Page 25

We fall into a rhythm after that, pouring wax and blending oils. The air smells like a bizarre, oddly pleasant mix of vanilla, citrus, and burnt wood. Hazel is first to start labeling.

“ Sugar & Steam ,” she says, sliding a perfectly neat label onto her jar. “For the candle that smells like my café and poor life choices.”

Cassie giggles, her fingers sticky with wax. “Mine’s called Love, Actually . Because I’m a sucker for fictional British men and grumpy CEOs.”

Layla grins, holding hers up. “ Table for Two . Champagne, red currant, and a dash of mahogany. Because matchmakers need a signature scent.”

Harper smirks, writing slowly on her label. “ Catch My Breath . It’s lavender, sea salt, and palo santo. Smells like calm. Or at least what I imagine calm feels like.”

Everyone turns to me.

“Well?” Cassie says. “What did you name yours?”

I hesitate. My thumb traces the rim of the jar. One candle smells like bergamot and linen—clean, easy, forgettable. The other one…

Cedarwood. Amber. Smoked vanilla.

I swallow and clear my throat.

“This one’s called Night Climb .”

There’s a beat of silence.

Hazel breaks it with a soft smile. “That sounds like a man.”

Layla raises a brow. “A tall one with good arms and good intentions?”

Cassie practically squeals. “Oh, my God. That smells like Luke?”

I shake my head. “No, it doesn’t.”

“It totally does,” Harper says.

I glare at them, but there’s no fire in it. Just heat rising behind my eyes. I blink it away.

Cassie reaches for my hand. “Stella. You didn’t end it because it was bad. You ended it because it felt good. And that’s not a flaw—it’s a fear.”

“Yeah,” Layla adds, squeezing my other hand. “But you don’t have to stay afraid.”

My throat tightens, and for the first time in days, I let the warmth of these women sink in. Their laughter. Their love. Their belief in something lasting.

In someone like me.

I nod, softly. “Okay. Maybe I don’t.”

And then Cassie nudges me. “Your other candle gonna smell like internal conflict and wasted potential?”

I burst out laughing. “Shut up.”

And for the first time in a long time, I believe it’s possible to want more.

To be more.

To stay.

We ate dinner after we made our candles, and now, a couple hours later, Harper and I head home.

The quiet in Harper’s car is companionable… until it isn’t.

The buzz of candle wax and laughter still clings to my skin, but the weight of my conversation with the girls is starting to settle again.

Harper hasn’t said a word since we pulled out of the parking lot. She’s humming along with some acoustic indie song, her fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.

Too lightly.

She’s holding something back.

I steal a glance at her. “You okay?”

Her hum cuts off. “I’ve been trying to stay out of it.”

My stomach dips. “Oh.”

“But I can’t anymore,” she says, voice calm, measured. “You broke things off with Luke, and that’s your call. But if you’re doing it because you’re scared and not because it was actually wrong—then I think you’re making a mistake.”

I stare out the window. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it’s not. But neither is love. And honestly, Stell? You’re not the only one who got used to him being around.”

I glance over to her. “Lilly?”

“She misses him,” Harper says softly. “You should’ve seen her face when she let him in the other night. He listens to her. He gets her—and you.”

I press my lips together. “He’s… great. I know that.”

“Then why are you punishing both of you for it?”

Her voice isn’t angry. It’s tired. The kind of tired that comes from watching someone you love keep crashing into the same wall and refusing to look up.

“I panicked,” I admit, voice barely above a whisper. “It felt too big. Too fast. I didn’t want to mess it up.”

Harper sighs. “You’re not dad.”

That stings. Not because it’s harsh—but because it’s true.

“Just because he married every woman who looked at him sideways doesn’t mean you’re doomed to repeat it,” she continues.

“And Mom…well. She didn’t stop living after the divorce, but she stopped believing in real happiness.

Don’t do that, Stella. Don’t shut the door because you're scared of what’s on the other side. ”

I blink quickly, eyes burning. “You really think I’m doing that?”

Harper glances over at me, her voice gentler now. “Lilly already picked Luke for you. She told me, after that very first climbing class… ‘Aunt Stella’s gonna fall in love with Mr. Luke.’”

My chest tightens.

“She saw it before you did,” Harper adds. “And she wasn’t wrong.”

The silence returns, but it’s different now—weighted, meaningful.

“We’ve all picked you, Stella,” she finishes quietly. “Me, Lilly, Cassie, Layla… Luke. We’re all here. You’re the one who keeps running away.”

I can’t speak. Not yet. I just nod, blinking at the windshield, letting her words land.

And when we pull into the driveway, I don’t move right away.

Because maybe… it’s time I stop running.

By the time I’m curled up in bed, the house has gone quiet.

Harper ducked into her room after giving me a kiss on the forehead like I used to give her when we were kids. Maple’s tiny snores float up from next to me on the bed where she’s flopped onto her side, belly up, like she owns the place.

I’ll have to put her in her cage before I fall asleep, but I needed puppy snuggles.

The dim glow of the streetlight leaks in through the window blinds, painting soft stripes across the ceiling. I stare at them, my arms wrapped around my knees, the ache in my chest refusing to ease.

I keep replaying Harper’s words.

You’re the one who keeps running away.

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe I’ve gotten so good at running, I don’t even recognize when I’m doing it anymore.

Maple shifts, kicking in her sleep, and I reach down to stroke her soft, short fur. She leans into the touch immediately, as if even in dreams, she knows where she’s safe.

I envy that. Because right now, I don’t know where I feel safe.

Not in the past. Not in the future.

Not even inside my own heart.

I press my forehead to my knees. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I wanted to believe love wasn’t for me. That staying would only lead to breaking. But what if staying could also mean building?

Maple lets out a little huff and noses my hand again, blinking sleepy brown eyes up at me like she’s silently urging me not to give up.

Tears burn my eyes, and this time, I don’t blink them away.

I let them fall. Because maybe breaking down isn’t the worst thing. Maybe it’s the first step toward building something real.

I bury my face in Maple’s warm fur, whispering into the quiet.

“I don’t want to run anymore.” The words are soft, raw. A promise to myself.

And for the first time since Luke walked out my door, I believe I might actually keep it.