#c: sofia

Cameron was coming up to the front of the garage when she heard the little bell ding that indicated someone was coming in. She wiped her hands off on the towel in her back pocket and looked up to see the sweet girl who'd been coming in for the past few months looking for Arturo. Cameron smirked, in a teasing mood, and headed toward the counter.

"Well well well, if it isn't the worlds most unlucky cyclist," she joked, having heard about a certain incident from before in which a bicycle just seemed to keep breaking. Strangest thing. "If you're looking for Art, he's not in today," she explained, raising her eyebrows. "But I'd be happy to help with whatever it is."

Toulouse was minding his own business with his headphones in, carrying his bag of art supplies over his shoulder, when all of a sudden— he was being shoved forward, nearly dropping all of his stuff. "Hey! What th— Sofia??"

Not telling Damian that she was coming had been an intentional choice. Not tell Sofia, however? That had simply been an oversight. There'd been a lot on her mind, in her defense. And, of course, if she needed an excuse that held up against her sister's scrutiny, then maybe she just didn't want to risk Damian finding out and assembling his defenses against her before she had the time to infiltrate and get to the bottom of his radio silence.

Yeah, that sounded good. Who could argue with that? (Hopefully not Sofia because she hadn't slept enough to go toe to toe with her sister.)

Her plots and plans were all forgotten the moment she stepped through the doors at Crave and Co. It only hit her as the smells greeted her that her sister owned her own business. A brick and mortar store that, by a cursory glance, was doing pretty well for itself. Half the tables were occupied, some chatting happily with their companions while others sat bent over laptops or books, just soaking in the peace and the atmosphere that Sofia had created with her talents. Pride swelled inside Pilar, full to bursting like she hadn't grasped until this moment exactly what her sister had managed to do here.

Even still, Pilar stomped toward the counter, hands on her hips. The cashier was not Sofia, which was exactly what she'd been hoping for, and she made a mental note to apologize to her about this display later. "Hi, is the owner available? Can you tell her that there is someone who would like to speak with her? I am very, very angry. Thanks."

This was a grand mess, a mistake if she were to be honest. She was tightly trapped between a rock and a hard place and although it felt like the obvious answer was staring her straight in the face. The reality was, it wasn't that simple. Her relationship with Ethan wasn't that simple, hell her relationship with Ezra was even more confusing. She wanted to run away from her problems. Away from her feelings for Ezra. Away from planning her wedding. It just wasn't an option. Though it felt like her fiance was doing the same at times. Like today.

"So DJ or band?" Sofia asked. The question was simple. Relatively simple, but the tension in the air, maybe her own projection, but it was heavy. She shifted in her seat, keeping her gaze on the todo list and options before her. If she knew she'd be planning her wedding with Ezra, she would've gotten a wedding planner and told them to have fun. That would have been less stressful than this. Would have meant less time with her newly realized crush. She lifted her head, glancing at Ezra. "Do you want wine? or something?" She got up. Anything to put some space between them. She rounded the island in her kitchen, bringing down two glasses. "anything Ez?"

They might have continued on like that for another hour if not for the knock at the door and Sofia's voice along with it. Natalia's smile didn't leave her face though. "Come in," she called out.

It was empty for the most part — children and their mothers have long gone for an afternoon nap and runners found it too hot this time of day. She had planted a seed in this soil that was rich with magic, and had come over almost every day to watch it grow — bloom among the others, reach it's full potential so that she could harvest it later. It's petals could heal once nurtured with the kind of magic she posessed.

The spirits hummed gently around her, ethereal almost.

Knees firmy planted on the ground, she cradled the withered flower in delicate hands and spoke very softly. Slowly color flooded back into the fragile thing. "That's all better now, isn't it?" small digits caressed the petels that were still in the process of coming back to life.