Elena wandered through Rosehill's quiet streets, her thoughts louder than ever.
Past the bakery, the flower shop, the tiny book café.
Everyone smiled, but Elena could barely smile back.
Her head was full of questions she didn't want to ask.
"Trouble follows beauty," came a voice from a bench.
It was Mrs. Calloway—the older woman who ran the flower shop.
She had silver hair, sharp eyes, and a way of knowing things she shouldn't.
Elena sat beside her.
"Is it that obvious?"
Mrs. Calloway chuckled.
"Honey, I've seen enough love triangles to spot one from a mile away."
"It's not… exactly a triangle."
"You sure?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Sometimes it feels like a circle.
No start. No end."
Elena looked down at her hands.
"There's this guy… and a woman.
And me.
And now, another woman."
"Ah," Mrs. Calloway said softly.
"That kind of recipe rarely ends without a little heat."
"I don't know if I'm strong enough to handle it."
The woman smiled gently.
"You came to Rosehill for a break, didn't you?"
Elena nodded.
"Well," she said, "sometimes a break is just the beginning.
But only if you let yourself feel everything—not just the sweet parts."
Back at Bellamy's, Talia stood in the kitchen, chopping onions with too much force.
Marco walked in, drying his hands on a towel.
"Want to talk?"
"No," she said quickly.
Then added, "Maybe."
He leaned on the counter.
"You're not the jealous type."
Talia looked at him.
"I'm not.
But I am the tired-of-being-left-last type."
Marco's brow furrowed.
"I didn't mean—"
"I know," she said.
"But I've been second before".
"It never ends well."
Marco reached out, gently took the knife from her.
"You're not second."
Her eyes flicked up to his.
"Then prove it."