Walthamstow Warmth
"Blanket and textile maker Precious sells warmth at Walthamstow Market, but when cold and lonely architect Tom buys everything she has, she gives him the one thing not for sale—herself."
Tom bought seven blankets. All of them.
"Yuh redecorating?" Precious asked, thick and amused.
"My flat is cold. Everything is cold."
She heard what he wasn't saying. "The blankets help. But they not the cure."
"What is?"
"Connection." She handed him her card. "Come back. Mi help yuh find what yuh really need."
He came back every market day. Bought nothing. Just talked.
"Yuh flat warmer now?" she asked week four.
"The blankets help. But I think you're the real warmth."
"Yuh flattering mi?"
"I'm being honest." He took her hand. "I haven't felt warm in years. Not until I met you."
She invited him to her workshop. Looms and fabrics and the scent of creation.
"This is where yuh warmth comes from," she said. "Mi put love in every thread."
"Can you put some love in me?"
"That's not for sale."
"I'm not trying to buy it. I'm trying to earn it."
He'd earned it. That thick body wrapped around him like the finest blanket, softer than any textile.
"Yes! Tom! Right there!"
Woven together, threaded through, patterns only they could create.
"Don't stop! Make mi feel what I give to others!"
Tom's flat is warm now. Precious made sure.
He helped her open a proper shop. She helped him open his heart.
"Yuh my best fabric," she says.
"You're my whole design."
Walthamstow Warmth Textiles is famous now.
The couple behind it, even more so.
Connection found.
Coldness cured.
Wrapped in each other forever.