No rain, No flowers.

9

By the time closing duties rolled around, Jose was back with his usual teasing, but even his familiar banter couldn't shake the weight in my chest. I mechanically scrubbed the counters for what felt like the tenth time, my mind a whirl of anxiety. Anthony's event was looming, and I couldn't afford to mess it up. Professional, keep it professional, I reminded myself, as if repeating the words could calm the storm inside me.

"Earth to Rose," Jose's voice sliced through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality. I blinked up at him, startled, finding him standing across from me with a knowing smirk.

"Huh?" I managed, feeling a little caught.

He crossed his arms and leaned on the counter. "You've been scrubbing that same spot for ten minutes, mija. What's going on in that busy little head of yours?"

I laughed, shaking my head as if to clear it. "Just stressed about the event. Trying to make sure everything's perfect so Debra doesn't have my ass on a silver platter."

Jose didn't look convinced, his eyes narrowing playfully as he leaned closer. "Mmm-hmm, and this stress wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a certain tall, green-eyed charmer, would it?"

I froze, the cloth slipping from my fingers. "What?"

Jose burst out laughing, his deep cackle filling the room. "Don't act so surprised. I've seen the way you turn as red as a strawberry when he's around. Don't even try to hide it."

I shoved him lightly, rolling my eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"If it's all business, then why do you look like a schoolgirl with a crush whenever he so much as glances your way?" He teased, waggling his eyebrows.

"Jose!" I groaned, swatting at him again, though I couldn't hide the heat rising to my cheeks. "He's just a client. That's it."

"Sure, sure. Whatever lets you sleep at night, sweetie pie," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but as he turned back to finish wiping down his station, I noticed his expression shift—just slightly. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer, more serious.

I hesitated, unsure whether to ask, but something in the way he was moving told me I should. "What?" I finally ventured. "What are you thinking?"

Jose paused for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder at me, the teasing gone from his voice. "Guys like him, Rose... they're different. They don't always play fair."

I furrowed my brow, my grip tightening on the edge of the counter. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sighed, setting down his cloth and turning fully toward me. "I'm just saying... be careful. I've been around long enough to know the type. Men like him, with all that charm and money... they've got options. They don't always treat people right, and I don't want to see you getting hurt."

His words hit a little too close to home. I knew exactly the type he was talking about. Men like my father, whose warmth could fill a room one moment and leave it hollow the next. He had a way of making you feel like you were everything to him—until he decided you weren't.

When I was young, he used to pull me onto his lap and tell me I was his little princess. He'd spin me around the living room, my laughter mixing with his, and for those moments, I believed him. I thought I was his world. But he left my mother, left us, for someone younger, someone with everything he truly wanted. He didn't look back, not even when my mother passed. I waited by the phone after the funeral, hoping, somehow, he'd call, even if just to check on me. I thought maybe then he'd want to be in my life. But days turned into months, months into years, and with every silence, it became clear he'd chosen a life without me in it.

A cold ache settled in my chest, familiar yet unwelcome.

"I'm fine, Jose," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "This is about work. That's all."

Jose gave me a long, measured look, the kind that said he wasn't buying it, but he let it go. He always did. For all his teasing and playful jabs, he had a knack for knowing when to push and when to back off. It was one of the reasons I appreciated him so much. Beneath the jokes and exaggerated dramatics, there was a deep well of care, almost like a father looking out for his daughter. It was something I hadn't realized how much I needed until I found it here, in the kitchen, with Jose's unspoken support guiding me through tough days.

"Okay, mija," he said quietly, his voice softening. "Just... promise me you'll keep your eyes open, yeah?"

I swallowed hard, touched by his concern. "I will, I promise."

Jose nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before he straightened up and returned to his tasks. But the warmth of his words stayed with me, and as I finished up for the night, I felt a renewed sense of grounding. I couldn't help but appreciate how much he cared.

As I left the kitchen that night, my thoughts still wandered back to Anthony, but Jose's words lingered in my mind. Keep your eyes open. For now, I wasn't sure what lay ahead, but at least I knew someone was looking out for me, reminding me to stay grounded no matter how high the stakes—and how deep the feelings—became.

**

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparation. I was knee-deep in fondant and pastry cream, sculpting, designing, tweaking flavors, and triple-checking every detail for Anthony's event. Every time my phone buzzed, my heart skipped a beat, wondering if it was him. I told myself I was relieved that he hadn't reached out yet—space, clarity, those were the things I needed. But a flicker of disappointment lingered beneath my relief, one I kept pushing aside, even though it tugged at me every time I reached for my phone.

The night before the event, as I was putting the finishing touches on the cakes, my phone buzzed again. I wiped my hands on my apron, heart suddenly pounding as I glanced down.

Anthony: Rose, I hope you're not too exhausted. How about that coffee tomorrow morning before the event?

I stared at the screen, feeling my pulse quicken. Keep your cool, Rose. But I couldn't silence the swarm of thoughts spiraling in my mind. I could almost hear Jose's warning in the background, his words feeling heavier now. But then there was Scarlett's voice, whispering encouragement, telling me I deserved to feel something again, something real. And I couldn't deny the thrill this message brought, the surge of excitement that battled with my better judgment.

With a shaky breath, I typed back before I could second-guess myself.

Me: Sure. What time?

His response was immediate, as if he'd been waiting for my reply.

Anthony: 9 AM. I'll pick you up.

I sent him my location, then stared at the message, feeling the weight of my decision settle over me. It was just coffee, but deep down, I knew better. There was something about him, that quiet intensity in his eyes, the way he looked at me like he saw something more. His attention felt dangerous, as though he was drawing me into a game where I didn't know the rules. And even though I wanted to trust that he meant well, the old, familiar fear crept up, whispering caution.

I was stepping into something, teetering on the edge of excitement and anxiety, and for a moment, I let myself imagine the thrill of being with him. But the other part of me was afraid of what I'd find on the other side. I was crossing a line I wasn't sure I was ready for, but the truth was, I didn't care. And that scared me most of all.