In Bloom

Prologue ( pro·logue)

Two years earlier...

"Man, look at this place!" Daniel’s voice echoed through the empty living room, bouncing off the hardwood floors and bare walls. He spun around in the middle of the room, arms stretched wide like he was tryin’ to grab hold of the whole house at once. "Can you believe this, babe? It’s really ours. Like for real. We did that."

Isla leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a soft smile. His energy was contagious—always had been. He was damn near floatin’, like a little kid on Christmas, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

"You gon’ knock somethin’ over," she teased, shakin’ her head as she walked over. "You actin’ like you ain’t ever been in a house before."

Daniel stopped mid-twirl, throwing her that big grin she loved so much, eyes bright like he’d just won the lottery. "Ain’t never been in a house like this before. This ours now. Ain’t nobody tellin’ us what we can and can’t do." He took a few quick steps toward her, scooping her up around the waist, lifting her off the floor. "I’m sayin’, you love this too, don’t front."

Isla laughed, swatting his shoulder. "Boy, put me down!" But she didn’t mean it. She was too busy fallin’ into his rhythm, that same rhythm that always made her feel lighter, like the world outside didn’t matter as long as she was with him.

"Uh-uh, not ‘til you admit you love how hype I am," Daniel teased, his breath warm against her ear, holding her just tight enough to make her feel safe.

"I might love it," Isla said, finally giving in, her voice softer now. "But you still gon’ break somethin’ before we even unpack."

Daniel lowered her back down, his hands lingering on her waist. "Nah, we gon’ build somethin’ in here, not break nothin’. This it, baby. It’s me and you, makin’ a whole new start. I can feel it. This house ‘bout to be full of all kinds of memories, and I’m ready for every last one of ‘em."

Isla rested her head against his chest, letting his heartbeat steady hers. "I can already picture it too. Paintings up on the walls, bookshelves full, late mornings in bed… our whole life playin’ out right here."

Daniel leaned back, lookin’ down at her with that same playful spark in his eye. "Oh, you think it’s gon’ be all paintings and books, huh? Girl, you know I’m puttin’ a big-ass TV right there." He pointed across the room, his voice full of fake seriousness.

Isla rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. So that’s what it’s gon’ be, huh? You takin’ over already?"

"Already? Hell, I been plannin’ this since we signed the lease," Daniel said, pulling her closer again. "But don’t trip—I got you. You can have your lil’ art studio in the back. I ain’t gon’ mess with your space."

"Lil’ studio?" Isla teased, raising an eyebrow. "You tryna play me? You know that studio gon’ be the heart of this house."

"Alright, alright," Daniel laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I’m just sayin’, long as I got the living room for my Saints games, you can have the rest."

"You and that damn TV," Isla laughed, her eyes shining as she lightly pushed at his chest.

But Daniel wasn’t done. He scooped her up again, making her squeal as he twirled her around in the middle of the empty room. "And I’m tall too, so I get to hang all the paintings. It’s the law."

"Boy, you ain’t that tall! You barely five-ten!" she shot back, laughing as she clutched his shoulders.

"Still taller than you, though!" He laughed, setting her back down and tapping the tip of her nose. "That means I’m the boss when it comes to hangin’ stuff up."

Isla giggled, breathless, as he finally put her down, her cheeks warm from both the spinning and the love she felt so deeply for him. "Mm-hmm, boss of hangin’ things. Sure, Daniel."

"See? Now we gettin’ somewhere," he said, that grin back on his face as he started digging through one of the boxes. "Speaking of gettin’ somewhere, how ‘bout we celebrate? I stashed a bottle of champagne somewhere around here. First one to find it gets braggin’ rights and first sip."

"Oh, so it’s like that?" Isla asked, crossing her arms and smirking. "You really wanna play this game?"

"I do," Daniel said, flashing that mischievous grin she couldn’t resist. "You gon’ let me win or you gon’ try to beat me?"

"Boy, you already know I’m gon’ win."

With that, they dove into the boxes, tossing things aside as they laughed, Isla pretending not to notice when Daniel sneakily moved a box farther from her reach. It didn’t take long before her hands landed on something cold and glass.

"Got it!" she shouted, holding the champagne bottle up triumphantly.

Daniel slumped against the half-assembled couch, a hand over his heart. "Damn. You beat me. I guess I ain’t as smooth as I thought."

"Not even close," Isla teased, walking over to him, bottle in hand. "But it’s alright. You can still pour."

"How generous of you," he said, grinning as he reached for the bottle and popped the cork with a loud pop, the foam bubbling over the edge. They didn’t have glasses yet, but that didn’t matter. Passing the bottle back and forth between them, they sat on the half-finished couch, side by side, their future stretching out in front of them like the wide open sky.

"This it, Isla," Daniel said, his voice softer now, full of that quiet certainty that always made her feel safe. "This our life now. And I’m tellin’ you, it’s gon’ be good. Better than good. We gon’ make this whole house a home."

Isla leaned her head on his shoulder, a smile playing on her lips. "Yeah. We really are."

---

Present day

Isla stood in that same living room now, only it was quiet. Too quiet. The boxes were gone, replaced by furniture and paintings, just like they’d dreamed. But there was no laughter fillin’ the space anymore. No Daniel teasin’ her, no playful arguments ‘bout where to hang the art or the TV.

Her eyes drifted to the corner where they’d sat on the half-built couch, drinkin’ straight from the champagne bottle, dreamin’ ‘bout their future. The room felt smaller now, emptier. His absence hung in the air like a weight she couldn’t shake, heavy and thick.

She could almost hear him still, that soft, warm voice of his sayin’, "This it, Isla. We gon’ make this house a home."

But he wasn’t here. Not anymore.

And the silence was louder than anything she’d ever heard.