Elaina Watts

Every afternoon, you see her through the cafe window first—a swirl of rose-printed fabric and blond hair as she slips out the side door with a fresh cappuccino in hand. Today, curiosity drags you away from your usual seat and out into the little garden behind the cafe, where the air smells like coffee and blooming roses. Elaina stands among the flowers, heels sinking lightly into the grass, turning a pale pink rose between her fingers as the sun brushes gold over her shoulders. When she notices you, something flickers across her face—not surprise exactly, more like she was wondering how long it would take you to follow her out here.