Read Online Miss Scarlet's School of Patternless Sewing by KATHY CANO-MURILLO - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: KATHY CANO-MURILLO
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barely played. I’ll show you….”
Always put together, in control,
Marco thought. Never a crack in her voice or a hair out of place. Thanks to the shine of her smile, he didn’t notice the postman elbowing his way up front.
Scarlet winked at Marco, removed a thick tri-fold album set from the top of the stack, and opened it in front of her. Just then the postman nudged her out of his way so he could shove a certified letter into Marco’s hand. Scarlet slipped.
Nearly falling, Scarlet tossed the album case and air-clawed to grab on to the first thing she could reach, which happened to be her stack of LPs. They went flying at all angles across the concrete floor. Scarlet would have fallen too, if it weren’t for a group of grade-school kids who, gliding up on wheelie sneakers, managed to catch her. The small crowd shuddered at the sounds of their four sets of wheelies crunching over vinyl, and scrambled to the point of impact to find neon shards strewn everywhere.
A teenage girl knelt down and sorted the shards into stacks. “Wow! I make collage mosaics—these will be perfect! I can make earrings, too!”
“Stop!” Scarlet said sharply, her arms stiff at her sides. She turned to the girl on the floor and glared. “Those are mine! I need to sell them!”
The girl on the floor froze while still holding the pieces. “Can I just have a few? What good are they now? Look. They’re smashed.”
“Fine! Take them!” Scarlet’s scarf slipped down the back of her hair as she dropped her head into her hands. “What else can go wrong? What did I do to deserve this?”
“Damn,” Nadine said, approaching the counter. “I’ve never seen this in an
Archie
comic.”
Without hesitation, Marco put his arm around Scarlet’s shoulder to comfort her. Flustered, she pulled back and noticed the tear in his plaid cotton shirt. She couldn’t help but poke her finger in it. At least it distracted her from the mess she’d just made.
“Another one? Wow, Mr. Vega, you’re really rough on your menswear. I can repair this one in a jiffy.”
For the first time all week, Marco chuckled. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you the restroom so you can clean up. Don’t worry about the records—consider them bought.”
She stopped. “But what will you do with them? They’re useless.”
“I’ll put the pieces in a jar and sell them as craft supplies. Maybe it’ll bring me new customers. Like that girl on the floor.”
* * *
Calm and refreshed, Scarlet exited the restroom to notice Marco in his office down the hall. She remembered the torn pocket. The least she could do was fix it after the debacle out front. She opened her bag and retrieved a small tube of EmergiSew, a chemical adhesive concoction she mixed up—“for when you’re in a stitch.”
“Knock-knock,”
she sang out, rapping her fingers on the open door before entering. “I’m here to fix that rogue pocket of yours.” She unfolded a metal chair that rested against the wall and circled her finger above his head for him to turn around.
Scarlet leaned in close to examine the damage before going to work on the repair job. She slid her arm up and under the front of the shirt, to act as an anchor. He stiffened like a surfboard to allow her a flat surface to work on. When the back of her hand skimmed up his ripped abs, she told herself over and over that she was a school nurse tending to a student’s playground scratch. It didn’t work.
She tried not to let her nerves get in the way, but the silence between them made her tense, like she had invaded his personal space. She glanced around his desk for something to talk about while the glue dried. Next to a large seashell and a small bottle of sand, a photo of a tattooed teenager caught her eye.
“Cute picture. That’s your brother, isn’t it?” she asked, stretching her thin eyebrow in the direction of the black frame. She licked her finger to smooth down the raw threads on the fabric.
Always put together, in control,
Marco thought. Never a crack in her voice or a hair out of place. Thanks to the shine of her smile, he didn’t notice the postman elbowing his way up front.
Scarlet winked at Marco, removed a thick tri-fold album set from the top of the stack, and opened it in front of her. Just then the postman nudged her out of his way so he could shove a certified letter into Marco’s hand. Scarlet slipped.
Nearly falling, Scarlet tossed the album case and air-clawed to grab on to the first thing she could reach, which happened to be her stack of LPs. They went flying at all angles across the concrete floor. Scarlet would have fallen too, if it weren’t for a group of grade-school kids who, gliding up on wheelie sneakers, managed to catch her. The small crowd shuddered at the sounds of their four sets of wheelies crunching over vinyl, and scrambled to the point of impact to find neon shards strewn everywhere.
A teenage girl knelt down and sorted the shards into stacks. “Wow! I make collage mosaics—these will be perfect! I can make earrings, too!”
“Stop!” Scarlet said sharply, her arms stiff at her sides. She turned to the girl on the floor and glared. “Those are mine! I need to sell them!”
The girl on the floor froze while still holding the pieces. “Can I just have a few? What good are they now? Look. They’re smashed.”
“Fine! Take them!” Scarlet’s scarf slipped down the back of her hair as she dropped her head into her hands. “What else can go wrong? What did I do to deserve this?”
“Damn,” Nadine said, approaching the counter. “I’ve never seen this in an
Archie
comic.”
Without hesitation, Marco put his arm around Scarlet’s shoulder to comfort her. Flustered, she pulled back and noticed the tear in his plaid cotton shirt. She couldn’t help but poke her finger in it. At least it distracted her from the mess she’d just made.
“Another one? Wow, Mr. Vega, you’re really rough on your menswear. I can repair this one in a jiffy.”
For the first time all week, Marco chuckled. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you the restroom so you can clean up. Don’t worry about the records—consider them bought.”
She stopped. “But what will you do with them? They’re useless.”
“I’ll put the pieces in a jar and sell them as craft supplies. Maybe it’ll bring me new customers. Like that girl on the floor.”
* * *
Calm and refreshed, Scarlet exited the restroom to notice Marco in his office down the hall. She remembered the torn pocket. The least she could do was fix it after the debacle out front. She opened her bag and retrieved a small tube of EmergiSew, a chemical adhesive concoction she mixed up—“for when you’re in a stitch.”
“Knock-knock,”
she sang out, rapping her fingers on the open door before entering. “I’m here to fix that rogue pocket of yours.” She unfolded a metal chair that rested against the wall and circled her finger above his head for him to turn around.
Scarlet leaned in close to examine the damage before going to work on the repair job. She slid her arm up and under the front of the shirt, to act as an anchor. He stiffened like a surfboard to allow her a flat surface to work on. When the back of her hand skimmed up his ripped abs, she told herself over and over that she was a school nurse tending to a student’s playground scratch. It didn’t work.
She tried not to let her nerves get in the way, but the silence between them made her tense, like she had invaded his personal space. She glanced around his desk for something to talk about while the glue dried. Next to a large seashell and a small bottle of sand, a photo of a tattooed teenager caught her eye.
“Cute picture. That’s your brother, isn’t it?” she asked, stretching her thin eyebrow in the direction of the black frame. She licked her finger to smooth down the raw threads on the fabric.
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