Juliet Rosewood sat at the corner table in Effie's bakery, sketchbook open, pencil still. Every page held a dress, but none held her boutique. She needed a signature look before opening day, or the whole dream would feel borrowed. Effie set down a small plate and glanced at the blank page. "You've been turning the same pencil for an hour. Honestly, that's more than I want to admit watching." Juliet almost smiled. "Nothing feels like mine yet." The bell rang. Luca stepped in, shaking rain from his jacket. He nodded once at Juliet, then noticed the sketchbook. "You're stuck." It wasn't a question. "Draw the loudest thing you'd actually wear." She stared at him. Then her hand moved. She drew a gown — flowing skirts, layered ruffles, gemstones catching imagined light — but cut shorter, softer, wearable. A queen's shape made for a regular afternoon. Her pencil didn't stop until the page was full. Effie leaned over and went quiet. "That's it. That's the one." Juliet closed the book slowly. She had her look. Now she needed a room with windows to put it in.