Lily had decided she needed a new dress for her upcoming "Royal Tea Party," which she announced involved a tiara and an imaginary royal guest list that included a random assortment of stuffed animals.

So, she had taken up the vital role of my trusty assistant for the day. Lily was sitting atop a wooden stool, swinging her legs over the edge as she played with remnants of, well, everything. I was busy measuring a piece of fabric when I heard the bell above the shop’s door jingle. I turned, and there they stood—a figure cloaked in an oversized sweater, with a stylish scarf loosely draped around their neck. My heart skipped like a worn-out sewing machine needle that had just hit a snag.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. I mean, who wouldn’t be shell-shocked by someone looking that effortlessly cool in a haven of buttons and thread? As I grabbed the nearest measuring tape to distract myself, I realized I was unceremoniously twirling it around my fingers like a baton—totally normal, right?

Lily, blissfully unaware of the impending awkwardness, skipped over with all the enthusiasm of a toddler with a full candy bucket. "Look, I made a crown!" she proclaimed, adorning herself with an unravelling mess of fabric scraps. The person chuckled as Lily approached, and I felt my face heat up. Why was I blushing? I was the “cool” dad—at least, that’s what I told myself in the mirror every morning.

“Welcome to Stitch in Time!”

I finally managed, stuttering through my words, fumbling the measuring tape. I swear it was getting longer every time I grasped it.