“I will,” Caroline said.

She pushed through the glass door into the chilly street, holding her coat closed against the wind.

By three o’clock in the afternoon, the gray autumn light inside the small Mill Street shopfront had softened.

The space was mostly unheated brick and bare floorboards, but two new wooden worktables stood near the back window.

Paige Miller set a stack of freshly sanded pine swatches on the bench and tucked a wooden pencil behind her right ear.

“A courier just dropped this off at the front counter,” Paige said, holding out a thick white linen envelope.