Page 29

DAILY DOSE OF CHAOS

STELLA

Three months.

That’s how long I’ve been here at HEA Inc.—with a desk that’s mine, a nameplate that still makes me do a double-take, and a work calendar that somehow fills up faster than I can keep up with.

I didn’t think I’d stay in Indianapolis this long. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t think I could. I told myself this stop in Indy would be temporary. A stepping stone. A placeholder until I figured out what I actually wanted.

Turns out? I wanted this.

The late nights laughing with clients. The high-stakes photo shoots that leave me buzzing.

The way Cassie still tries to plan my outfits like I’m one of her brides.

The way Layla checks in with a clipboard in one hand and matchmaker mischief in the other.

And the way Hazel always shows up when I need her most—with flour on her shirt and sweetness in her eyes.

Like right now.

She breezes into my office with four iced lattes in one hand and a bakery box balanced in the other. “Happy three months, boss babe.”

“I am not your boss.”

“Mmhm. No, but your vibes are right.” She grins, setting the box down on my desk with a flourish. “And I figured the best way to celebrate was caffeine and sugar—heavy on both.”

Cassie bursts in next, holding a tiny balloon bouquet and a sparkly card. “You didn’t think we were going to let your three-month anniversary pass without a little flair, did you?”

Layla trails behind, her heels clicking across the hardwood, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Tiny party, big moment. You earned this.”

I sit back in my chair, suddenly overwhelmed in the best way. “You all really didn’t have to.”

“But we wanted to,” Layla says, setting down a hibiscus-scented candle she just happened to have. “You’re ours now.”

The four of us gather around the little table in the corner of my office, an old coffee table I thrifted and painted myself, sharing pastries and updates from the last wild wedding shoot. The one with the parrot ring bearer. Yes, parrot. He flew off during the vows and pooped on the groom’s aunt.

Hazel wipes laughter tears from her eyes. “I swear, this is why I won’t bake wedding cakes. If a couple insists on releasing doves and parrots in the same ceremony, I’m charging extra.”

Cassie groans. “We are having legal draft a bird poop liability waiver.”

“I’ll photograph the clause,” I chime in. “Artfully.”

The laughter dies down just long enough for Layla to give Hazel a speculative look. “Speaking of love birds… you are still coming to that mixer Ruth’s hosting, right?”

Hazel looks like she wants to melt into her chair. “I haven’t dated in over a year.”

“So? You’ve got those pretty new highlights, and your chocolate chip muffins have magical powers. You’re halfway to goddess status.”

Hazel snorts. “Fine. I’ll go. But only if there’s wine. And no parrots.”

Cassie raises her coffee cup. “Deal.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” I say, giving Hazel a mock-stern look, “are you ever going to tell us about the tall mystery man who keeps ordering Americanos and flirting with you at the counter?”

Hazel stiffens. “He’s not flirting.”

Layla perks up. “Wait, what? Who’s this?”

Hazel waves her off, cheeks tinged with pink. “He’s just… a regular.”

Cassie leans forward, eyes sparkling. “Does he have a name?”

“I’m sure he does,” Hazel mutters. “But I didn’t ask. I’m too busy trying not to spill hot coffee all over myself.”

“He comes in once or twice a month,” I say, pretending to scroll through mental files. “Tall, kind eyes, glasses, and a voice that could sell overpriced wine over the phone. Hazel turns ten shades of flustered every time.”

“I do not.”

Cassie and Layla, in perfect unison, say: “You do.”

Hazel groans, sinking into her chair. “I’m never baking for you people again.”

Layla grins. “Too late. You’re already on the mixer invite list.”

Hazel throws her napkin. “I hate all of you.”

We all laugh, loud and easy, the kind of sound that lingers like the smell of fresh coffee and sugar in the air.

I sit back, watching them, warmth blooming under my ribs. These women are more than coworkers. They’re my best friends. My anchors. My daily dose of chaos and calm.

And somehow, I don’t feel like I’m passing through anymore.

I belong.

The door to my office bursts open without warning.

“Please tell me you’re not quitting,” Ruth says, hand to her heart like she’s genuinely preparing for heartbreak.

All conversation stops.

Hazel pauses mid-bite of her lemon bar. Cassie’s eyes go wide. Layla mutters, “Here we go.”

I blink. “What?”

“You’ve got that I'm about to drop a bombshell and chase adventure look.” Ruth narrows her eyes. “Are you? Dropping a bombshell?”

“I’m going on assignment,” I clarify, slowly. “Not disappearing.”

Ruth raises a suspicious brow. “Where?”

“Upstate,” I say, lips curving. “A luxury mountain lodge. Modern Exposure tapped me for a feature on boutique resorts that offer interesting activities. Zip lines and rock climbing, foggy mornings, panoramic views, the whole deal.”

Ruth lets out a relieved breath.

“And,” I add, “Luke’s coming with me.”

Cassie gasps like it’s her own honeymoon. Hazel beams. Layla fist pumps.

Ruth clasps her hands together like she’s officiating a ceremony. “Thank God. You scared me.”

“Me?” I laugh. “You stormed in here like a reality TV twist.”

“I am the twist,” she says, smoothing her blazer like she just earned a standing ovation. “Just remember who brought you two lovebirds back together.”

“I remember,” I say softly.

She winks. “Then pack something warm and something spicy. Love always looks good in silk, even in the mountains.”

And just like that, Ruth turns on her heel and sweeps back out, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t forget to label your snacks in the communal fridge!”

The key slides into the lock like it’s been mine forever.

Technically, Luke gave it to me last week. Along with a toothbrush that somehow already has its own spot in the cup beside his. A drawer that turned into half the closet. A joke about how I bought a house and then basically moved in with him.

He wasn’t wrong.

I step inside and toe off my boots, leaving them next to his beat-up sneakers by the door. The apartment smells like him—cedar and clean laundry and whatever expensive aftershave Alex must have bullied him into buying.

I’m starving, so I set my bag on the counter and pull up the Thai place we like. I order enough for both of us, because even though he’s not home yet, I know he will be soon.

And I like taking care of him.

The TV is on, playing reruns of The Office because I like the background noise.

I curl up on his couch with my laptop, the soft glow of the screen casting light on the framed photo he snuck into the bookshelf—a candid of me and Lilly on her birthday last month, frosting on both our cheeks, both of us laughing like we had no idea someone was watching.

Ten minutes later, the lock clicks.

Luke steps in, hair wind-tousled, eyes lighting up when he sees me already there. “You beat me.”

“Only by a little,” I say, standing. “Dinner’s on the way.”

He drops his bag near the door and crosses the room in four long strides. His hands cup my face. “I missed you today.”

I grin. “It’s been, like, ten hours.”

“Too long.”

He kisses me. Slow and sweet. Then less sweet. His hands slip to my waist, walking me backwards, pressing me against the door, and I forget all about pad Thai and egg rolls.

“You know,” he murmurs against my mouth. “You bought a house, but I’m pretty sure you live here.”

“I love my house,” I say, breathless. “But you and I both know I can’t exactly have you overnight too often. Lilly’s getting nosy.”

“She already thinks I’m her bonus uncle.”

“You are her bonus uncle.”

He laughs, the kind that rumbles in his chest and vibrates through me. “You’re really not going anywhere, are you?”

I shake my head. “Not this time.”

He kisses me again, harder this time, and it’s getting to that breathless, hot place where I’m seconds from dragging him to the bedroom.

A loud rhythmic thump against the door against my back.

The knock jerks us apart.

Luke groans, resting his forehead against mine. “That better be the food.”

“It is,” I whisper, laughing against his lips. “But don’t worry. You’re dessert.”

He exhales like a man who just hit the jackpot, then pulls away to grab the food.

And me?

I take a second, standing there in his apartment, in our in-between, and realize I’m exactly where I want to be.

The food’s long gone. Two empty takeout containers balanced on the coffee table like trophies. My legs are tangled with Luke’s on the couch, his arm slung low around my waist, fingers tracing idle patterns along my hip.

Some movie plays in the background, half-watched, half-forgotten.

My head rests against his chest, and I can feel every deep breath he takes. It’s rhythmic. Steady. Safe.

“You realize,” he murmurs, lips brushing the crown of my head, “we haven’t even left for this trip yet and I’m already looking forward to coming home.”

I smile, eyes still closed, breathing him in. “Me too.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, voice softer now. “Home’s different now.”

“Yeah,” I say, threading my fingers through his. “It’s not just a place anymore.”

I rest my head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding me.

“It’s you,” I whisper.

He exhales, long and full, pressing a kiss to my hair. “Then let’s go everywhere and always come back.”

And he means it.

Even now, even with my messy edges and tangled fears and the fact that I still flinch at the idea of forever, he stays.

He kisses me, slow and sure, like he has all the time in the world.

Because we do.

This time, we do.