Xavier adjusted the cuffs of his shirt as the evening sky deepened, brushing the city with soft streaks of orange and purple. The streets outside his office buzzed quietly, cars moving with the slow rhythm of a city shifting into night.
Everything was set.
The Dravin meeting was tonight.
He glanced at the schedule pinned on his desk. He knew the details like the back of his hand. The pitch. The partnership clauses. The soft negotiation points. The unspoken cues he would need to look out for.
He had gone over it all a hundred times.
But strangely, his mind wasn't on the paperwork.
His thoughts kept slipping back to Amara.
She hadn't confirmed if she'd be ready on time. She hadn't said much at all, really. She simply worked.
That was what he respected about her—the way she poured herself into the craft without asking for applause, without expecting recognition.
But it unsettled him, too.
Because lately, it wasn't just her work that kept pulling at his attention.
It was her.
His driver opened the door quietly. "Shall I take you to Miss Amara's shop, sir?"
"Yes," Xavier replied, standing and grabbing his jacket.
The ride was steady, but his mind flickered constantly between the negotiation strategy and something he couldn't define. The car pulled up in front of Amara's shop, the warm light still glowing softly inside.
He stepped out.
For a brief moment, he hesitated.
He'd seen Amara many times—hair tied up, sleeves rolled, her world stitched into the fabrics around her.
But tonight would be different.
When his car stopped at the front of her shop, his breath caught.
She was standing there.
Dressed.
Not in the plain work clothes he'd grown used to.
Not in the protective apron she always wore when sewing.
But in a dress—soft, elegant, simple yet striking.
It wasn't overly decorated. It wasn't loud. It wasn't meant to draw attention in an obvious way.
But it did.
His gaze held hers, and for a second, Xavier couldn't find the words he was usually so good at pulling together.
"Amara—" he started.