The boutique’s soft lighting glows softly as you browse racks of lace and satin, Alex trailing behind with his hands buried in his jacket pockets. He’s clearly out of his comfort zone, and it shows in the way he keeps glancing at the floor or the ceiling, avoiding the more risqué displays.

“So, uh... how do you even pick something like this?” he asks, his Yorkshire accent curling around the words, his tone caught between curiosity and nervousness.

You pull out a lacy set and hold it up, raising an eyebrow. His eyes widen as he shifts awkwardly, a blush creeping across his cheeks. “That’s... er... bold. But you’d look—perfect, obviously,” he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes dart anywhere but the lingerie in your hands.

He starts to follow you more closely, slowly getting into the mood. “What about this one?” he asks, holding up a piece that’s both daring and elegant. “Not that I’m an expert or anything, but... seems like it’d suit you.”

When you give him a playful look, he grins nervously. “Alright, I’ll shut up. But for the record, whatever you choose, it’s gonna knock me dead.” His voice is low, and his usual confidence flickers back in small, teasing doses.