Renna Rose Lancaster never searched for love.
She stumbled into it long before she was old enough to know what to call it.
It lived inside flower crowns that barely survived a minute on his head. Pebbles he slipped into her pockets because every tre...
“If I could give you one thing in life, I would give you the ability to see yourself through my eyes, only then would you realise how special you are to me.”
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Gavin’s room had the kind of atmosphere that made you question every life choice that led you there and then immediately decide you couldn’t be arsed to care.
Someone's trainer doing a long-term research project in the corner, a desk that had long given up on being a desk, something stuck to the headboard of Nico’s bed, that I’d been staring at it for the past five minutes trying to decide if it was gum or the aftermath of something worse.
I’m not asking. I’m not that brave.
I was half-sunk into a beanbag that had long since lost the will to live. My leg hung off one side, arm flung over my face because I didn’t trust anything in this room not to be sticky.
Most of the lot were sprawled wherever gravity had claimed them.
Cameron and Atlas had folded themselves into the desk chairs. Logan and Aaron were settled on the floor with a pack of cards. Nico’s bed had become a public transport situation with George, Nico, Tristan, and Casper crammed onto it, shifting every few seconds like a badly packed suitcase. The girls had claimed the only semi-clean section of the room earlier, but even they’d dissolved into the general chaos now.
Right in the middle of all the noise and limbs and stupid commentary was Renna.
She had her hands full of flowers, exclusively flown all the way from Aalsmeer to decorate Gavin’s 'look at me, I came from Italy' vase that was currently towering in front of her.
Gavin had been parading it around all week, chatting absolute rubbish about how he’d “imported it from Rome," like he personally sailed there, wrestled a Venetian merchant, and carried it back in his bare hands. But we all knew he'd bullied his Nan into handing it over because he wanted something “vintage” to flex with.
Pretentious prick.
Still, the thing was obnoxiously elegant.
Tall, pale ceramic, hand-painted with patterns that probably had a history Gavin didn’t even know but liked to pretend he did. It didn’t belong anywhere near this disaster of a room.
Neither did Renna.
She stood there with a pair of floral shears, trimming stems with this quiet precision that didn’t match anything around her. She’d already stripped the lower leaves off most of the stems, angled the cuts cleanly, and was building the arrangement like she had a blueprint in her head.
I watched as she slotted in pale garden roses first, then layered in white ranunculus, tight and perfect, like they’d been carved instead of grown. There were a few stems of blue delphinium giving height, some eucalyptus spilling out the sides for texture.
