By sunrise, the magic of the night before was still lingering.
The cottage smelled like fresh coffee and leftover cinnamon toast.
Elena padded barefoot into the kitchen, wearing one of Marco's shirts.
Talia was already at the stove, hair tied up, flipping pancakes with sleepy confidence.
Marco sat at the table, watching them with quiet awe.
"This feels… illegal," he joked.
Talia grinned.
"Love isn't illegal. Just complicated."
They all laughed—nervous but genuine.
But peace in Rosehill doesn't go unnoticed for long.
At Penny's Market, whispers started before noon.
Did you hear about Marco?Two women. One house.
Elena from out of town.
Talia from down the road.
No ring, no rules.
Penny herself—Rosehill's unofficial rumor queen—watched Elena walk past the bakery window with a little smirk.
"Guess Rosehill's gotten spicier," she said aloud to no one.
By afternoon, even Mrs. Calloway was side-eying her bouquets like they held secrets.
Elena knew it was happening.
People looked a beat too long.
Conversations paused when she passed.
The sweet town was still sweet—but now with a bitter aftertaste.
At Bellamy's Table, it got worse.
Someone left a note on the front chalkboard.
"Keep your appetites out of the kitchen."
Talia found it first.
Tore it down without a word.
But Marco saw her eyes—tight and tired.
"We knew this might happen," he said gently.
"Knowing doesn't make it easier," she replied.
Elena walked in just as the last of the note was tossed.
She didn't ask what it said.
She already knew.
That night, the three of them sat in the garden behind the restaurant.
Candles flickered.
A storm was coming—again.
"We can lay low," Marco said. "Let it pass."
"No," Elena said firmly.
"We're not hiding."
Talia nodded.
"Let them talk. We'll feed them something better."
Marco blinked.
"Like what?"
Talia grinned.
"A Rosehill dinner they'll never forget. One long table. Open invitation."
Elena smiled slowly.
"You want to seduce the town with food?"
"Exactly," Talia said.
"Let them taste what love actually looks like."