As I pushed the door open, the bell chimed softly.
The air was filled with a faint woody fragrance, mixed with the uniquely sweet scent of silk thread, making me slow my steps without realizing it.
My gaze was drawn almost immediately.
The shelves were neatly lined with silk threads, embroidery cloth, needles, and hoops in a wide array of colors—soft yet clearly layered, obviously curated with care. I walked up to the shelves, my fingertips brushing over the threads as I began selecting the materials I needed one by one.
Rhett didn’t rush me. He simply followed quietly behind.
I could feel his gaze, but it didn’t make me uncomfortable. His presence was steady—reassuring in a way that put me at ease.
From time to time, I picked up an item to examine it carefully, confirming its textur
