No rain, No flowers.

11

As Anthony parked, a pang of surprise struck me as I recognized where we were. This café was tucked away from the busier streets, hidden behind ivy-covered brick walls and woven with hanging plants. Its charm lay in its secrecy, like a little sanctuary that felt worlds apart from everything else. But the familiarity of it twisted inside me. This was where Johnny and I used to come after grocery runs, sneaking in stolen moments over coffee and pastries, laughing as if we had all the time in the world.

Now, with Anthony beside me, the nostalgia felt unwelcome, intruding on the fragile balance I was trying to keep between past and present. As we stepped inside, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around me, but even its comfort couldn't ease the memories that threatened to surface. And then Anthony's hand rested lightly on the small of my back, steadying me without a word. The touch was subtle, yet impossibly deliberate, like he knew precisely the effect it would have on me, grounding me in the moment while peeling me away from those lingering memories.

As we joined the short line, I felt Anthony's gaze settle on me—sharp yet tender, as if he were savoring every reaction. "Why don't you grab us a seat?" he murmured, his voice low, smooth as silk but carrying a quiet authority that left a shiver running down my spine. "I'll get the drinks."

I swallowed, caught somewhere between excitement and nerves, nodding as Anthony's gaze lingered on me. I was acutely aware of the soft click of my heels on the tiled floor, each step amplifying the strange pull between us. I made my way to a booth by the window, nestled in a cozy corner with enough seclusion to feel private, yet open to the world outside. The morning light spilled in, casting a warm glow over the coffee shop's earthy decor, adding a sense of calm I desperately needed.

The booth was surrounded by lush greenery, and I let my gaze drift to the hanging pottery scattered throughout the space. Each pot looked unique, handcrafted with subtle imperfections that made them even more beautiful. Some cradled trailing vines, rich green leaves spilling down like tiny waterfalls, while others held delicate flowers or resilient succulents in a burst of textures and colors. The plants gave the café a kind of quiet vitality, as though it thrived on the secrets and dreams of everyone who found solace here.

I sighed, letting the beauty of the place ground me, hoping it would soothe the restless energy bubbling inside. But even as I admired the ambiance, my thoughts kept returning to Anthony. Somehow, this man—someone I barely knew—had me more intrigued, more unbalanced, than I wanted to admit. A man who was a near-stranger, yet left me feeling like he could read me better than I read myself.

Get it together, Rose, I scolded myself. You're feeling way too easily for someone who might not even know how to do his own laundry.

I snorted at my thoughts. Trying to shake off the thought, I noticed Anthony returning, two steaming cups in hand, looking effortlessly remarkable. His dark hair caught the sunlight filtering through the café windows, a few strands falling across his forehead in a way that made him look almost boyish, disarming. His sweater hugged him just right, hinting at the strength beneath the fabric, but what struck me more was the way his gaze remained steady on me, his eyes softening as he approached. A few admiring glances turned his way, but he didn't seem to notice or care. It was as if, in that moment, I was the only person in the room.

He set a cup in front of me, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. 

"Drink," he said, his voice gentle but firm, the tone hinting at an intimacy I couldn't ignore. I hesitated, intrigued—he hadn't even asked what I wanted. The first sip sent a rich, velvety sweetness across my tongue, the flavor of cocoa blending with a subtle hint of red velvet. My eyes widened as I looked up at him, caught off guard.