The set up for the launch of Prince Raoden's "Silver Sequins" craft supply brand was gaudy, over wrought, and took up too much space, exactly like the man himself.
The double doors of Thready, Set, Go! blew open with a crash. The second door, normally locked but open today at his request, sent the large rotating embroidery floss display to the ground. Sarene sighed as a packet of 433 Mint Green bounced off the floor.
"Whoa, haha, didn't expect that," the tall silver man chuckled, negligently stepping over the carnage he'd caused. "I suppose I should have though, because the ladies are always swooning when I enter rooms like that."
Prince Raoden was not reading the room very well. His wink and blown kiss bounced off Sarene's back as she scooped up the dropped embroidery floss. The prince was also used to silence after such a display, but it was usually a more gratifying, blushing sort of silence. Why wasn't she giggling?
"So, um… ? How's, the uh—"
"You were meant to be here, oh?" Sarene glanced at the clock, which usually made her smile with its tasteful vision of a peacefully knitting cat. Right now, the knitting needle hands of the clock were an ACCUSATION. "Forty minutes ago? What happened?" When Raoden followed her gaze to Ms. Knittens, she hit him quickly with a witty quip. "Was it because you were stepping over so many swooning women?" Good work, Sarene, she silently congratulated herself. Callbacks are the hallmark of every good joke.
"You're not far off," Raoden said, this time certain that Sarene saw his wink, but uncertain what the expression on her face meant. It was a… grimace? The vibe of the shop felt distinctly off and unwelcoming to him, despite its immaculate displays and comfortingly homey amount of quilts draped over rocking chairs in the corners. "I decided to walk here from the fantasy train? And kept being stopped by mothers who wanted me to kiss their babies. Or magically heal them or whatever." He didn't shuffle his feet because he was too well bred, but he wanted to.
"Yeah, or whatever." Sarene mentally high fived herself for another high quality quip. This guy had no chance against her. "Anyway, your seat is over here. People should be here for the yarn signing by ten."
Sarene limply gestured to another immaculate facet of the shop's atmosphere inducing displays. Raoden swallowed loudly and huffed. He'd tried to be charming despite being given nO emotional support whatsoever, but when faced with a display like that? Sometimes you have to be cruel to be...craft? That doesn't seem right. He'd have his secretary look into it.
"UM, hey, like no offence, but your colour scheme seems a little, ill considered… "
The emotion that IMMEDIATELY took over Sarenes face was an expression that the Fresh Prince of Craft could understand. It was rage, pure and unadulterated. He mentally low-fived, which is what he did when he made a social blunder. It was a rare mental exchange.
"What—" Sarene choked out. She took a moment to compose herself, reminding herself that this silver idiot was her liege. Her tall stupid silver—oh.
"Well, it's just, there's a lot of," he paused meaningfully and waved his extremely silver hand at the brocaded table cloth, the sunny sparkling lettering, the tasteful vase of handmade fake flowers. "There's a lot of gold isn't there?"
He looked at her desperately.
"Yeah, it's summer, it's the colour of the season." Oh I'm relentless, Sarene thought, smugly.
"I guess I'm just more of a—ha, silver guy!" he resisted the urge to pat himself on the back for finding such a humorous play on words in his severe state of distress.
"Well MAYBE, you should have arranged your launch event to be later in the year," Sarene said, pulling out a Daily Craft magazine from below the counter from where it was hidden in case it clashed with the shop. It said "COLOURS OF WINTER" on the front cover, and when she flipped it expertly open to page 8 (after the editorial), it said, "1. SILVER" in a clearly read wintery font, obviously scaled at 18 point or higher.
"You're right, or I should have been here early enough to arrange it myself!" he struggled briefly for words and came up with, "Oops! Haha… "
Sarene was relentless and implacable, like an ancient Queen, the kind they made statues of and respected to this very day. "If you think there's enough time you can, I don't know, rearrange it, if you want," she sighed magnanimously.
"Splentatsic, or, Magniferous, or, or," he stuttered, flabbersmacked. Prince Raoden, the FRESH PRINCE OF CRAFT had never stuttered in his life. This was a very confusing experience, and he was quite certain he wasn't enjoying it. "I'll just get on with it then," he mumbled shamefaced into his gorgeous navy peony scarf. Its links were so tightly knit by his own hand that he had no problem whispering a secret into it. The secret would never slip through its stitches. "I'm a little intimidated, scarf."
He spent the next few minutes in a daze, stumbling through the shop looking for any navy blues and red things he could find and carefully arranging them though blurry eyes. He picked up a bundle of yarn, thinking desperately that maybe it could make a fun table pom pom, if he had time. From behind the counter, Sarene scoffed. He flinched wildly, spinning on his heel.
"What is it now?" he said, in a manly, overemotional whine.
"Um," she said, her with entire face. It also said, I can't believe you'd even ask me that when it's so obvious as clearly as if she'd written it there herself with a marker. "That's off. You should have chosen the one beside it, which is Pantone 19-4029 TCX 'Navy Peony', which would match your scarf and also eyes, but you chose the 'Vintage Indigo' like, dare I say… a craft neophyte…"
Raoden visibly recoiled at this brutal insult to his good craft name. "ExCUSE me?" he said, gobberghasted. He'd never been this thoroughly taken to the cleaners by such a beautiful woman. He shook his head at the thought. No good, craft respecting woman had ever been this acerbic to him, the new face of craft. Why was she immune to his charm?
And why did he want to change her mind so much?
"just so you know, though I don't have to explain myself to you at my own magazine signing, that when everyone gets here the sun will be full on the table," he held up and in her to stall her instant rebuttal. She knew that, of course she did and had carefully considered it in her display. "Consequently, the sun will hit this yarn fully. I don't know about you," he inserted a rueful chuckle for effect, "but this yarn in particular reacts to the light it's in… in full midday sun this will be the perfect midtone complement for all my colours. But thank you for your concern."
Triumph singing through his veins, he pushed himself off the edge of the table with all the nonchalance he'd ever manufactured and sauntered across the room. With yet more nonchalance, his charm glands were obviously working overtime to make it, he bent and rubbed the edge of an emerald spotted muslin between his long, fabric respecting, craft calloused fingers. "It's subversive, but it might just work," he murmured.
Sarene managed to hold on an appreciative murmur, but it was a close thing. He was right, and he was… daring. Maybe he did know what he was talking about. As he ran the fabric through his confident hands, as he held it softly against his chest, she found her eyes drawn to his movements. She cursed herself as she heard words of praise leave her lips.
"The green matches the undertone of your skin."
They both clapped a hand to their mouth in surprise. What was this? Had the spirit of COLLABORATION that had overtaken them? They met each other's eyes. The Pantone for their respective eye colours jumped instantly into their minds. That only ever meant one thing… Was he, was she, was this…
"Love?" they both whispered, in unison.
Sarene's hand reached and caressed the muslin of its own volition. She didn't remember walking over here. She only remembered Raoden's sparkling—
She looked up suddenly, meeting the eyes she was reminiscing over, realising as she stared into their depths yet again that she was caressing the high quality fabric of the jacket stretched across his chest, as well as the emerald fabric that complimented it so well.
"Well this is something…" he murmured, gently grasping her wandering hand in his.
"I feel like I've dropped a stitch, but I don't know where," Sarene said breathlessly.
"My insides feel like the back of the first freehand embroidery I ever did," Raoden confirmed.
"Oh, because you weren't very good, so it was messy—"
"—And all knotted and stuff, yeah, haha."
"M-me too, except I was always pretty neat with my embroider—"
Raoden hushed her with a finger, which was a little disappointing, if she was honest. Well he'd surely say something dumb soon and she could remedy it in a much more pleasant way.
"Do you really think that blue is a bad match? Should I, I mean I have time to change it..."
Sarene hushed his stupid silver words with a kiss. I knew it, she thought, with pride.
"This gives a whole new meaning to having a silver tongue," she said with several winks.
Nailed it. She was surprised and—dare she say—charmed when he high fived her.
"That means it was good, right?" he asked to confirm the implications of the silver-tongue comment, because communication is key in ANY relationship, new OR old.
She sighed happily and kissed him again, which wasn't a super clear verbal response to his question, but he took it to be a contextual affirmative. "This is great, really, super great," she said, when Ms Knittens chimed on the wall, "but we still have to save your brand by pulling off the best launch of all time."
Raoden reluctantly pulled away from her. In one smooth motion he swirled the fabric around his shoulders and tossed her the yarn that started it all.
"We better get threading our pom poms then, hadn't we?"
"Yeah, we better get thready," Sarene quipped.
They smiled happily in shared bliss, and high fived each other.
FIN?