Queenie Sateen had one rule for her studio: no scraps left behind. So when Erica Cherry walked in with a torn gown and a broken heart, Queenie didn't offer tea or sympathy. She offered a table.
Erica blinked. “The dress? Or me?”
“I know,” Queenie said, handing her a cherry-red button for her lapel. “That’s the part you keep.” queenie sateen erica cherry
“Put it together,” Queenie said, sliding a pot of mismatched buttons, a spool of copper wire, and a square of burnt-orange velvet across the oak. Queenie Sateen had one rule for her studio:
Queenie smiled, running a finger over the velvet’s nap. “Same thing, honey. You’re both just pieces waiting for the right seam.” ” Queenie said