No rain, No flowers.

1

I shuffle through the mountain of clean clothes piled on my bed from last night's failed attempt at organization. I'm definitely going to be late. Where the hell is my uniform? Anxiety flickers through me as I dart into the kitchen, hoping against hope that Scarlett might've seen it. My nerves buzz like static.

"Scarlett?" I call out, my voice tight as I pace between the kitchen and living room, eyes scanning every surface for my missing chef coat.

The unmistakable hum of a hair dryer fills the air. Of course. She's in her ritual, locked into her pre-night-out routine. I roll my eyes, exasperated, before stomping toward her bathroom.

"Scarlett!" I shout louder, practically on top of her now. I hesitate at the doorway, not entirely sure if I'm about to see something I'd rather avoid.

Inside, Scarlett is bent over the sink, her honey-blonde hair swirling around like she's performing some sort of wind tunnel experiment. Her head flips up at my entrance, blue eyes wide in shock as the dryer clicks off mid-scream.

"Jesus, Rose!" she exclaims, tossing the dryer into the sink and slapping a hand to her chest. "You almost made me piss myself!"

I can't help the grin that splits across my face. "Sorry! But seriously, I swear I dried my uniform last night, and now I can't find it anywhere. I'm going to be late—Debra's going to have my head if I don't show up on time for this catering gig."

Scarlett narrows her eyes, already moving past me like a hurricane of effortless calm. "You are impossible, you know that?" she mutters as I follow her into the living room.

Without a moment's hesitation, she pulls my crumpled chef coat from the arm of the sofa, holding it up with an annoyed flourish. I stare at it like I'm seeing a long-lost artifact.

"Oh my God..." I sigh, feeling a wave of relief. "What would I do without you?"

Scarlett's expression softens into a half-smirk. "You really need to sort your life out, Rose. Seriously. Your room looks like a laundry bomb went off in there."

I chuckle, snatching the coat and slipping it on. "I'm not perfect, okay? You'll just have to accept that about me."

Scarlett raises her brows in mock horror. "Flaws?!" She scoffs, tossing my car keys on the couch beside me with a deliberate flick of her wrist. "Maybe start by keeping track of these. I'm not your assistant, you know."

I fasten the belt on my black slacks and glance toward the mirror near the door. A tired reflection greets me. My thick black curls, usually wild and unruly, have been hastily tamed into a messy bun, a few stray tendrils escaping to frame my face. My hazel eyes, once bright and full of life, now appear dulled, heavy with exhaustion from back-to-back double shifts and the endless string of late nights Scarlett insists on. There's a shadow of weariness beneath them, a testament to sleepless nights. My uniform feels snug, clinging to curves that have softened from too many hurried meals and stress-induced snacks.

I scoop up the keys and grin. "You're a saint. Truly."

Scarlett smirks, leaning against the doorframe with a playful glint in her eyes. "Speaking of being your personal assistant, as my final act of service, I put your dress and platforms in the trunk of your car so you can change at work. You're welcome." She throws me a wink.

I place my hands dramatically over my chest, as if overwhelmed by emotion. "That's it, you are officially the love of my life," I say with a mock-serious tone.

Since moving in with Scarlett three months ago, life has been an absolute whirlwind—bars, parties, late nights that turn into early mornings. A complete 180 from the last five years where I couldn't even look at a bar without Johnny's controlling paranoia surfacing. Living with Scarlett has been like breathing fresh air again—although lately, it feels more like being swept up in a wild storm I'm barely hanging on to.

Scarlett watches me with amusement, her electric-blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Don't forget, we're hitting up Dos Besos tonight. You know, the bar by Matty's Burger Shop?"

"Of course," I reply absently, even though my brain is barely keeping up with the chaos of today, let alone what's happening tonight.

Scarlett's lips curl into a smirk as she drops her bombshell. "Ben's going to be there."

I freeze, the name hitting me like a bucket of cold water. My stomach tightens with a surge of cringe memories. "Ben Harrington? From high school?"

"Yep," Scarlett chirps, clearly reveling in the moment. "He's all grown up now. And—"

"Why?" I interrupt, trying not to sound as panicked as I feel. Ben. Sweet, awkward Ben. He'd always hovered around me in high school, we would mindlessly flirt back and forth but it never really felt like a serious thing. "Why would you invite him?"

Scarlett feigns innocence, but I can see through her act. "It's your birthday! I'm just giving you options. Besides, Ben's not the same guy anymore. He's... different. And Vincent's coming too, so it won't be weird. Promise."

I suppress a groan. "You know how I felt about Ben. He's... he was nice, but—"

"He's matured," Scarlett says, cutting me off before I can fully protest. "Look, just come and see for yourself. I'm telling you, he's not as shy and awkward as you remember." She pauses, a sly grin spreading across her face. "Plus, you in heels, sexy dress, a room full of people... maybe someone will surprise you."

I roll my eyes, finally slipping on my coat and smoothing the front of it. "I'll come. But no promises about Ben, okay?"

"That's all I need to hear!" Scarlett claps her hands together, her excitement infectious. "Trust me, by the end of the night, you're going to be thanking me."

I glance in the mirror one last time, feeling the weight of everything Scarlett is pushing me toward. Ever since I moved in, she's been dragging me into the world of socializing and dating like some kind of reluctant project.

"You know," Scarlett says, leaning against the doorframe with that knowing smirk of hers, "you really should thank me. You're going to look stunning tonight. Heads will turn. And who knows, maybe one of those heads will make you forget—"

"Don't," I warn, cutting her off with a sharp glance.

Scarlett's smirk only deepens. "Johnny."

My stomach clenches at the sound of his name. Five years of my life—lost in a whirlwind of passion, where the highs were dizzying and the lows were suffocating. When I met Johnny, he seemed like the obvious choice—his carefree laugh and playful charm made it easy to fall for him. He wasn't intense or brooding; he was silly, fun, and I thought, safe. But slowly, that warmth turned to control, and what once felt like protection became a prison. He started wrapping himself around my life so tightly that I couldn't breathe without his permission. Every smile became a means to keep me tethered, every touch a way to keep me close. But by the time I realized who he really was, I was already drowning in the toxic undertow. Even now, despite all the time and distance, a piece of him still claws its way back into my mind, reminding me that the scars he left are far from healed.

"I'm over him," I say, too quickly, the lie hanging between us like a bad smell.

Scarlett's smile softens, but there's doubt in her eyes. "Sure you are."

I glance at the clock and sigh. "I really need to go before Debra murders me."

Scarlett grins, giving me a playful shove toward the door. "Go. I'll see you tonight."

I roll my eyes but can't help smiling.

As I rush out the door, a knot of anxiety and anticipation coils in my chest. Scarlett's words swirl in my head, mingling with the weight of old memories and the uncertain thrill of what the night might bring. Maybe she's right. Maybe tonight will be different.