Page 37 of Click of Fate

“I told myself if I showed up and you weren’t here, it was just a night out. If you were, maybe it meant something.” Her voice is steady, but something shifts when she says it.

“And?” I ask, my voice a gruff whisper.

“And here you are.” Her reply isn’t loud. Isn’t dramatic. Just enough.

She says it like its nothing. Like she’s not cracking open the door just a little to see what I’ll do with it. But I hear it.

She walked away from the dance floor like she had no interest in anything beyond that moment.

And now she’s here, in the same bar where we met. With no plan.

Just… here.

Maybe she’s not ready to stop running. But she came back to the first place we collided.

Maybe that means something, too.

“So… is the Professor Meatball buying drinks tonight, or what?”

I blink. Then smile.

Yeah. I’m screwed.

I don’t know what surprises me more, that she’s here… or that she came looking for me.

Stella’s sitting beside me at the bar like she didn’t just walk out of my arms only just hours ago. Her thigh is flush against mine. Her gaze flicks between me and her drink, like it’s a toss-up which one she wants more.

She’s only had one beer, and I never had that third. No, no foggy beer brain here. I’ve downed two waters. She hasn’t said much. She really doesn’t need to.

There’s something different about this version of her. As if she’s wearing less armor. She’s still sharp around the edges, but she’s not using her mouth as a weapon tonight.

She’s using her eyes, though.

They land on me—slow and deliberate—like she’s searching for something. Like she’s testing a theory she’s too stubborn to say out loud.

And I can’t help it…I lean in.

“Tell me this wasn’t just coincidence.”

She doesn’t look away. Her lips part, and for a second, I think she might make a joke to slide out from under the weight of it.

But she doesn’t. She holds my gaze.

“I wanted to go home with you.”

It’s a confession. It’s a full truth. It feels like the most honest thing she’s said all night.

And it’s enough.

I shift, just slightly, letting my hand brush against her bare leg. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move.

But I catch the way her breath skips.

My voice drops. “Tell me to back off, Stella, and I will.”

Her eyes find mine. Steady. Heated.

“Don’t,” she says.

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