Hobart's children were all abroad, so it was just the elderly couple and their longtime housekeeper living in the old house. When Yvonne arrived with a selection of homemade pastries, she found Mr. Cooper busy in his workshop.

The space was modest, less than five hundred square feet, filled with bolts of fabric and racks of sample dresses. In the center sat a vintage sewing machine, which Mr. Cooper was operating with a rhythmic whir. It was hard to believe that this humble workshop was sought after by the city's elite, with his dresses commanding astronomical prices.

"Mr. Cooper," Yvonne said with a smile, placing the pastry box on a small table.

Nearly eighty years old, Mr. Cooper's face was a map of wrinkles, but his eyes were sharp and full of life. He took off his glasses, rubbing his tired eyes as he looked at her with fatherly affection. "Ah, there you are, little one. You've come just in time. Help me with the frog closures on that turquoise dress."

“Grandpa, I just got here and you're already putting me to work," Yvonne teased, but she was already sitting at the workbench, needle and thread in hand, carefully selecting a pair of closures. Her cutting skills were still lacking, but she was proficient at everything else.

With a new helper secured, Mr. Cooper settled into a wicker chair by the table, sipping tea and sampling her pastries.

"Mm, delicious. The taste hasn't changed a bit," he said, rocking gently You're just as skilled as your mother was He squinted at her "You heartless girl, where have you been all these years? You haven't

come to see me once. I suppose you forgot all about this old man."

Yvonne's hand froze, the needle nearly pricking her finger. "Mr. Cooper, I wasn't..." She started to explain that she wasn't the same Yvonne, but he cut her off.

"Oh, the dress you ordered is ready. It's hanging in the fitting room. Go try it on. If it needs any adjustments, we can fix it now." He pointed toward the fitting room with the pastry still in his hand.

Yvonne had just finished sewing the last closure. She folded the dress, placed it in a box, and went to the fitting room. The dress Mr. Cooper had made for her was a simpl elegant pale pink. The cut was perfect, accentuating her slender

waist and graceful curves.

"It fits perfectly, Mr. Cooper! You haven't lost your touch," she said, emerging from

the fitting room with a satisfied smile.

As she stepped out, she saw that

someone else had entered the

workshop. Bennett's tall frame

looked strikingly out of place in the cluttered room. He wasn't in uniform today, just a simple Shirt and trousers, but his powerful presence was undeniable. Bullet, who had been sitting at his feet, sprang up and bounded over to her.