Page 19

“Yeah,” she says, smiling to herself. “She’s kind of the reason I haven’t run yet.”

That word—yet—echoes more than I want it to.

But I don’t push.

Not tonight.

We end up at a place called Blue Willow—a quiet little bistro tucked into a side street just off College Ave. Not flashy. Not loud. Brick walls, candlelight, the scent of lemon and rosemary in the air.

The kind of place where you talk slowly and think carefully. Order things with real butter.

Stella raises an eyebrow when she walks in. “This isn’t what I pictured when you said dinner.”

I shrug, holding the door for her. “You thought I’d take you somewhere with mounted antlers and IPAs on tap.”

“You do scream ‘house IPA.’”

“Not tonight.”

She doesn’t argue, just lets me guide her to a small two-top near the window.

And for a few minutes, we just… are.

We talk about Lilly. About how she’s convinced she’s part spider and might try to scale the pantry at home. About how Harper “accidentally” signed her up for a dance class but she just stood in the corner pretending to be a ninja.

We order. She gets grilled salmon with citrus glaze. I get the steak. We both ask for a glass of red, which makes her raise her eyebrows again.

“Steak and wine. So you’re pulling out all the grown-up stops tonight.”

I lean back in my chair. “Trying to make a good impression.”

The smile she fights makes me feel like I’m winning. Just a little.

But eventually, I have to go there.

“I meant it when I said I wanted to explain about Claire.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but I feel the shift in her posture. Just a little tighter. More alert.

“I figured,” she says, reaching for her wine.

“We were kids when we met. Grew up together, neighbors, best friends. She knew everything about me before I even knew how to explain it.”

“And you dated,” Stella says flatly.

“We did. College, mostly. Then we moved to downtown Chicago. My uncle was opening the second Squeaky Bum location and offered me the chance to help build it out. Claire came with me, started handling branding and media. It made sense, for a while.”

I sip my wine. It doesn’t go down as easily now.

“We talked about the future a lot. Marriage, kids, running things side by side. I always thought we’d get there, eventually.” I glance at Stella. “She didn’t want ‘eventually.’ She wanted everything the moment she wanted—and she wanted marriage immeditately..”

“And you weren’t ready?”

“I thought I was. I bought a ring.”

Her fork pauses over her plate.

“She didn’t know. I was planning a trip, something big. I thought I had time.”

“But?”

“She beat me to it. Broke up with me. Told me I waited too long and she was tired of feeling like second priority to my ambition.”

Stella says nothing, but she’s listening. I can see it in her eyes.

“She left Squeaky Bum and moved back home. We haven’t talked since. It’s been about three years. And then— boom —she shows up here. All smiles and big ideas.”

“Expansion,” Stella says quietly.

“Rebranding. Corporate investors. Scaling fast and far. She wants in again, personally and professionally.” I shake my head. “But she doesn’t want what we built. She wants control. Recognition. To prove she was right to walk.”

“And you?” Her voice is softer now.

“I want what I have. What I’m building here.” I meet her eyes. “And I’m not interested in doing any of it with Claire.”

Stella breathes out like she didn’t realize she’d been holding it in.

“She was all over you.”

“I know.”

“And she’s going to try again.”

“Probably.”

There’s a beat of silence, weighty but not hostile. She cuts another piece of salmon, slow, thoughtful.

“She’s got history with you,” she says.

“Yeah. But history doesn’t mean a damn thing if you already turned the page.”[[ teaser]]

I let that sit between us.

Stella nods slowly, chewing. Swallowing.

Then, finally, she says, “Okay.”

Just that.

But it’s enough.

Because that “okay” wasn’t just about Claire. It was about me. About us, in whatever shape this thing is taking.

And hour later, I park at the curb and kill the engine. We sit in silence for a second, the kind that hums with things left unsaid.

Stella unclips her seatbelt and looks over at me.

“Thanks for dinner,” she says, voice low.

“Thanks for not bailing.”

She smirks. “It was a close call.”

I laugh, and she opens the door, grabbing her camera bag from the floorboard.

She didn’t take it into the restaurant, but I’ve come to realize it goes wherever she goes.

I walk her to the porch, not because I feel like I should—but because I want to.

Because letting her go inside without saying one more thing feels wrong.

She unlocks the door, then turns, half-lit by the porch light, and gives me a look that lands somewhere between grateful and uncertain.

“I’m still figuring it out,” she says quietly.

“I know.”

“I don’t do this.”

“I know that too.”

“And yet…” She trails off.

I take a step closer. “Yet.”

The space between us narrows until it’s just a breath. I lift a hand, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flutter closed, just for a second, and when they open again, they’re softer.

I lean in, slow, giving her every chance to pull away.

She doesn’t.

The kiss is gentle. Thoughtful. The kind of kiss that says, I see you and I’m not going anywhere—not unless you tell me to.

She kisses me back with a hesitation that feels less like fear and more like wonder. Like she doesn’t quite believe it’s safe—but she wants to.

When we part, her eyes search mine.

“Goodnight, Luke.”

“Night, Trouble.”

She smiles, but she doesn’t correct me this time.

The door closes behind her with a soft click.

I walk back to my car slower than I need to, letting the night air cool the fire still low and steady in my chest.

I let the door swing shut behind me and toss my keys on the counter.

The place is dark, save for the faint blue light of the cable box, but I don’t bother flipping a switch.

I don’t need light to know what I’m feeling.

This is new.

Not just Stella. All of it. I’ve had relationships. I’ve had hookups. I’ve been in love, and I’ve been left. But I’ve never had to work this hard to earn someone’s trust. Never wanted to.

Until now.

She makes it complicated, sure. But she also makes it worth it.

She’s the kind of woman who doesn’t hand over pieces of herself unless she’s sure you’ll hold them carefully.

And tonight, she gave me one.

Not all of her. Not yet. But enough to know this isn’t nothing.

And hell if I don’t want to earn the rest.