He sends little gifts sometimes, and one day in the post, there's a white box. She appreciates everything he sends her even more now that she knows that he has to either make them painstakingly by hand or find exactly what he wants somewhere else.
She almost doesn't want to open it, savouring every corner and every inch of the surface, knowing that he touched it just the same way. But finally, she gives in to the temptation and opens it.
After she remembers to breathe, she pulls the drape of pearls from the box and lets them hang from her fingers. They're not quite regular, the holes not always bored in the exact center, and they're all different shapes and sizes.
The note slips from the inside of the box, and she leans down to pick it up.