on mint and cinnamon
Prologue
Author's Notes
I’ve decided to serialize this project on Substack. It will serve as the prologue for my (very first!) public serialized fiction.
[For the romance nerds]
Dual POV contemporary romance.
The main trope is second chance — but I don’t like to stick too closely to predefined structures, so I’ll (hopefully) subvert it a little.
Still a work in progress. I’ve got a ~ 54,000-word first draft of the novella, but what I’m sharing now is only the second draft.
I’ll do my best to keep things clean, but everything (including my skills and style) is subject to change.
The scent of mint clung to her fingers all day.
It started with the so-called bouquet. Peppermint stalks wrapped with a hair tie — left on her windshield right before the audition.
No note. No signature.
Still, Rose was pretty sure it was Darius.
He had given her the nickname, after all. Even his pranks came with mixed signals.
It also didn't get her much favor.
She'd said effect instead of affect. Forgot the next line.
Sure, she’d tried a deep breath. Tried to hammer through the rest. But all she could hear was the casting director's scribbling pen.
As she stepped inside the house, the mint washed away.
Sweat. Alcohol. The room reeked of burning rubber, too — nothing to do with the fireplace.
Rose wove through the crowd, her sandals sticking to the floor with every step.
Her foot slid on a wet spot — spilled Vodka, or maybe piss.
One hand slapped the wall — right besides the slouched guy, who mumbled like his drink had ears.
Heavy bass thudded through the entryway. It rattled the chandeliers and marble busts down the hall — one tequila shot away from disaster.
Rose scratched the base of her neck — tic she picked up from her mom. Along with the height and the tendency to flee.
Darius and his fucking parties.
She stepped around a puddle of glitter vomit and someone's wig on the stairs.
Her thoughts snapped back — earlier that day. The audition.
She shook it off the as she stepped into the living room.
Violet was on the table, dancing between bottles — arms flung skyward like she was conjuring spirits.
Her jagged dancing knocked another vodka bottle off the edge. It shattered across the marble like broken ice.
Rose didn’t dare interrupt her mid-high. She knew better. She looked around again. Matt in the far corner — yelling into his phone.
“What? No, I said — what?” His glare shot up, as if blaming the ceiling for the room full of drunk idiots.
The couch.
Her gaze slid that way — but the silhouette she expected was gone.
Instead, Natty had claimed the cushions, splayed out and numb to the world. A full bag of cocaine sat cracked open on the coffee table, its dust smeared across her fingers like powdered sugar.
Cassian’s voice sliced through the music like a siren.
“Where the fuck is Darius?”
Rose turned —
She caught sight of Cassian ramming through the crowd, eyes scanning like a laser.
They locked on Natty.
“Get up,” he said, slapping her arm.
Natty jerked upright, blinking fast, pupils dilated and slow to catch up.
“Cass, let me —”
“Don’t Cass me. Where’s your brother?”
She groaned, rubbed at her eyes—but Cassian was already gone.
Zeroing in on Violet like a missile.
Rose watched him stomp, frustration swallowing his face. But his eyes still had a softness — the one he never quite scrub off when it came to Violet.
His eyes always found her in a crowd. His shoulders always tensed, and his body always faced her.
“For the love of God, Violet, get down before you break the damn table — it’s a collectible!”
Violet scoffed. Still swaying, arms high, grin wild.
“I’m vibing!”
The table wobbled hard. Cassian snatched her ankle — whether to steady her or prove a point, Rose couldn’t tell.
Either way, he yanked.
Violet shrieked, teetered, and toppled — right into Cassian.
His grunt was swallowed by her laughter.
Rose laughed too. Couldn’t help it. They looked like a pair of overgrown kids, wrestling and bickering.
When he rose, Violet clung to him like a koala, giggling into his collarbone. Cassian muttered curses, fingers digging into her hips — not to peel her off, Rose noticed, but to keep her from falling.
Rose stepped forward, ready to tease —
Then she saw it.
Violet, pink-cheeked, leaning in. Whispering something against his ear.
And when they locked eyes, Cassian… blushed.
That wasn't normal. Violet didn’t blush over Cassian. He was the group’s hard-ass, their scowling watchdog — Violet didn't see him that way!
But more importantly — what the hell had she said to make him blush?
As Rose mentally compiled the list of questions she'd be launching at her best friend later, the party surged around her.
Music blared louder. Smoke thickened. Laughter tangled with the stink of spilled liquor.
The chaos was familiar.
But it didn’t drown out the buzz in her ears—or the itch crawling at the base of her neck.
The audition looped again.
Affect. Not effect. Jesus.
Her fathers voice rang through the memory. “It’s just a hobby, Rosie.”
Her gaze caught on the open balcony doors. She didn’t need to think twice.
It was off-limits — usually. He told people to stay out.
But he never told her to leave.
Rose slipped through the door.
Cool night air wrapped around her like a second skin, covering the heat and noise.
She told herself it was just for that—the air. Just to clear her head.
But she still hoped he’d be there.
Cinnamon — faint, smoky — lingered in the air like a ghost. His ghost.
She took a deep breath. Rounded the corner.
She found Darius sprawled on the slate tiles where she’d expected.
Flat on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, Darius held a faintly glowing cigar between two fingers.
His hair, loose and dark, spilled across the white stone like ink.
She thought back to the hair tie around the aromatic stalks she received that morning.
The ember’s shifting light danced in his black eyes.
Uncanny.
The hair. The cigars. The eyes, crooked nose; all Mr. Swain. But where he was controlled, Darius was a mess.
Rose never said it, but she was convinced he did it on purpose — leaning into the resemblance for mockery.
“Cassian’s looking for you,” Rose said, stepping closer to the edge.
Darius didn’t move. “When isn’t he?”
His voice was slow — like he’d long since accepted his own invincibility, even against his brother.
Rose rolled her eyes.
No point arguing.
Instead, she perched on the balcony’s edge, legs sliding between the railing.
The stone was cold against her thighs and her skin prickled.
“Is Natty getting high with you now?” Rose asked, feet swinging in the air.
“Wouldn’t put it like that,” Darius said. “She keeps eating it. Says she likes the numbness in her mouth.” He exhaled smoke through his nose, lazy. “I tried it too. Ruined the vibe.”
“Maybe that's for the better.”
Darius let out a soft laugh, the sound rich and dry. “Puritan.”
Rose smirked, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “I prefer good influence.”
Darius paused. When she looked for his gaze, he finally replied. “Then you should stop following me around.”
Maybe he was right. That’s why she looked away.
Below her feet, the estate stretched out like a kingdom —
And the party buzzed all around. A group laughed by the pool. A crowd egged on a fight on the lawn. Some idiots spun donuts on the driveway.
“You invited me.”
“Email list.”
She looked back at Darius — his smirk glinted in the dark.
“You called.” Rose snorted.
That familiar knot tightened in her chest. All the space, all the people, and yet…
“Do you even like this?” She motioned towards the horizon, trying to encompass all the chaos.
“I like the balcony,” Darius said, taking another drag, his gaze fixed on the stars.
Rose shook her head with a smile. Part of her wondered if it was really the place itself he liked — or the conversations — or maybe just the moments of silence — they always seemed to find up there.
She hated that, though. How — in those moments — she kept thinking ‘I'm the one that can fix him.’ He didn’t need; didn't want fixing. But she could… right?
With hands tightened around the metal bars, her thoughts kept circling back to look on the casting director's face.
“I’m not gonna get it,” she said, quieter than the sharp edge she usually reserved for him.
“Get what?”
“The role.” Her fingers tightening around railing until she felt needles in her palms.
“There were, like, ten other girls who’ve been doing this forever. I don’t have a shot.”
He snorted. “Eh. I saw the tapes.”
Her head whipped toward him. She didn't say anything — her stare did the work.
“Swain Group’s an investor now,” he said, exhaling smoke with a smirk. “You did good, Mint.”
Rose glared at him, torn between shock and indignation. The Swain Group wasn’t funding squat before her audition.
Well meaning, sure — that’s how he went about opportunities. Safe bets, he called it. But she didn't like it.
“You can’t just — Darius! It’s… weird — No, invasive!”
“It’s resourcefulness.” Darius propped himself up on his elbows, flicking the cigar butt into the dark. “Congrats, by the way.”
“Oh, great. Dad is an investor. Now you.” She pressed her face to the bars. “Invest in some confidence in me, you two.”
“Does it matter that the faith came with a down payment?”
She could recite the credits of her life like a cast list. Nothing original. Nothing earned. Just nepotism wrapped in a pretty face.
And Darius on the side, laughing at her because that was her life's problem. Like having everything handed to you made it impossible to fall apart.
Her hand shot out and smacked his thigh — hard. “Yes, jackass!”
“Damn!”
He laughed, rubbing his the spot.
“Hell of a right hook.”
She felt a twinge of guilt, but pressed on. “I want to be… I don’t know — more. A force of nature. But not because of my dad. Definitely not because I know you.”
“Mhm.” His grin was lazy. He rolled onto his side and propped his head up on one hand. “But knowing me is pretty neat.”
She tilted her head. “You get what I mean.”
He snorted. “Force of nature? Like what — a tsunami?”
“I… maybe.” She laughed, letting the tension drop. “I want to be proud of myself.”
“Do it.”
“What —”
“Your problem is, you’re desperate for someone to clap.” He tapped the top of her head. Like a dog. “Or maybe just for me.”
Her face burned up. She liked claps — but others should not pick up on that. That made it tacky.
“Your problem is, you bought your role and still flopped it.”
He grinned, leaning in a little. “Packing heat tonight, huh?”
Rose froze, realizing how harsh she was — a line straight from the tabloids.
“I’m sorry.” She winced, her voice softer. “I didn’t mean it like that. ”
Darius slapped a hand over his chest. “And you were getting all spicy.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I’m just not worth the burn.”
Rose blinked as she tried to find the right words. “I didn’t want to be —”
“Oh, I get it.” He raised a hand to stop her. “You were just trying to protect my fragile ego.” He paused, pressing his lips together. “You’ve sucked all the fun out of it.”
She couldn’t ignore it any longer. The question came out sharp, as if racing with her better judgement.
“Do you even want to act?”
Her heart thudded in her chest as she pulled her feet back from the edge.
Silence.
She turned to face him.
Darius danced around things.
Never fully in. Never fully out. Always a smile. Always a joke.
She’d seen it in his performances—the detachment. He wasn’t bad. He just didn’t care enough to be better.
Her toes fidgeted. She tucked her feet under herself like that might smother the self-consciousness.
Still no comeback.
Just silence.
Then, Darius spoke.
His voice — light. Too light.
“I want to direct.”
Rose blinked, taken aback. “Direct?” She raised an eyebrow, her teasing topped with a smile. “So you get to boss people around?”
Darius winched. Scratched the back of his neck.
Rose’s smile dropped. “Wait, you’re serious?”
He puffed out a breath, gaze drifting sideways — distant.
Then the smirk came back.
“I’m not Cassian — hoping I run the whole Swain Group by next year. But a bunch of egotistical actors?” He flicked her forehead. “Piece of cake.”
Rose’s frown deepened as she held his gaze a moment longer. She rubbed her forehead.
He could do things — finish them — if he really tried.
The way his eyes lit up when he talked about story. How his confidence shifted — bled — into something hotter. Something more honest. She’d seen it on set.
It made more sense that way.
It was never about acting.
“Have I stumbled on an actual dream?” Her voice was soft, but the curiosity underneath cut through.
Darius shrugged.
“You’re overthinking, Bailey.”
Rose studied him.
Her fingers twitched toward the base of her neck — quick, frantic.
She caught herself and stopped, forcing her hands to still between her knees and calves.
“And you’re deflecting, Swain.”
He let out a quiet laugh but didn’t respond.
His silence pulled her closer. Her heartbeat kicked up.
A voice in her head urged her to back off.
She didn’t listen.
She leaned in anyway.
“Darius,” her voice was firm, with a certainty that surprised even her. “I believe it. You can direct.”
A few strands of her hair brushed his face as she moved closer.
He turned to her then, eyes locking with hers — no teasing.
For once, he looked… wide-eyed.
He reached up, brushed her hair away.
The scent hit her — mint and cinnamon. Warm. Familiar. Too much.
Her pulse spiked.
She’d wondered before, of course. What does he think about me?
But asking was a risk. Always a risk.
Glass-shard fear twisted in her gut—because what if she misread it?—like she misread Violet. Blushing over Cassian.
What if she asked and it ruined everything — the balcony, the banter, the longing?
She leaned back, pressing into the railing, the chill cutting her blush.
Still, her gaze lingered too long.
“You’re confusing.”
He smiled, eyes glinting. “So I've been told.”
Rose's heart drummed in her ears. She laughed to mask it. “Good luck fixing that ego of yours, Swain.”
“Good luck proving you’re a force of nature, Bailey.” His tone was playful, but the words settled deep.
A challenge.
Rose didn’t answer.
Didn’t allow the time to think herself out of it.
She kissed him.
Soft. Quick. Barely a press of lips.
And he… didn’t move. Didn’t kiss her back. Or push her away.
Just stillness.
Panic flared in her chest.
She pulled back fast.
Stupid. Stupid. Why had she —
But then he sat up.
His hand caught her the back of her head — firm, certain — and the next thing she knew, her back hit the railing.
His mouth parted hers.
No hesitation.
The kiss was deep. Warm and breathless and — shit — he meant it.
The world blurred. Music thumped behind the glass. The tingling in her ears drowned out everything else.
Rose wasn’t sure who had pulled away first. Didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or scream or run.
Instead, she whispered, voice shaky:
“— okay. You win.”
I laughed at "Affect. Not effect. Jesus."
My best friend never gets them right... 😂
i love your writing style. short, sweet sentences. and i’m enjoying the characters too!