"It’s Belgian weave," he replied, clicking his shears. "It’ll block the glare but glow when the sun hits the back of it. How much?"
Elara stepped into the fabric warehouse, and the scent of dusty cotton and spun silk hit her like a memory. The cavernous room was a labyrinth of towering bolts, a soft-edged forest of damask, linen, and velvet. buy curtain fabric
"That one has a soul," an old man muttered, appearing from behind a wall of thread spools. He wore a measuring tape around his neck like a scarf. "It feels like a forest," Elara said, barely a whisper. "It’s Belgian weave," he replied, clicking his shears
In the back corner, tucked behind a roll of plain burlap, she found it. The cavernous room was a labyrinth of towering
Her fingers trailed over a heavy slate-grey wool, but it felt too industrial. She bypassed a rack of shimmering satins; they were too loud for a quiet morning coffee.
She had measured twice, but she checked her notebook a third time. "Twelve yards."