Acton Adoration
"Seamstress Angela alters wedding dresses for Acton brides, but when recently divorced solicitor Martin needs his suit adjusted, she fits him for something entirely different—a second chance at love."
Martin felt stupid in the bridal shop. His suit from the divorce settlement needed taking in—he'd lost weight.
Angela emerged from behind tulle mountains, thick and practical, measuring tape around her neck like a stethoscope.
"Yuh lost more than weight," she observed. "Yuh lost yuh spark."
"That obvious?"
"Mi see a lot of broken people in this business." She circled him. "Wedding, divorce, same fabric. Different seams."
The fitting took longer than necessary. Her hands measuring, adjusting, touching.
"Stand still."
"Hard to stand still with you this close."
"Good." She smiled. "Means yuh still alive."
"I haven't felt alive in two years."
"Then mi fix that too." She put down the measuring tape. "Stay for dinner. Above the shop. Mi cook."
Dinner was curry chicken and conversation. Her story: thirty years of sewing dreams, never finding her own.
"Why not?" he asked.
"The ones who deserve mi? They scared to try." She looked at him. "Yuh scared?"
"Terrified."
"Good. Brave people do scared things anyway."
Brave was her bedroom. Brave was that thick body in his arms, both of them scared, both doing it anyway.
"Yes! Martin! Right there!"
Her moans between silk and lace, surrounded by dreams she made for others, finally having her own.
"Don't stop! Mi been waiting so long!"
The suit fit perfectly. So did they.
"Come back for another fitting," she said.
"The suit's done."
"Not for the suit." She kissed him. "For us. We still need adjustments."
They adjust daily now. Martin's second marriage happened in a dress Angela made herself.
Every stitch, perfect.
Every touch, adoration.
Acton's secret: the seamstress who mended more than clothes.
Hearts, specifically.
His, especially.