loosening her updo so that long, dark strands brush against Laia's cheek every now and then, tickling her skin—and something else at the same time.

"That gray fabric back there," Claudia says suddenly, looking out at the water. "The cool wool. I wouldn't have done what the brand does with it."

Laia's head turns toward her, and she watches with interest.

"What does the brand do?"

"Straight coats. Square. They're like sacks with buttons—awful." She crouches down, picks up a flat stone, and turns it between her fingers. "With that kind of drape, you could do something that nipped in right here." She touches her side, at the waist. "And flared out below, so when you walk it moves with you instead of standing there stiff as a board."

Claudia talks without looking at her, as though she's thinking out loud rather than having a conversation with another person.

"People think a pattern is a template with lines—something flat. But it isn't. It's a body unfolded piece by piece. You take something three-dimensional—a shoulder, a chest, a back that curves—and you have to flatten it on paper without losing that shape. If you're off by two millimeters in the armhole, the sleeve can pull, and the person wearing it won't even know why they're so uncomfortable." She skips the stone across the water and tucks her hand back into her pocket as her hair whips around her. "It's incredible."

She falls quiet, watching the ripples spread from where the stone hit the surface, and Laia decides that what is extraordinary to her is walking beside this woman and listening to her talk passionately about something Laia doesn't entirely understand—even though she'd be willing to learn every term if it meant someone could promise her moments like this one every day.