Hanging by a Thread. Karen Templeton

open my eyes and fish a tiny sketchbook out of my purse, flipping through a few ideas I had for altering some of my grandmother’s dresses. I jot down what I’ve already listed, then add to it. By the time I get home, I’ve got more than fifty items. Crazy.

      Leo’s in the kitchen, basting a chicken. The house smells like Heaven. I mentally add this to my list.

      “Where’s Starr?”

      “Gomezes’. You got a phone call.”

      My stomach jumps, which doesn’t stop me from trying to pinch off a piece of chicken skin. “Who from?”

      “Heather Abruzzo, I wrote it down. Didn’t you used to hang out with some girl named Abruzzo?”

      “Heather’s older sister. Joanne.”

      “Joanne, now I remember. Cut that out!” He smacks at my hand, but the prize is already mine. “It’s not done yet.”

      “What’d she want?” I say around the sizzling hot, succulent piece of garlic-and-pepper seasoned chicken skin.

      “Something about her wedding dress. I think maybe she wants you to make it?”

      Uh-boy.