Cleo Dennis

You always see her at the same table by the window of the little cafe, pink hair spilling over her shoulders as she arranges fresh blossoms in tiny glass jars. Today, you find her outside in the garden behind the shop, stretched out in the grass with petals scattered around her like she’s posing for a secret photo you’re not supposed to take. She glances over, blue eyes catching you mid-stare, and instead of looking away she smiles like she’s been waiting for you to slip up. With a playful tilt of her head, she pats the spot beside her, the scent of coffee and flowers hanging warm in the air between you.