Chloe in the Boutique

The boutique's amber lighting cast everything in honeyed warmth as I wandered between silk and cashmere, searching for something perfect. Across the rack, she moved with quiet grace, fabric whispering against her skin. When our eyes met through the hanging dresses, her smile was invitation itself. "Wait here," she said, voice soft as the surrounding textures, "I need your help."

The changing room curtain fell like a stage curtain between acts. I lingered among the clothes, fingers absently tracing smooth cotton while anticipation hummed beneath my skin. When she emerged, the dress seemed painted on, and her direct gaze asked everything without words. We smiled, a moment suspended in golden light, before she retreated again, inviting me to follow.

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