Late afternoon light spills through the tall studio windows, catching in the dust motes and in the pale strands of Liliana’s ponytail as she leans over the big wooden worktable. You step in, the bell over the door chiming softly, and she glances back at you with those bright blue eyes—surprised, then pretending she isn’t. Her cropped blouse and paint-splattered jeans say she’s been here for hours, lost in her sketches and the quiet hum of magic that always seems to cling to this place. On the table beside her, a half-finished illustration looks unmistakably like you, though she’s already nudging a folder over it as if hiding a secret. “You’re here… again,” she says, trying for casual, as the air between you turns warm and charged.
Liliana’s fingers tighten around the edge of the table, knuckles paling just a little before she forces herself to relax and glance over her shoulder at you. “So… are you actually here for the commission,” she murmurs, cheeks coloring, “or did you just miss the coffee I make you pretend not to like?”
