Page 17

THAT ARTISTIC GLOW

STELLA

It’s almost embarrassing how fast I say yes.

Cassie doesn’t even finish her sentence. “So, the couple you shot last-minute? They raved. And their frie?—”

“I’ll do it,” I cut her off, the words tumbling out before I can second-guess them.

She blinks. “Wait… really?”

I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. “Don’t make a thing out of it.”

But of course, she makes a thing out of it. Cassie tries to smother the grin, but it creeps across her face anyway.

“It’s kind of a thing.”

And she’s not wrong.

I’ve said no for years. I’ve sidestepped, dodged, and outright refused every wedding gig that’s come my way since I walked out on my first one, camera in hand, vows in the background, wondering how many times people can say forever and still mean never .

But that last one? It didn’t suck the soul out of me like I expected. No existential dread. No quiet spiral in the darkroom afterward. Just a bride, a groom, a lot of genuine joy, and me—surprisingly not bitter about any of it.

Maybe it was the couple. Maybe it was the chaos. Maybe it was the guy who spun me around the dance floor with a cocky grin and hands that knew exactly where to land.

I don’t know.

All I know is, here I am, actually agreeing to photograph another wedding.

“Send me the details before I change my mind,” I mutter, already reaching for the red button on our video call.

“I’m sending them now,” Cassie chirps, clearly basking in her victory.

I hang up.

I didn’t really need to end the call so quickly, but I can feel the emotional static building behind my eyes.

I'm still in shock that I even want to do another wedding.

That I said yes without weighing every potential way it could dredge up my past. That I didn't recoil from the thought of forever through a lens.

This… isn’t me.

At least, it wasn’t.

But lately, there’s been this unfamiliar feeling threading itself through my days. Like maybe I’m not just in Indy to help Harper. Maybe I’m… I don’t know. Starting something. Building something. Maybe I’m even the tiniest bit curious what it would feel like to stay.

Damn. That’s dangerous.

I close my laptop like it might judge me.

A wedding. Another one. I don’t even know who I am right now.

I stand up, pacing the living room twice before giving in and sitting back down—because apparently, saying yes to one thing unlocks the floodgates.

And there it is, waiting in my inbox. The email I’ve opened, marked unread, and reopened at least four times since last night.

Subject: Exhibit Opportunity – Local Artist Spotlight

I read it again, slowly this time. A gallery in Broad Ripple wants to feature my work— my work, not just what I’ve done for clients. They’ve followed me since before I moved to Indy. They saw the climbing series I posted, and something clicked. Movement. Emotion. Stillness in motion.

They called it compelling. Said they see a story in every frame.

And I’m… rattled. In a good way.

Maybe.

This is the kind of thing I used to chase before I got so damn good at running.

I hesitate for a full ten seconds.

Then I hit reply.

Thank you for the opportunity. I’d love to hear more.

Another yes. That’s two in one day. Which either means I’m having a breakthrough—or a breakdown.

Too soon to tell.

I lean back into the couch, laptop still open, fingers hovering over the trackpad. The sun’s starting to slip through the blinds, casting long golden stripes across the living room. It’s quiet in that late-afternoon way I still haven’t gotten used to.

Harper’s at work. Lilly’s at school for a few more hours. And me? I’m in the house…alone.

Again.

I thought I’d crave the stillness when I moved here. After years of chasing stories and chasing light, I figured this would feel like rest.

It doesn’t.

It feels like I’ve hit pause. Like I’m waiting for something to start while stalling at the same time.

I’ve started filling the quiet with edits, house projects, long walks to nowhere. Last week I rearranged the bookshelf by color just to avoid checking my email. I’ve baked exactly one pie, burned half of it, and swore never again.

Maybe I do need a dog.

At least then someone would be excited when I walk in the door.

I click back to the gallery email, reading it one more time. My photos, on display. People walking by, stopping, looking. Maybe asking questions. Maybe seeing something in them that even I’ve forgotten was there.

It’s… something.

Something I didn’t realize I missed until I got the chance again.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I want to share it with someone.

My fingers move before I can overthink it, already drafting a text.

Me:

So, I might be putting my photos in a gallery again.

I hover. Is that too casual? Too random?

I add another line.

Not gonna lie. Kinda scared. But also kinda proud.

I hit send and stare at the screen like it might give me a faster reaction.

He doesn’t respond right away. But I imagine the way he’ll smile when he sees it. That quiet pride he carries in his eyes when I’m not looking directly at him.

And it hits me. I want him to be proud of me.

I want him to see this part of me, too. Not just the girl who snaps pictures or avoids feelings or sneaks out in the morning.

The part of me that used to dream bigger. That’s maybe starting to want to again.

Later that afternoon, Lilly’s bouncing in the backseat of my car, practically vibrating out of her little sneakers.

“Do you think we’ll get to climb the tall wall today?” she asks, hugging her harness to her chest like it’s a stuffed animal. Ruth surprised her with her very own bubblegum pink climbing harness as we gift last week.

“No idea, kid.”

She grins, gapped-tooth and fearless. “I can’t wait to show Luke my harness.”

I don’t respond right away.

My stomach tightens before I even park the car.

We walk into Squeaky Bum, and I’m not even to the front counter when a burst of laughter echoes from the back hallway.

Looking up, I see him there. Dressed in that fitted long-sleeve shirt that clings to him in all the right places, walking alongside a woman with shiny waves of honey-blonde hair, sharp heels, and a touch that lingers a little too long on his arm.

He says something. She throws her head back, laughing like they’re on stage.

I freeze.

Lilly tugs at my hand. “That’s Luke!”

I nod, swallowing the knot building in my throat.

Behind the counter, Maddie looks up from her tablet. “Oh, hey! Stella, I still can’t get over those amazing photos you took of this place.”

“Thanks.”

She leans in like she’s letting me in on a secret. “Heads-up. Luke’s ex is in town. That’s her with him now. She’s been around a lot lately, full claws, red lipstick—the whole package.”

I blink. “Ex?”

“Claire. They used to run the Chicago location together. She’s got some big ideas, and Luke’s trying not to murder her. It’s kind of entertaining.”

I try to smile, but I’m suddenly aware of every beat of my pulse.

“Wow,” I say, too quietly.

Maddie doesn’t notice. “She was here earlier, giving me branding tips like I’m not literally the person who built the local following. It was fun.”

My mouth goes dry. “Sounds… intense.”

“Totally. Anyway, she’s just a lot.” Maddie shrugs. “But hey, at least she’s only in town temporarily. Unless she gets her way.”

I murmur some sort of response, but my eyes are glued to the woman now stepping a little too close to Luke. She touches his chest and says something with a smile I don’t trust. He steps back, not rudely, but it’s a line. Still… my skin prickles.

And then he sees me.

His entire expression shifts. He stops walking. Claire doesn’t seem to notice, she just turns to follow his line of sight and zeroes in on me like a heat-seeking missile.

Her gaze slides over me with a smile so practiced it could cut glass.

“Stella,” Luke says, his voice softer now. “Hey.”

I nod. “Hey.”

“This is Claire. Claire, this is—this is Stella Young. She’s a photographer.”

“Ah,” Claire says, reaching out a perfectly manicured hand. “A photographer. Cute.”

I shake her hand. Hers is warm. Perfectly moisturized. Dangerous.

“She’s the photographer for the Hoosier Insider feature that I told you about,” Luke adds, but his voice is a little tense now.

Claire hums. “I should’ve known. You have that artistic glow.” She rests her hand on Luke’s forearm again. “Well, it was lovely meeting you. Luke, I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll finish the conversation about expansion—over dinner, maybe?”

She turns and walks away like she knows I’m watching her.

Because I am.

Luke exhales and rubs the back of his neck. “That wasn’t…”

“It’s fine,” I interrupt. “Really.”

He frowns. “Stella.”

“I should help Lilly get set up. She’s excited.”

He nods, stepping back. “Yeah. Of course.”

I walk away before he can say anything else—and before I say something I’ll regret.

While Lilly gets her gear on, I sit on the bench outside the kids’ climbing area and stare at the floor like it has answers.

Claire. Ex. Expansion. She’s here. She’s still got a piece of him, even if he doesn’t see it.

And me?

I’m just… here.

The girl who never stays. Who never commits. Who never lets herself want anything that could leave.

My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket.

I pull it out, expecting something from Harper, maybe a bakery update from Hazel.

But I see it’s just an email. That’s when I notice I have a missed text from Luke from earlier.

Luke:

A gallery? That’s incredible. You should be proud. I know I am.

I reread it three times.

It’s simple. Thoughtful.

Exactly like him.

And it makes everything harder.

Because that’s the thing. That’s why I want to pull back.

He says things that matter. He makes space. He makes it too easy to imagine staying.

I lock the screen and slide my phone back into my pocket before I can say something I’ll wish I hadn’t.

I do want something. Or maybe someone.

And now that I’ve started to admit it—just barely—the universe decides to throw in the ex-girlfriend from hell with a killer smile and history on her side.

I don’t know what to do with that.

I don’t want to be the girl who walks away again. But I also don’t know how to be the girl who fights for someone. What if he wants her back? What if, this whole time, I’ve been playing pretend—and she’s the real thing?

My chest tightens.

I need space. Or distance. Or a time machine.

Lilly’s laugh cuts through the silence. She’s already on the wall, grinning at Luke like he invented gravity.

He’s smiling back, but his eyes flick to me again.

And suddenly, I’m not sure where I stand.