Emma
Morning light painted patterns across my design table at Laurent's studio, catching on beads and sequins like captured stars. For the first time in weeks, I could simply sit and create without crisis looming. No threats, no buried secrets, no desperate race against time.
Just silence, sunshine, and the gentle click of needle against fabric.
"Your coffee's getting cold." Amanda's voice made me jump, nearly dropping the delicate crystal I'd been sewing. She nodded toward the untouched cup beside my sketches. "Third time this morning you've let it sit. What's on your mind?"
"Nothing." But my fingers traced the shell necklace I still wore, betraying my thoughts.
"Uh-huh." She perched on my desk, ignoring my halfhearted protest about wrinkled fabric. "Nothing wouldn't make you miss La
