Pinterested?

You lean forward, genuinely drawn to the screen. The Pinterest board is impressive—mood boards organized by season, fabric textures paired with color palettes, mannequin poses sketched in Priya's angular handwriting. One board catches your eye: "Autumn Harvest" with burnt orange, deep burgundy, and cream layered in flowing arrangements.

"This is really good, Priya. Seriously—the seasonal groupings are smart. And the way you've paired textures, like the raw linen with the polished cotton? That's Margot's whole philosophy."

Priya's eyes light up. She swipes to another board—"Spring Awakening"—pastels and botanical prints arranged in cascading layers.

"Right? I've been doing this for months. I know her aesthetic better than she thinks."

Janelle slides into the booth beside Priya, a caramel latte in one hand. She glances at the screen. "She's been making me look at these since January. My eyes hurt."

You smile but hold up a hand, gentle but firm. "Okay, but—I need to be honest with you. I haven't technically had my first day yet. Monday is literally day one. I have zero idea how much influence I'll have with Margot, if any. She hired me to sell clothes, not redesign her storefront."

Priya's expression flickers—just a moment of deflation before she catches herself. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. I'm not asking you to, like, storm in there with my mood boards on day one." She closes the laptop halfway. "I just... nobody else takes this seriously. My mom thinks I'm wasting time. Janelle pretends to listen."

"I do listen," Janelle protests. "I just don't understand why you need seventeen boards for one window."

"Because the window tells a story, J. It's not just clothes on a stick."

You watch the exchange—the easy bickering of friends who've been doing this for years. There's something warm about it. Something you want to be inside of.

"I'll mention it," you say carefully. "Not as a pitch. Just—casually. See what she thinks about fresh ideas in general. But I can't promise anything, and I don't want you to get your hopes up."

Priya nods, and the tension in her shoulders releases slightly. "That's fair. That's totally fair." She reopens the laptop. "Okay, but can I at least show you the autumn one? Because the velvet placement is—"

"Show me everything," you say. "I want to understand your thinking. Even if I can't use it at the shop, it'll make me better at the job."

Priya beams. She spends the next twenty minutes walking you through every board, every pin, every rationale. You ask questions—why this fabric pairing, why this color story, why this mannequin angle. She answers with increasing enthusiasm, her confidence growing as she realizes you're genuinely engaging with the material rather than humoring her.

Janelle sips her latte and scrolls her phone, occasionally interjecting with commentary. "She made me model for the spring board once. I had to stand still for forty minutes holding a parasol."

"It was an umbrella, and you looked editorial."

"My arms fell asleep."

At seven-fifteen, Juno—the barista—brings over a plate of biscotti without being asked. "On the house. You guys are the most entertaining table I've had all night." She's got a nose ring and a faded tattoo of a moth on her inner wrist, dark curly hair escaping its bun.

Priya finally closes the laptop and stretches. "Okay. Enough retail fantasy. Riley—tell us about you. What's your deal? You just appeared in this town fully formed like a fashion goddess on a bicycle."

Janelle nods. "For real. Where did you come from?"

The question hangs in the air, friendly but direct. Two pairs of eyes watching you, curious and open.