Love Rents A Room
Chapter 166: Going Shopping

Chapter 166: Going Shopping

After breakfast, Joanne sifted through her luggage—three whole bags worth—and realized with growing dismay that...

She had nothing to wear for Wimbledon.

"This dress won’t count as smart formal, will it?" she asked, holding up a pale pink one. She frowned at it like it had personally betrayed her. "Too soft."

Then she pulled out a bold green number. "And this one is too bright. I’ll blind people under the sun."

Jeffrey burst into laughter, doubling over as if her fashion crisis was the best thing he’d heard all day. "Are we going to Wimbledon or the Met Gala?" he teased, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

"You don’t have a suit either," she pointed out flatly.

He just shrugged like it didn’t concern him at all. "Your honorary grandpa sorted me out. I’ve been suited by royalty."

She rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. Her honorary grandfather—his actual grandfather. How long was he going to keep up this charade?

She turned back to her half-unzipped bag and folded her arms. "Wouldn’t it be more diplomatic if I bought a dress from the land?" she asked, her voice innocent but her eyes suspiciously sparkling.

"Diplomatic?" Jeffrey arched a brow. "What are you now, an ambassador? Are you here representing your country, Your Excellency?"

She ignored his sarcasm. "It would be rude not to support local businesses."

He smirked. "You just want an excuse to shop."

Joanne gasped, dramatically pressing a hand to her chest. "Are you accusing me of manipulation?"

"Yes," he deadpanned. "Highly adorable, thinly veiled manipulation."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Didn’t you call me a queen the other day?"

"I did," he nodded solemnly.

"Did you lie to me?" she asked, voice rising in mock betrayal.

Jeffrey grinned. "I would never lie to my queen."

Joanne gave a regal nod. "Then as your queen, I command thee—take me shopping."

He could only laugh and grab his keys.

He knew just the place.

It wasn’t somewhere he’d expected to return. He’d gone there once with his ex-girlfriend, and while that trip hadn’t gone the way he imagined, he remembered the soft lighting, the curated elegance, the charming little tea room beside the fitting area. It was intimate, tasteful—he had a feeling Joanne would love it.

"Let’s go," he said.

Joanne beamed and hooked her arm through his, walking with a cheerful skip in her step. The sun warmed their path, but the warmth between them was brighter still.

-----

Joanne was impressed.

The boutique was nestled like a secret in the heart of town—a small, storybook shop that looked as if it had been plucked from a fairytale and placed gently onto the cobbled street. Ivy curled up the stone walls, flowers spilled from window boxes, and a bell above the door jingled like a friendly whisper as they stepped inside.

What caught Joanne most wasn’t just the quaint charm—it was the soul of the place. It felt personal, intimate, like it belonged to someone who had poured love into every corner.

And she was right.

The owner, a soft-spoken woman named Cynthia, greeted them with a gentle smile. Her salt-and-pepper hair was tied up in a messy bun, and she wore a linen apron speckled with threads and chalk marks. Once, she had been a seamstress for a top fashion brand in the ’90s—had sewn some of their signature couture pieces. But the world of high fashion had never quite suited her. Too loud, too fast. She left it all behind and settled here, in this sleepy town, designing and creating at her own pace.

And the best part?

"She lives upstairs?" Joanne’s eyes widened as Cynthia nodded with a laugh. "You’re telling me you wake up and just... walk down to work?"

Cynthia smiled. "Pretty much, yes."

Joanne looked around like she had discovered buried treasure. Her district would never allow this. Zonal laws, regulations—none of them would let her live above her own business. But this? This was a dream. If she hadn’t inherited a generational farm, and if life had taken her down a different road, this might’ve been her dream, too.

As she wandered through the racks, a particular emerald green dress caught her eye. It looked simple on the hanger—elegant but unassuming. Still, something about it called to her. Curious, she slipped into the changing room.

And oh, when she came out...

She didn’t even show Jeffrey—just clutched the dress to her chest like it was a secret.

"This one," she whispered reverently. "This is my dress. I don’t even need new shoes. I have the one pair that goes with this."

Jeffrey chuckled, her excitement lighting up the whole room. He had no idea why she wouldn’t let him see it yet, but her glowing face was enough. It was clear—she’d found something special.

And just like that, she was in her element.

"Ooh, this blue one would be perfect for Fiona," she said, holding up a dress. "Matches her eyes perfectly. Don’t you think?"

"Absolutely," Jeffrey replied, without missing a beat. He hadn’t the faintest clue what color Fiona’s eyes were. Green? Hazel? But he nodded like a pro. He knew when to agree and when not to ask follow-up questions.

And she wasn’t done. She picked one for Mary, another for Veronica, a wrap dress for Charlotte, a poncho for Alice... it was a full-on style mission for her entire hometown.

"This wool cardigan," she murmured, stroking a thick, soft knit. "This is real quality."

"You know your wool," Cynthia remarked, pleasantly surprised.

That was all the invitation Joanne needed to start talking about her farm, her Merino sheep, the process of wool shearing and grading. Cynthia listened with genuine interest, the two of them instantly bonding over a shared love for fabric and craft.

Meanwhile, Jeffrey found a cozy armchair tucked into the corner of the shop and promptly dozed off, arms crossed, head tilted slightly back. He knew when he was no longer needed—and possibly for the next hour.

Joanne didn’t mind. She was in her zone—completely content, completely herself.

And then came the final surprise.