Xavier stepped into the familiar shop, greeted by the faint scent of fabric softener and the quiet hum of sewing machines in the back. The atmosphere here was always still, neatly folded, nothing out of place. It was the opposite of the restless swirl he'd been feeling lately, and somehow, it grounded him.
Amara didn't look up immediately. She was bent over a worktable, carefully pinning something onto a soft, ivory fabric. Her hair was tied up today, strands falling loose around her face as she worked.
She looked exactly the way she always did—simple, focused, and miles away from the confident woman he'd seen at the club.
For a second, he watched her hands move—steady, practiced, unaffected.
Maybe he'd imagined it.
The way she'd moved that night. The ease with which she'd held herself. Maybe the lighting, the music, the crowd—it had painted something that wasn't really there.
"Good afternoon," he said, finally stepping forward.
Amara glanced up briefly. "Oh. It's you." Her voice was flat, like it always was with him.
He wasn't sure why he'd expected anything else.
"I stopped by to check on the progress," he said, keeping his tone neutral.
She turned, retrieving the partially finished jacket from the mannequin nearby. "It's coming along. I've made the adjustments you requested. And I finished adding the roses your fiancée suggested—to the bottom."
Xavier nodded, stepping closer to inspect it. His fiancée had been so specific about those roses. She wanted them small, almost tucked in, like a quiet signature only she would notice.
His fingers grazed the edge of the fabric, pausing briefly over the embroidered roses. They were exactly as she'd described.
"She'll like this," he said quietly.
Amara gave a small, indifferent shrug. "If there's anything else, you can let me know before the final fitting."
Her distance was sharp, but not rude. She was simply efficient, as always. And yet… there was something about the way her hands lingered on the cloth, the way her eyes avoided his—it was like they were both pretending today was exactly like every other day.
Maybe it was. Maybe he was the only one making it complicated.
He didn't bring up the club. She didn't either. And maybe that was best.
"How's the timeline looking?" he asked.
"Still on track," she said. "I'll have the full suit ready for the final fitting next week."
He nodded. "I'll bring my fiancée along for that. She'd probably want to see it in person now."
"That's fine," Amara said, her voice as steady as her stitching.
There was no hesitation, no shift in her posture. Nothing.
It was strange how people could wear different versions of themselves. The Amara in front of him now felt worlds apart from the woman he'd seen laughing, surrounded by people, her hair loose and her confidence loud.
But maybe this was the real Amara. Or maybe that night had been just another layer.
Either way, it wasn't his to peel back.
"Thank you," he said, his gaze briefly catching hers.
She gave a small nod, already moving back to her table, her attention sliding away from him as smoothly as the fabric beneath her hands.
There was nothing else to say. And maybe that was the right kind of silence.
Xavier left the shop quietly, the soft chime of the door marking his exit.
On his way back, his mind stayed unusually still. No questions, no weight pressing on his chest.
Just a steady decision.
Some things didn't need to be untangled. Some moments didn't need to be chased.
The suit would be finished soon. The wedding would follow.
And everything would be as it should be.
"Yes as it should be."