Andrea spreads her fingers and holds her palm up to the woman. The skin is pale and clean—there’s not a single trace of makeup on her fingers. The woman snatches Andrea’s hand and holds it closer to her eyes, curling her lip with disgust—as if her hand is too filthy to touch.
“I don’t believe you for a second,” the woman says. “You’re just scared because you know you can’t pay for the repairs. Well, let me tell you, no one comes into my shop and ruins my dresses without paying. I’ll call the police, I swear I will.”
Andrea closes her eyes and presses her fingers against her temples. The woman is in a frenzy about her dress, but Andrea has dealt with women like her before. She’s wondering how to best mention Andrew’s name when a flurry of whispering distracts her.
She opens her eyes and
