Kellan looked at Allison and commented, "You know, this outfit looks a lot better on you."

Allison was wearing a casual, nondescript outfit, but her effortless style appealed to Kellan far more than the floral dress she'd worn previously. He noticed an air of freedom and unbridled energy about her that he hadn't seen before.

"Thank you," Allison replied with polite indifference.

"I can't say the same about your previous outfit, though," Kellan paused, a slight quirk to his lips suggesting a distant, amusing memory. "It reminded me of something my grandmother would wear!"

Allison was momentarily speechless. Kellan's reputation as a scathing critic was well-earned. His frankness knew no bounds, yet he'd survived years without reprisal—a testament to his luck or strength. While most would cringe at his brutal honesty, Allison was unfazed; she wasn't a delicate flower. Despite her biting remarks, there was something refreshingly direct about her humor. She felt strangely comfortable, as if the pretensions she maintained around the Stevens family evaporated in his presence.

Looking at him, Allison remembered their first meeting two years prior. The Stevens family was rapidly failing, and she'd sought Kellan's help, desperate to save the business. She'd waited hours—through four or five cups of coffee—until Kellan's assistant admitted her.

"What perfume are you wearing?" he'd asked before she could speak or touch the documents.

It was her own creation. Not wanting to reveal this, she replied indifferently, "It's something I bought. I don't even remember the name. Do you like it?"

Kellan didn't answer. Instead, he said, "I can help Stevens Group get a sales pipeline and deal with those people." He barely paused before continuing, "Leave the rest of the perfume with me." He looked at her, concentrating on the papers his assistant handed him.

Kellan was unlike anyone she'd ever met; his eccentricity was unmatched. Without hesitation, Allison gave him the remaining vial. True to his word, he'd helped the Stevens Group survive. For a bottle of perfume, she'd moved mountains. Rumors of her unconventionality had been understated.

Two years later, as a perfumer, Allison found it gratifying that he appreciated her scent. She felt no bitterness seeing him again. Since he'd praised her work, she thought she'd return the favor.

She crouched to pet a lazy ginger cat; the feline immediately presented its belly. But when her eyes fell on Kellan's pottery, any praise vanished. The lump of clay—generously called a vase—looked more like an abstract art project with its crooked shape and tilted lip.

Allison hesitated, unable to muster even a false compliment.

"Don't say anything. I know," Kellan murmured, a rare hint of defeat in his voice.

Allison laughed, relieved by his self-awareness.

Their awkwardness ended when Emanuel entered, proudly holding a freshly caught fish. "You're finally here! I just caught it. It's perfect. Wait till you try my cooking!"

"Sounds great!" Allison said. She missed the town's fish: fresh, rich, and with fewer bones.

However, Emanuel's cheer soured upon seeing Kellan, and even more so at his pottery. His pity wasn't for Kellan, but for the wasted clay. "But he's not invited. You should be starving! You've been squatting here for days. Don't you know when it's time to leave?"

Unfazed, Kellan replied, "I paid ten times more than normal. I'm not just renting for a week, and according to the rules, it's not time for me to leave yet."

His cold tone clashed with Emanuel's frown as he struggled with the vase. "It's not just about money! It's about you wasting precious materials!" Emanuel's frustration was palpable. Ceramics was a labor of love; each piece was like a child, and watching someone ruin a creation was unbearable. "I've told you before! You have no talent for this. You've ruined more pieces than I can count, smashed three wheels, and brought the furnace to the brink. It's time for you to give up."

Kellan looked him in the eyes. "I like it. When is your master coming?"

Emanuel threw up his hands, pointing at Allison. "You mean my skills aren't good enough to teach you? Well, my teacher is right here."