Lilly woke before sunrise, the opportunity from the night before still pulsing in her chest. She slipped quietly out of Roni’s apartment with her laptop tucked under her arm and found a coffee shop a few blocks away.

It was still dark outside. Only a few early customers sat scattered near the windows. When she ordered and chose a small table near the wall, she eagerly opened her laptop.

This should be easy, she told herself. Just observe and write about what you see. 

She began:

The city is alive, already moving before the sun rises. Local cafés open their doors early. Quaint shops surrounding the café cater to tourists, their windows filled with souvenirs and local crafts.

She read it aloud.

The words sounded interchangeable. Like something that could describe any city. If she were reading this on a travel blog, she would close her laptop a few sentences in.

She knew because she began to close her laptop halfway and whispered, “No.”

After a breath, she opened it again and pushed harder:

The city pulses like a restless heart, its streets throbbing with the urgent rhythm of human ambition before dawn even breaks.

She stared at the screen.

It was worse.

Irritation turned inward. Maybe her dad had been right. Maybe passion and ability were two different things. She looked at the paragraph as if it were evidence. The spiral began.

Roni’s text came at just the right time.

“Lilly, we have so much to do. Where are you?”

Lilly straightened her shoulders. Whatever this paragraph suggested about her future could not show on her face today.

Today, the floral boutique awaited their prompt arrival.

She shut the laptop fully and headed back to Roni’s. 

The scent of lilies reached her before she crossed the threshold. Their bold perfume filled the entrance, impossible to ignore.

Further inside, carnations. She leaned in automatically, catching a whiff of their subtle, slightly spicy aroma.

Then she noticed the unmistakable Mr. Lincoln roses with their distinct, commanding scent.

For a moment she stood there, letting the layers of fragrance settle, the room alive with color and variety.

“Hey, Lilly, I need you,” Roni called, holding up two bouquets. “Which one? The bright white or the ivory?”

Lilly stepped closer.

“The bright white,” she said first. “It matches your dress. It’ll look clean in the ceremony photos.”

She touched the ivory petals.

“But this one,” she added, “it’s softer. It would feel warmer at the reception.”

Roni studied her for a second longer than usual, then smiled. “That’s why I brought you.”

Lilly shrugged. “Yes, you do need me,” she said, and they shared a quick giggle. As Roni’s attention moved back to the florist, Lilly’s eyes drifted to her hands. They were strong, muscular hands that moved with surprising softness as she handled the stems that had left their marks on her skin.

She followed Roni out of the floral boutique, the scent of lilies still clinging faintly to her sweater.

The afternoon was moving quickly now. There was one more stop before lunch.

Lilly slid into the passenger seat, delighting in Roni’s excitement. She talked fast, unable to sit still. Lilly rested her hand on her knee and said, “Settle down, beautiful bride-to-be. There is more to come.”

Lilly held Roni’s hand as they walked into the dress shop. They let go at the same time as a young fair-skinned woman welcomed them, holding two glasses of wine. Roni’s enthusiasm once again could not be contained. Just before she grabbed the drink, she jumped and squealed like a child in a candy store. Lilly had never seen her this happy. After a few moments, an older woman approached. She clearly knew Roni. “The time is now. Are you ready to try it on?” she asked.

The two disappeared behind a curtain while the younger attendant guided Lilly to the best seat in the house, a large, soft chair positioned in front of a three-way mirror. Lilly leaned forward, anticipation tightening in her chest, when she heard the outbreak of frustration. A mother stood firm, insisting on the dress she felt most proper, while her daughter stomped in protest. “Mom, I knew I shouldn’t have brought you. This is my dress, not yours.” Lilly chuckled to herself, thinking how often that line must echo between mothers and daughters.

Then there she was. The silk clung to her curves, thin pearl-wrapped straps resting against her bare shoulders. She turned slightly, and in the mirror Lilly caught the sweep of her open back. It wasn’t modest, but it was tasteful and elegant.

Roni’s voice trembled. “Well… don’t just stare. Is it the one? Is it perfect?”

Lilly swallowed. “Bestie, I have never seen anything more lovely,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek.

As Roni disappeared back into the dressing room, Lilly studied the three-way reflection. Mannequins stood behind her, one in a mermaid silhouette, another in an old-fashioned princess gown. The mother and daughter were still squabbling. Every detail in the room seemed to offer itself up.

She stood. Her breath quickened.

The pieces aligned.

Out loud she said, “That’s it. Tomorrow I’ll…”

To be continued.

Tag, you’re it. If you’d like to jump in, feel free. If not, I’ll keep moving it along, bit by bit.

Sending warmth and kindness.