Page 86 of Wisteria and Cloves
The relief I felt at their unhurried approach must have shown on my face, because Olivia's expression grew even warmer. "Would you like to start by looking around? Getting a feel for what catches your eye?"
I nodded, grateful for the low-pressure beginning. As we entered the boutique, I was immediately struck by how different it was from the stores I'd visited with my mother.
The lighting inside Evergreen was gentle—no garish fluorescents humming overhead, no harsh white beams spotlighting every corner like a stage. Instead, soft pendant lights cast a golden glow over the space, warming the pale wooden floors and deep green accent walls. The whole boutique felt like a retreat, more like a thoughtfully designed library or private sitting room than a clothing store.
It smelled clean, but not sterile—lavender and cedarwood lingered in the air, subtle and calming, nothing like the cloying floral perfumes that haunted the upscale boutiques my mother used to drag me to. Back then, shopping had been a chore dressed up as a privilege—tight-lipped attendants judging every hesitation, clothes chosen less for comfort or joy and more for the image they projected: poised, docile, perfect.
Here, though, there was space tobreathe. The displays weren’t cluttered racks squeezed together for efficiency. They were open and inviting—soft knits folded neatly next to wide-leg trousers in warm earth tones, flowing dresses in dusky pinks and deep blues swaying gently on their hangers like they had their own rhythm.
I moved slowly at first, hesitant to touch anything. My fingers hovered above a blouse made of pale blue silk, the fabric so fine it looked like water. I half-expected someone to snap at me, to say it wasn’t meant for me. But no one did.
Julian and Christopher stayed near the entrance, not crowding me, not commenting. Nicolaus and Miles were on the other side both glancing around. A flutter of something warm moved in my chest. Tentative. Hopeful.
Then Olivia reappeared, this time with a delicate ceramic cup held carefully between her hands. “Chamomile and mint,” shesaid, offering it to me with a kind smile. “It’s what I always reach for when my thoughts are too loud.”
My fingers brushed hers as I took the cup. The tea was hot, fragrant, steam curling upward like a sigh. “Thank you,” I murmured, clutching it like it might anchor me.
“Would you like to sit for a moment?” she asked, gesturing to a small lounge tucked into a cozy corner of the shop. A pale green loveseat rested beneath a window framed in ivy, and beside it sat a low table stacked with a few design books and a small bowl of wrapped caramels.
I nodded, following her lead. The soft seat was the kind you could sink into and not want to leave. I took a sip of the tea, letting the warmth trickle down my throat and ease the quiet knot behind my ribs.
“You don’t have to impress anyone here,” Olivia said softly, her eyes kind and knowing. “You’re allowed to take your time. To try something and hate it. To change your mind. This is your space, Lilianna.”
I looked down into my tea, my reflection rippling with each breath. “I don’t really know what I like,” I confessed, the words foreign and a little scary on my tongue. “I’ve only ever worn what was picked for me. What made other people look good.”
There was a long pause. Not uncomfortable. Just… still.
“I hear that more than you’d think,” Olivia said gently. “A lot of people spend their lives trying to fit someone else’s mold. But the beautiful part is—once you start listening to yourself, you realize you’ve always known. Somewhere deep down.”
I swallowed, emotion prickling behind my eyes. “What if I don’t like what I find?”
Her smile didn’t falter. “Then we try something else. Style isn’t about finding a perfect version of yourself. It’s about exploration. Expression. You don’t need to have answers today—just curiosity.”
That surprised me. The idea that I could be uncertain andstillworthy of attention. Of care.
“Would it be okay if I pulled a few pieces?” Olivia asked. “Nothing too far from where you are now—just a few soft steps forward.”
I glanced back toward the entrance. Julian’s expression was unreadable but gentle, his brow relaxed, eyes steady. Christopher gave me a quiet thumbs-up that made me laugh softly into my tea. It was small, but the tension in my chest loosened.
“Yes,” I said, voice steadier now. “Let’s try.”
Olivia stood, her smile brightening like the sun through leaves. “Perfect. I’ll be right back.”
And as she disappeared into the racks, I looked out the window beside me—at the café across the street, at the people passing by, at the way the sunlight caught in the ivy—and I realized something simple but profound.
For the first time in a long, long time, I wasn’t trying to disappear.
I was letting myselfbe seen.
Olivia returned with an armful of hangers, the fabrics brushing softly together like whispers. She didn’t dump them on me or push me toward a fitting room. She laid them gently across a nearby rack, her movements quiet, respectful.
“These are just ideas,” she said, her voice still low and warm. “Textures, colors, cuts I thought might speak to you. If none of them do, we keep looking.”
I stood slowly, setting my teacup down on the little table. The steam had faded, but the warmth lingered in my palms. My fingers twitched slightly with nerves as I approached the clothes, but I forced myself not to retreat. I owed it to myself—to the soft, aching part of me that wanted to feel something when I looked in the mirror.
The first piece was a lightweight sweater in soft cream with delicate embroidery along the cuffs—small vines in muted green, trailing subtly like ivy. I brushed my fingers over the stitching. I liked that it was quiet, but still alive with detail. Next was a pair of tailored trousers in a warm rust color. Bold, but not loud. Like fallen leaves. They looked comfortable in a way that still felt elegant, the opposite of the rigid pencil skirts and stiff blouses I’d grown up wearing to every family event. I paused longer on those.
“You can take them in there whenever you’re ready,” Olivia said, nodding toward a changing area concealed behind flowing curtains the color of sage. “And if anything feels wrong—even a little—just let me know. We’ll adjust.”
