Page 24

EMOTIONAL DAMAGE

STELLA

Golden hour paints the Garden at Newfields in soft, honeyed light, but the breeze biting at my cheeks is a sharp reminder that late fall is officially here.

I tug the collar of my fleece jacket higher and adjust my beanie, silently thanking myself for dressing in layers.

My fingers are already cold around the camera body, but the couple I’m photographing?

Practically radiating heat. Jay and Melany are so wrapped up in each other, they don’t seem to notice the chill.

That wedding I agreed to shoot for HEA—yeah, that came with the agreement to photograph the engagement session, too.

Portraits have never been my favorite. I love movement, action, nature—the stuff that tells a story without needing a pose.

People usually just annoy me. But I have to admit, this couple is different.

Fun. Easygoing. So I don’t actually hate being here with them.

I adjust my lens and lower my voice into the calm, confident tone I save for shoots. “Melany, turn your face slightly. That’s it—chin up just a touch. Jay, keep doing whatever you’re doing—it’s working.”

Cassie is standing off to the side with a clipboard, looking like she’s managing a royal wedding. She's supposed to be here to assist, but I know her. She’s also here to talk. And by the way she’s been watching me like I’m a game of chess she’s waiting to win, I can feel the speech loading.

She waits until I pause to change lenses before stepping up beside me. “Just saying—you realize you’re basically running this like a seasoned pro, right?”

I glance sideways at her. “Was that the compliment? Felt suspiciously like a setup.”

She grins, unbothered. “Not a setup. Just... an opening pitch.”

Here it comes.

“I’m serious,” she continues. “You’ve got the skill, the eye, and the calm-under-pressure demeanor of someone who could easily run HEA’s entire photography wing.”

I shake my head. “There is not photography wing.”

“Not yet, but there could be,” she says.

“Cassie…” I reply giving her a look of please don’t start with this.

“No, listen. You love this. And I hate to break it to you, but you’re good at it.

Like… irritatingly good. If you came on full-time, you’d have creative control.

Build out the services. Train a team. You’d never have to cold call for clients, we have those in droves. You’d just have to keep being you.”

“And the catch?” I ask, half-smiling.

“You’d have to admit you actually like working weddings.”

“I didn’t say that,” I mutter.

“You didn’t say you didn’t.” Cassie beams.

Jay lifts Melany in a spin. She squeals and throws her arms around his neck, laughing like she’s never been happier. My camera clicks instinctively, capturing the exact moment her feet leave the ground.

I look down at the image. It’s perfect.

Damn it.

“I’ll think about it,” I say quietly.

Cassie hums in satisfaction. “Good. That’s all I’m asking.”

We head toward the next setup spot, and I feel the weight of it settle over me. A real job. A real offer. A real future.

And for the first time, I don’t have the urge to bolt… yet.

That might scare me more than anything else.

Cassie checks her phone as we start walking back toward the cars, her clipboard tucked under one arm. “Also, don’t think I forgot—girls’ night tomorrow. You, me, Layla, Harper, Hazel. Candle-making and carbs. It’s happening.”

I groan. “I was planning to snuggle with Maple and rewatch Stranger Things for the fourth time.”

She gasps. “You were going to bail?”

“Not bail. Opt out. Quietly. Respectfully.”

Truth is, the thought of getting dressed, socializing, and pretending I’m fine sounds like the emotional equivalent of scaling Everest. I haven’t seen Luke in over a week, and I’m trying really hard not to call this what it is, depression.

But it’s like everything’s dulled around the edges.

And I don’t know how to fix it, so avoiding people seems like the next best thing.

“Absolutely not,” Cassie says, shaking her head. “You’re already in too deep. I’m pretty sure you signed a blood oath the last time we did tacos.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t.”

Cassie stops walking and throws me a look over her shoulder. “Stella. You promised. And I’m not above bribing you with truffle fries.”

I groan louder. “You’re a menace.”

“Truffle fries, Stella. You know I’ll do it.”

“Fine,” I mutter. “But if someone makes me pour a soy candle called Midnight Seduction, I’m out.”

She grins. “Deal. You won’t be disappointed.”

I’m still muttering to myself when we reach the car, but I don’t argue again.

Because she’s right.

I promised. I’m going to keep it, even if only to prove to myself that I can still show up.

The scent of sandalwood and bergamot hits me the second I step into Penn & Beech. Warm, cozy, and slightly overwhelming—like walking into a well-curated hug. Cassie’s practically vibrating with excitement as she leads the charge to the reserved room in the back.

Layla is already there, holding court with Hazel, who’s eyeing the wall of fragrance oils like she’s about to commit a felony.

Harper trails in behind me, all casual in her jeans and sneakers, but her eyes flick my way like she’s watching for cracks.

She’s not wrong to check. Cassie has been wanting to make candles here for a while but was having a hard time getting the small group room reserved.

When a spot opened up and they called her, she jumped on the reservation before confirming anyone else was free tonight.

“I made us a playlist,” Cassie says, pulling out her phone and cueing it up. “It’s girls night approved. Equal parts empowering and nostalgic. You’re all welcome.”

“God help us all,” I mutter, unzipping my jacket and hanging it over the back of my chair.

Hazel waves a little scent strip at me. “Okay, but tell me this one doesn’t scream Flirting with Bad Decisions at Midnight. ”

I lean in, sniff, and wince. “That’s Tequila and Regret .”

Layla cackles. “She’s not wrong.”

We’re given quick instructions by the candle bar staff—how to select fragrances, pour wax, pick holders, and pricing. Everyone dives in like it’s second nature.

I stare at the rows of jars and try not to overthink it. Which, of course, is impossible.

“What about Smells Like a Man You Shouldn’t Text ?” Hazel holds up two oils—leather and cedar.

Cassie’s eyes sparkle. “Only if it comes with a warning label.”

“Add pine,” Harper suggests. “And call it Emotional Damage .”

I laugh before I mean to. And that’s when it happens—the familiar warm feeling I haven’t let myself enjoy in over a week. Safe. Seen. Like maybe I’m not unraveling as fast as I thought.

We all take our time smelling the samples and marking down our preferences. Once we all settle on our scents, we head back to our table to wait for the next steps.

Layla lifts her chin at me. “So. Harper tells us you’ve been broody.”

I shoot my sister a look. She shrugs, unapologetic.

“Okay, that’s a strong word,” I hedge.

“You did bail on last week’s brunch with Ruth and ghosted the group chat for four days,” Layla says, with exactly zero judgment but maximum accuracy.

Cassie leans in, her candle jars already wicked and ready for the oil. “Spill. You and Climber Guy…”

I sigh, sliding my scent strip across the table. “I ended it.”

There’s a pause. The kind that makes space for someone to either soften or say something brave.

Layla speaks first. “Because…?”

“I don’t do relationships,” I say automatically. “You all know that.”

“Yeah, and I don’t do cardio, but I still got guilted into Peloton rides with Cole,” Cassie mutters. “Growth. It happens.”

I’m granted a reprieve when a staff member carries out a tray of hot melted wax, our oils, and a quick rundown of how to pour the wax. But I know these women, and none of them will let the subject drop.

I organize my oils, putting all my focus into the task at hand.

Apparently I’m an indecisive bitch who can’t even decide what scent profile I want, so I’m making two candles.

I group the ceder, amber, and smoked vanilla together, and then the bergamot, white tea, and fresh linen.

When I look up from my work, Cassie and Layla are both staring at me, waiting for me to continue. I take a deep breath.

“It was too good,” I say quietly. “ He was too good.”

Cassie tilts her head. “And that’s a bad thing… how?”

“It felt like I couldn’t breathe,” I admit. “Like one more perfect moment, and I was going to start believing in something I couldn’t guarantee.”

Harper stirs her wax and doesn’t say anything. But she’s listening. I can feel it.

Hazel lets out a slow breath. “I haven’t dated in a year because the last guy told me my ambition was intimidating. You’ve got a man who makes your niece giggle and looks at you like you’re art—and you ran?”

“Fast,” I say.

“Look,” I start, swirling one of my oils in slow circles. “I told him I didn’t do relationships. From the start. But then…”

“You caught feelings,” Cassie says gently, not unkind.

Hazel hums from the end of the table. “They have a way of sneaking up on you.”

I nod, lips tight. “It got too serious. Too fast.”

“You mean it felt real,” Layla says.

“Exactly.”

“And real is scary,” Harper adds quietly. “Even when it’s good.”

I meet her eyes across the table. She gets it more than anyone.

Layla shakes her head with a soft smile. “I spent years convincing myself Cole wasn’t for me just because the timing sucked. Then one day, I realized I was the only one getting in my way.”

Cassie nods. “Theo and I fought constantly at the beginning. I called him a grumpy, emotionally unavailable nightmare. Now I just call him mine.”

They’re not judging me. That’s the worst part.

They’re rooting for me.

Which makes the guilt tighten just a little more.

“I panicked,” I whisper. “And now I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You don’t fix it,” Layla says gently. “You just… try again.”