“The suit is almost perfect,” she murmured, circling me with the measuring tape.
“Almost?”
“Clothing should follow tension,” she said. “Yours keeps shifting.”
Her fingers pressed lightly at my waist, then my back, adjusting posture that didn’t need adjusting.
“Stand naturally.”
“I am.”
She leaned closer. “No — you’re standing carefully.”
The tape slid across my chest. She didn’t look at the numbers — only my breathing.
“Most men try not to react during fittings,” she said.
“To what?”
She met my eyes.
“Attention.”
The tape lowered. She didn’t step away.
“We may need a second session,” she decided softly.
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