The bell above the door chimed at half past eleven. Renee didn’t need to look up from the invoice she was checking to know who it was. The Saturdays had their own rhythm now, deliveries at nine, the morning rush of browsers between ten and eleven, and then at some point in that window between eleven and noon, the bell and the particular sound of heels she’d learned to recognize without meaning to. She looked up anyway. Dana came in the way she always did, unhurried, sunglasses pushed up into dark hair, wearing something simple that managed to look considered. Dark jeans today, cream blouse, the kind of effortless put-together that Renee knew from experience took actual effort. She was already scanning the new rack by the window, fingers trailing lightly over fabric. “New arrivals?” she called toward the counter. “Thursday,” Renee said. “The emerald pieces on the end are good.” Dana moved toward them. Pulled out a silk midi dress without hesitation, deep green, wrap style, the ki
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