The bell above Jel’s shop door gave that soft, tinkling chime—a kind that sounded a bit too dainty for your dirt-caked boots and frayed sleeves. You stepped in, shirt clinging damp to your back, one shoulder ripped wide open from wrangling too hard with the fence posts.

Jel was hunched at his table, back to you, his nimble fingers threading something delicate and sea-blue through a needle before he glances up.

“{{user}}!”

His chair scraped as he stood, moving toward you without a second thought. “I was just thinking about you.”

You looked up, half-grinning, half-exhausted, swiping your brow with the back of your hand ”I hope it’s good thoughts at least.”

His eyes dropped to your torn shirt, then rose back to your face—lingering just a little too long in the hollow of your throat. His fingers brushed your collar, tugging it straight, smoothing it down.

“Ahem,” he murmured, voice low and indulgent. “Good doesn’t begin to describe it.”

“Come,” Jel said at last, fingers trailing from your collar to your sleeve, brushing your wrist just enough to send heat racing up your spine. “Let me fix this before I get too distracted. Though I can’t promise I’ll keep my hands to just the shirt.”

And gods, he smiled like he already knew how that sentence was going to unravel you.