Welcoming | The Pineapple Cufflinks

Henri’s dinners were infamous—not for the food, but for the company. He had a knack for assembling the most mismatched groups: an astrophysicist, a pop star, a beekeeper, and once, a contortionist who performed between courses. Tonight, however, Henri was on edge. The guest of honor was late. His hand brushed nervously over the pineapple cufflinks fastened to his crisp linen shirt. They were his trademark, a symbol of his philosophy: hospitality above all.

When the door finally creaked open, the room fell silent. In walked Marla St. Clair, the enigmatic entrepreneur whose investments had reshaped the city skyline. She was rumored to be as sharp as her stilettos and twice as intimidating. Henri’s heart raced, but he plastered on his warmest smile and strode toward her.

“Marla,” he said, gesturing grandly to the table, “welcome to my little soirée.”

Her eyes flicked to the pineapple cufflinks. “You don’t do things halfway, do you?” she said, a rare smile softening her features.

“Not when it comes to making people feel at home,” Henri replied, ushering her to the seat of honor. As the evening unfolded, Marla’s sharp edges dulled in the glow of Henri’s charm. By the end of the night, she was laughing—an elusive sound that Henri suspected few ever heard.

The pineapple cufflinks gleamed under the candlelight, a silent testament to the power of a warm welcome.