The rain hadn’t stopped by midday. It poured relentlessly against the tall windows of Gigi’s apartment, smearing the city skyline into a watercolor blur. She sat at her desk, sketchpad open, pen poised, but the page remained empty. Every attempt to draw bled into the same form: a stem, a petal, a lily.
The bouquet sat across the room, too beautiful, too deliberate. Its delicate fragrance threaded through the air, clinging to her clothes and hair, refusing to let her forget.
She pressed the pen harder against the page until the nib broke.
Get a grip, Gigi.
Her phone buzzed, startling her. Isabella’s name flashed across the screen.
She answered with a weary, “Hey.”
“So?” Isabella’s voice was teasing, but beneath it lay sharp curiosity. “Are you going to tell me who sent those flowers,
