Page 11

SMELL THE TRAP

STELLA

I’m barely functioning, hunched over my second cup of coffee like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this plane of existence.

Across the table, Lilly is bouncing in her seat, swinging her legs like she’s got drumsticks strapped to her feet. She’s eating cereal like it’s a prize she earned overnight and humming a tune that I’m convinced has no melody—just energy. She’s pure, six-year-old chaos.

Harper is already scrolling through her phone, her hair in a stylish bun and her eyes tracking a to-do list I haven’t seen but can somehow feel radiating off her like heat.

There’s a calm to her chaos that I’ll never understand.

She’s been up for who knows how long, probably already answered multiple emails, packed a lunch, and started planning whatever project she’s tackling at work today.

After several months of living with my sister and niece, you’d think I’d have adjusted to a proper sleep cycle.

But no. I still get my second wind around ten p.m. and lose track of time editing until two in the morning.

I’ve always been a night owl. Blame the years chasing unpredictable light and impossible deadlines for photojournalism pieces that couldn’t wait.

Living with a six-year-old, however, means living with the loudest early bird known to man. I’ve been woken up by singing. My Little Pony on full bast. A conversation with her stuffed animals. And once, an interpretive dance routine that she was practicing for “no reason.”

This morning? It’s cereal and uncontainable enthusiasm.

With a mouthful of Cheerios, Lilly says, “Aunt Stelly, guess what Mr. Luke taught us yesterday!”

Just like that, I’m awake. Not by caffeine, but by name drop.

I lift my mug and take a long, strategic sip. “Can’t imagine.”

Harper grins without looking up. “Oh, good. She’s awake enough to be annoyed.”

Yep. Fully awake now. Unfortunately. I glower at my sister for the snarky comment.

It’s been a week since I saw him. A week since that photo shoot where he somehow managed to be just as annoyingly charming as I remembered. And despite my best efforts, he keeps creeping into my thoughts—usually late at night, when I’m editing and my guard’s down.

I tell myself it’s just curiosity. That he surprised me. That it’s nothing.

But the truth? I hate that I’m not so sure. And of course, Lilly has to bring him up like he’s just some guy. Because to her, he probably is.

To me? Well... I’m still figuring that out.

“He showed us how to do a special knot, but he said I was a natural.” Shes getting so excited.

“He must say that to all the six-year-olds,” I tell her with a wink.

Harper grins over her coffee.

“So, Aunt Stelly, did you know Luke is, like, the best climber ever?” she adds before leaning over her bowl to grab the cereal box, dumping more in her milk-filled bowl. She’s had two classes with him, and she’s already fully Team Luke.

Figures.

Without looking up, I mutter, “Shocking.”

Either my morning sass doesn’t register on my niece’s radar yet, or she’s used to it.

“Lilly, did you know Aunt Stella already knew Luke before your class?” my sister asks.

Lilly dramatically gasps as her cereal spoon clanks against the bowl.

“You knew him and didn’t tell me?!” asks—as if I withheld important My Little Pony news from her.

Shooting another glare at my annoying sister, I tell her, “I am going to replace all your fancy coffee with gas station sludge.”

She just sips smugly, clearly enjoying my suffering.

Lilly, not caring about the sisterly annoyance that’s happening, pulls me back. “So, how do you know him? Did he teach you how to climb?”

Yeah, not getting into how we met with a six-year-old. “Something like that.”

Harper snorts into her coffee.

“Are you guys friends? Can we all go get ice cream together?”

Horrified, I snap, “No!”

Lilly pouts.

Harper gives me a knowing look.

“You do realize that between me and Lilly, there’s no getting rid of him, right?”

Groaning, I rest my forehead against the table.

“Alright, Lilly bug, it’s time for the bus. Go brush your teeth,” Harp says.

Lilly lets out a dramatic sigh and drops her spoon into her empty cereal bowl with a loud clink. “I just don’t get why we can’t go get ice cream with Luke.”

“Because, kiddo, it’s 7:30 in the morning, and ice cream is not a breakfast food.”

More pouting. Lilly is going for a record today. “Not with that attitude.”

I try not to laugh into my coffee. She’s relentless. I’ll give her that.

Harper glances at the clock. “Alright, sass queen. It really is time to get ready, you’ve got four minutes.”

Lilly slides off her chair but pauses halfway, gripping the table with both hands like she’s about to make a major announcement.

“Okay. Fine. But if I can’t have ice cream with Luke… can I get a puppy?”

Harper and I exchange a look. That came out of nowhere, but also, somehow, completely tracks.

“That’s not even in the same category of requests, Lill.”

Lilly shrugs like we’re the unreasonable ones. “You said I couldn’t have ice cream, and I listened. So now I want a puppy. That’s fair.”

Shaking her head, Harper replies. “That is… not how compromise works.”

As if she just had the best idea, Lilly’s face is bright and eyes wide. “It could be a family puppy! I could help take care of it. And you guys won’t be lonely when I’m at school!”

She beams at us, clearly thinking she’s nailed it. And, honestly, I have to respect the hustle.

I shoot Harper a look. “This is your fault. She negotiates like you.”

“I’m proud and terrified,” Harper says.

Lilly skips off toward the bathroom, already humming a victory tune.

I mutter under my breath “We are absolutely getting a dog, aren’t we?”

Harper just groans. “Yep.”

When Harper returns after getting Lilly on the bus, I’m snuggled into the couch with my favorite morning show on. I’ve got about an hour before I need to head over to HEA, so I’m having some me time.

Harper normally leaves for work a few minutes after she sees Lilly off for the day, so I’m surprised when I hear her clear her throat as she walks around the couch and sits next to me.

“So, Mom wants us to visit next week. Some kind of festival she thinks Lilly will enjoy.”

I raise a brow. “Oh, joy.”

Harper shrugs. “She asked if we would all come, but I told her you had an assignment.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking a sip of coffee. I love Mom, but I try to limit visits to holidays, birthdays… and when guilt wins.

Harper offers a small smile. “Lilly really wants to go, and I figured you could use a quiet weekend. I know the shift from globe-trotting nomad to live-in babysitter with a roommate hasn’t exactly been a soft landing.”

“Oh, stop.” I reach over and squeeze her hand. “I love living with you two. Honestly, the only real adjustment has been the five a.m. wake-up calls, but I’ll admit, the sleep destroyer is adorable.”

I hold her gaze to make sure she hears me. The last thing I want is for her to feel like an obligation. She’s not.

She’s a priority. One of the few that truly matter.

“Do you want to take some of my CBD gummies with you?” I joke.

Happer chuckles. “Goodness, yes. I was toying with only staying one night to hope Mom doesn’t spiral. But I know Lilly wants as much time with Mom as she can get.”

I just nod. “You’re not wrong.”

We both know how exhausting Mom can be. She’s not depressed anymore—thank goodness for antidepressants—but she’s still fixates on our father’s love life.

Like some alternative version of life that could have saved their marriage.

One thing we’ve noticed? The more time we spend with her, the more she fixates.

Harper stands, walks to the small entry way hooks, and grabs her bag and purse. “What’s on your to do list today?” she asks.

“I’ve got a meeting with Cassie today. Wish me luck,” I tell her.

“Oh, you’ll need it for sure.” Harper laughs. She’s knows how much Cassie wants me taking wedding photos. And she also knows how much I hate the idea.

By the time I walk through the HEA elevator doors, I can already smell the trap.

The scent of freshly brewed espresso hits me first. I head through the open space, and as I walk by the break room, there’s no one there using the coffee maker.

That alone would be enough to raise suspicion, but when I round the corner and peek into Cassie’s office, it’s basically a full-on sugar-laced ambush.

A spread of pastries and sweets from Sweet Wave is artfully arranged on her small conference table, like she’s hosting a brunch for royalty—not buttering me up for something I’m about to regret.

I narrow my eyes.

In front of one of the chairs sits my coffee order—from my favorite place…Sweet Wave.

“You’re laying it on a little thick, Cass,” I tell the woman as she sets down a bright pink folder next to the coffee cup.

She doesn’t even flinch. She just grins—all teeth and innocent sparkle—like I didn’t just catch her red-handed in a soft-baked setup.

“Thick? Never. Can’t a best friend welcome another best friend properly?” she asks.

Just to be difficult, I take a seat on the wingback next to her coffee table. Cassie’s office, much like Layla’s, is designed for maximum comfort. There’s a desk area, a small round conference table in front of the windows, and a couch, two wingbacks, and a coffee table in the other corner.

I suppose if you’re spending hours in your office, it should be comfortable. This is why I’m not down with having an office. I would feel couped up and claustrophobic.

Crossing my arms and shooting her an I’m-on-to-you look, I say, “Okay, what do you want?”

She sighs, giving up the pretense.

“I need you to shoot a wedding for me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Stella.” Her bottom lip pops out, and oh my gosh, the pouting is on an all-time high today.

I shake my head. “Nope. I hate weddings. You know this.”

Cassie groans and drops dramatically into a chair at the table.

“I know! But this isn’t my fault. The mother of the bride insisted on hiring this random photographer, and she bailed. I thought I had a backup, but they bailed. The wedding is next week, and I have no one.” She buries her face in her hands with a groan.

I glance at my coffee and consider escape routes that include grabbing it on the way out.

“And why, exactly, is this my problem?”

Lifting her head, deadly serious, she says, “Because I will owe you forever. And I will never ask you for anything again.”

I let out a sigh, leaning back into the chair.

“Cass, I haven’t shot a wedding in years. You know why.”

Cassie’s expression softens. “Because of your dad. And all his weddings.”

I nod. It’s not just about disliking weddings—it’s about what they represent. False promises. Fleeting happiness. My father’s long string of failures.

“But Stella, this isn’t about all that. It’s about helping a friend.”

Groaning, I rub my temples. “You’re the worst.”

Her face brightens instantly. “That sounds like a yes !”

Cassie motions me toward the table, luring me over as she talks about how she got my favorite cookies and cream latte.

The coffee is delicious. Of course it is. Cassie remembered my usual—down to the drizzle of dark chocolate.

I lean back in my chair, eyeing the pink folder sitting just to the left of the cup, like it ended up there by accident.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t. That folder is stuffed to the brim with client notes, timelines, shot lists, location details, and a blank contract already paper-clipped to a printed check.

It looks suspiciously like formal employment.

Cassie talks a mile a minute, sweet, hopeful bribes falling from her mouth like confetti.

And against my better judgment, I finally give in.

Not because I want to, but because I love her—and because I’m not totally heartless.

There’s no use in being grumpy about my agreement to do this wedding.

I’m not a grumpy person, but weddings bring it out of me.

There goes my quiet weekend.

The one I was supposed to spend editing, sleeping in, and maybe even reading a book that didn’t require margin notes or a deadline. Instead, I’m going to be dodging flower girls and photographing strangers pledging forever.

Great. Just great .

I’m halfway through one of the pastries when Layla pokes her head in, tablet in hand and expression curious.

“Hi, Stella!” she says in a surprised tone, but I’m sure she knew I was coming.

She glances at the table, then at Cassie, who is beaming. “Wait, what’s happening?”

“Stella’s shooting a wedding for me!”

Layla’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. “FINALLY! I’ve been telling you to shoot weddings for years. You’ll be amazing!”

I hold up a hand like a traffic cop.

“No. This is not me joining HEA. This is a one-time thing. You both owe me. Big time.”

Cassie nods furiously, like I’ve just offered her a second chance at life.

“Absolutely. Anything you want.”

Layla laughs at Cassie’s excitement. “You say that now… but what if you love it?”

“I won’t,” I tell her.

Layla smirks but doesn’t argue, which somehow feels worse. Like she knows something I don’t.

I sigh, finishing my coffee like it’s a shot of something stronger.

“You two better not get used to this.”

Cassie and Layla exchange a look that’s way too smug.

“Of course not,” Cassie says.

“Definitely not,” Layla agrees.

I narrow my eyes. I don’t believe them for a second.

And judging by the way that pink folder is practically glowing with preparation, I’m going to regret this.

The folder feels heavier than it should. It's just paper, details, and timelines for a job I agreed to against my better judgment, but walking out of HEA with it tucked under my arm makes it feel…bigger.

Like I just signed up for something more than a one-time favor.

Maybe it’s the way Cassie looked at me, like she’s already penciling me into the HEA roster. Or maybe it’s the way Layla didn’t argue, just smiled like she knows how this ends.

I’m not joining the wedding machine. I’m not trading in late nights and editorial spreads for floral backdrops and champagne toasts. That’s not me. That’s never been me.

But still, there’s a tightness in my chest that I can’t shake. Like I just stepped onto a path I didn’t mean to choose.

I glance down at the pink folder again, then shove it deeper into my bag.

It’s one wedding. That’s it. A favor for a friend.

And yet, as I push open the door and step out into the bright afternoon, I can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted.

And I’m not sure I’m ready for where it’s going.