Dom. Dom, who had been single since he was a sperm, who had claimed he was married to his modelling career and didn’t need anyone else and then he met beautiful Hazel. Who was also Leo’s cousin.

"Shoot!" he shouted at the sky, throwing his free hand up in exasperation. "I am the only single one left!"

A bird flew past. It didn’t answer. It didn’t even slow down. It just kept flying, minding its own bird business, completely uninterested in his romantic despair.

He slumped back against the bench, defeated, his spine curving like a sad question mark. He stared at the clouds, watching them drift by, carefree and unbothered, probably on their way to rain on someone else’s parade.

"Even if I quit my job," he muttered, running a hand through his wind-tangled hair, "Leo could take care of me. Because I’m Bella’s favorite bestie. She would make him support me. I could live in their guest house. Eat their food. Watch their TV. Never work again."

He considered this for a moment, tapping his fingers on his knee. The idea was growing on him, like moss on a tree. A lazy, comfortable moss.

"That’s not a bad backup plan," he admitted to no one. "I could get really good at watching TV. I could become a professional couch potato. I could train for the Olympics of doing nothing."

But he didn’t want a backup plan. He also wanted some company. He wanted someone to watch the mountains with. Someone to hold his hand while he did stupid things near cliffs. Someone to tell him he was being an idiot, and then kiss him anyway.

He sighed, a long, dramatic exhale that came from the depths of his lonely soul.

"God," he said, his voice sweet and pleading, like he was trying to persuade a stubborn friend to lend him money. "I’m not asking for much. Just... someone. Anyone. Preferably someone who doesn’t mind that I talk too much and eat too much and leave my socks everywhere. Also, someone who thinks my jokes are funny. That’s important. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t laugh at my jokes. That’s not a relationship. That’s a hostage situation."

The wind blew. A leaf skittered across the bench. Nothing happened. No lightning bolt. No angel chorus. No mysterious stranger appearing over the horizon with a romantic slow-motion hair flip.

He groaned and stood up, shoving his phone into his pocket with more force than necessary.

"Fine," he said, squaring his shoulders like a soldier heading into battle. "I’ll find her myself."

He marched down the path, his sneakers crunching on the gravel.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

The next day, after classes ended, Bella didn’t go home. Instead, she went to the address Miss J had sent her last night, along with a message: Come whenever you’re free, sweet girl. I’ll be here all afternoon.

Bella had typed back: I’ll be there right after class.

Now she stood outside the address, staring at the building in front of her. It wasn’t what she expected. It was a private studio, but it looked more like a small house tucked away from the street.

A low stone wall surrounded the property, covered in climbing vines with tiny white flowers.

Through the gate, she could see a courtyard paved with pale gray stones, arranged in a pattern that reminded her of a riverbed.

Pink flower trees lined the path, their branches heavy with blossoms, petals scattered across the ground like confetti after a wedding no one had invited her to. The air smelled sweet, like flowers, like earth, like something fresh and clean that made her want to close her eyes and just breathe.

Bella pushed open the gate and walked inside. The iron hinges creaked slightly, a sound that felt old and welcoming at the same time. Her flats crunched on the gravel path, each step sending small stones skittering. The pink petals drifted down around her, brushing her shoulders, catching in her hair like nature’s own accessories. She didn’t brush them off. They felt like a blessing.

The studio itself was made of warm wood and large glass windows that reflected the afternoon sun. She could see plants inside, ferns hanging from the ceiling like green waterfalls, pots of succulents on the shelves, a tall fiddle-leaf fig in the corner that looked like it had been there for decades.

The door was open, and a soft breeze carried the scent of jasmine.

She stepped inside.

A receptionist greeted her, a young woman with a kind smile and a nose ring that caught the light. She had short purple hair and wore a denim jacket covered in patches.

She asked Bella’s name and when Bella told her, the woman nodded and led her down a short hallway.

They passed rooms filled with canvases and easels, some with paintings in progress, others with blank white surfaces waiting for inspiration. They passed a small kitchenette with a kettle and mismatched mugs. They passed a door that led to what looked like a greenhouse, the glass panes fogged with humidity.

Finally, the receptionist stopped in front of a wooden door and knocked lightly.

"Come in," Miss J’s voice called from inside.

The receptionist opened the door and gestured for Bella to enter.

Bella stepped inside and froze.

The room was bright and airy, with tall windows that let in streams of afternoon light that fell across the floor in golden rectangles.

Canvases were stacked against the walls, some leaning, some lying flat, all of them bursting with color.

A large wooden table sat in the center, covered in sketches and fabric samples and spools of thread in every shade imaginable. Dresses hung on a rack in the corner, some finished and elegant, some still pinned with loose threads dangling, some just pieces of fabric waiting to be sewn into something beautiful.

But Bella wasn’t looking at any of that.

She was looking at the people in the room. Theo and Freya were standing on either side of Miss J, both of them holding fabric swatches, both of them looking at her with wide eyes and open mouths.

Theo’s eyebrows shot up. "Bella?"

Freya’s mouth fell open. "Bella?"