“He should’ve,” she said firmly. “Months ago.” Stop two: Mrs. Alvarez’s tailor shop. The bell chimed. She peered over her glasses. “Is this her?” “This is the girl,” Carla said. In the back stood a mannequin dressed in soft blue chiffon, flowers stitched at the waist. It didn’t shout. It sang. “It’s vintage,” Carla said. “My dress from…
![]()