Now the cursor blinked beside the empty text field: Site Title .
Not a showroom desk. A working desk. One with a hidden drawer for secrets, a surface worn smooth by elbows and anger and late-night breakthroughs. He'd build it for himself. No client. No deadline. Just the truth of the grain. deanforestworks
Elliot saw a desk.
"What is that?" she whispered.
Elliot sat in his shop after midnight. The cradle was finished for his niece. The rent was paid. The domain name was no longer just a name—it was a promise he'd kept to himself. Now the cursor blinked beside the empty text