A heavy breath passed the young woman’s lips as she stood outside the shop.
As expected, a store of her own had not been easy. It was a lot of stress, a lot of second-guessing, a lot of worrying over if she was doing things right, if people would buy anything, if she would just end up sinking before she even got to swim–
She shook her head, a useless attempt to scatter these nagging thoughts. Now was the time for doing, and doing as well as she could. If she flopped… she had family she could fall back on. She would hate herself for it, but she wouldn’t end up on the street or anything…
Strengthening her admittedly weak conviction, the seamstress pushed open the door to Thread by Thread. If she was to continue her work, she would need to have a reliable source of supplies.
Candace made her way towards the counter, gaze flickering over the products filling the store. Yarn, needles, thread, fabric… all of which she would need for her work.
“Excuse me,” she spoke timidly to the woman at the register. “I, um… I’m Candace. I came… to ask something, please.”
Her days in Thread by Thread were routine, the same thing every day she had the store opened. It consisted of inventory and stocking, clothing commissions, and helping the customers that came through the door at various times a day. Had it been the same time every day for these customers, then her days might have been considered mundane. But she enjoyed the work nonetheless, as Clorica loved to be surrounded by crafting supplies and often made small garments or other crafts while the store was slow - and between her naps.
However, there was a point in every season that brought in an influx of customers as people prepared to change decorations, put together gifts, and throw extra embellishments on outfits for whatever events may be coming. Spring to summer was no exception with the events that filled the last month separating the two. In fact, she thought of it to be the busiest, a close second when compared to the changing of fall to winter. Needless to say, the past few days had been a whirlwind for her.
That was why it only took a second of down time, not a single customer in the store, for her to fall asleep at the counter. Her lavender braids framed her face for the short while as when the chime of the door echoed through the store, she got up, rubbing her eye with a quiet yawn as the customer approached.
“Welcome,” she began, smoothing out her braids and clothes. “I’m Clorica, how can I help you?”