Chapter 105

• The boutique did not open with fanfare. There was no velvet rope, no cameras, no orchestrated countdown or curated guest list. The doors simply unlocked at nine in the morning, the same way they had in the early days, back when all we had was intention and a sewing machine that needed coaxing to start. There was no loud announcement. Just a quiet return. A quiet arrival.
• We had prepared everything with care, not performance. The air inside held the soft weight of lavender and clean cotton, the kind of scent you don’t notice until you exhale. The walls had been painted in tones that didn’t demand attention but invited it. The floors were waxed by hand. Every shelf, every rack, every garment had been arranged with the same care we used to take in our mother’s studio—slow, deliberate, respectful of space.
• Julian arrived before I did. He had always liked mornings, especially the quiet ones that came before movement. He swept the steps without being asked. Adjusted the florals at the front—nothing too obvious, just cream blossoms and green stems, balanced in a way that made the light catch differently on the glass.