Standing at the door—today again—was the same man.
Amara didn't hide her surprise. She hadn't expected him back. He'd just been here yesterday. Maybe he forgot something. Maybe there was a problem. Whatever the reason, she hadn't imagined seeing him this soon. Or again at all.
Her hand paused mid-stitch, her expression calm but slightly sharp. She wasn't in the habit of giving people more space than necessary.
"You," she said simply.
"Me," he agreed, stepping inside like the place had quietly accepted him.
She glanced around, scanning for something he might have left behind. "Is there a problem with the dress?"
"No," he said, his voice relaxed. "Nothing like that. I just… I forgot this." He held up a silver cufflink, its edge slightly bent.
Amara arched a brow but didn't move from her table. "You could have sent someone."
"I could have," he admitted. "But I was already nearby."
"Nearby, huh."
His mouth tilted in a soft, almost teasing smile. "I have other errands."
"Of course you do."
He walked a little closer, looking far too comfortable for her liking. She finally stood and reached out her hand. "Let me see it."
He dropped the cufflink into her palm. It was a simple thing—light, ordinary, easily replaced. But she sat and began to fix it anyway.
"Is this something you misplace often?" she asked as her tools clicked against the small metal pin.
"Not really. I tend to keep track of my things."
"Then how did you forget it?"
"Maybe I was distracted."
Her fingers didn't pause, but her eyes flicked up briefly. "By what?"
"Conversation," he said easily.
"You weren't talking to anyone when you left yesterday."
"Wasn't I?"
Amara almost smiled. Almost. "That's not a good excuse."
"Maybe not." He shrugged, leaning lightly against a nearby shelf, his eyes flicking to the wedding dress she was still working on. "The roses are starting to take shape."
"They take time," she muttered.
"Time well spent, I think. Lilian will love it."
At that, she paused—not at his words, but at the name.
"Lilian."
It was the first time he'd mentioned her name and not confused.
You and "Your fiancée" have started progressing I see.
"Yes."
"How long have you known her?"
"Almost five years."
Amara hummed but didn't ask more. Five years was a long time to stay convinced about someone. Longer than she'd ever dared to trust anyone.
"And you?" he asked, folding his arms. "How long have you been in this line of work?"
"Long enough."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I feel like giving."
His laugh was soft but genuine. "You always like keeping things to yourself?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She adjusted her grip on the tool, her face unreadable. "Some stories aren't worth telling."
"Even the small ones?"
"Especially the small ones."
There was a comfortable quiet after that—not heavy, not tense, just… quiet.
Amara glanced at him, finally asking, "Do you have a habit of visiting shops like this just to chat?"
"Not really."
"Then why are you still here?"
"Maybe I like talking to you."
Her hands didn't falter, but her voice cooled. "Careful. I don't like people who pretend they're different when they're not."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?"
"Most people do. They want to be seen a certain way."
"And what about you?"
"I don't care how people see me."
"Is that the truth?"
"Yes."
For a moment, Xavier studied her, as if quietly filing her answers away. "I never got your name," he said.
"You never asked."
He smiled. "Fair point. So, what is it?"
"Amara."
His gaze lingered on her a little longer, like the name settled easily on his tongue. "It suits you."
"That's your opinion."
"And you? Do I get to keep being 'you' or do I get a name too?"
She thought about pretending not to care, about brushing it off, but something about the quiet way he asked stopped her.
"Your name?"
"Yes."
"Why does it matter?"
"Maybe it doesn't. Maybe it's just… polite."
Amara finally exhaled softly. "What is it?"
"Xavier."
"Xavier," she repeated, as if testing the shape of it.
She handed him the cufflink, her fingers brushing his briefly, though she quickly withdrew.
"Take better care of it," she said flatly.
"I will."
"And don't make this a habit."
He smiled, stepping backward toward the door. "Is that a request or a warning?"
She didn't answer.
The door creaked open. Before stepping out, he turned just once more. "See you around, Amara."
She didn't look up from her sewing. "Not if I see you first."
The door closed behind him, the bell's soft ring lingering for a second.
Amara didn't pause in her work. She didn't think about him. She didn't care about his name.
She just needed to finish the dress.
That was all.
Just the dress.
Just the work.
Just the threads.