Page 57 of Click of Fate

The kiddie class runs smooth, despite the weight pressing on my chest the whole time.

Lilly nails her balance drills, and when she scampers up the wall, she’s all wide eyes and fearless grins. She reminds me of Stella—strong and bright and stubborn in the best kind of way. She is, by far, one of the top climbers in this class. She’ll be ready to move to the next level soon.

I help her unclip from the belay rope and give her a fist bump. “Nice work, kiddo.”

She beams. “I did the superhero pose, did you see?”

I smile. “Sure did. You might’ve just out-climbed everyone in the class.”

Her giggle trails off as she runs toward the exit where Stella’s waiting, arms crossed, camera bag slung over her shoulder. She’s watching, like she never really stopped, even when she pretended she wasn’t.

I clean up gear faster than usual. I can’t let her walk out without saying something.

As Lilly runs ahead toward the front doors, Stella lingers. Just enough for me to catch up.

“Stella.”

She turns, slow. Controlled. Her face unreadable.

I stop a few feet from her, hands loose at my sides. “Look, I know today wasn’t exactly”—I pause—“ideal.”

Her mouth twitches like she wants to tell me that’s the understatement of the year, but she doesn’t.

I press on. “I want to explain. Really explain. Not standing here. Not rushed. No surprises.”

She studies me for a beat. “You’re talking about dinner.”

“Yeah. Me. You. A conversation. With food.”

“Not the Trading Post.”

“God, no,” I say with a half-smile. “Somewhere we can actually hear each other talk.”

She hesitates. And for a second, I think she’s going to say no.

But then she nods. Just once.

“Alright. But I’m not promising I’ll believe whatever you say.”

“Fair enough.” I take a step back to give her space to walk away. “Seven work?”

She gives a quick shrug that somehow feels more like a yes than anything else.

And then she’s gone. But this time, she’s not running.

She’s walking. Measured. Controlled.

And for the first time all day, I let myself breathe.

I inhale deep, force it down, and walk toward my office but with a practiced smile and a clipboard in hand so no one can tell I’m not focused.

My head’s somewhere else entirely.

Because whatever this thing with Stella is—or could be—I’m not ready to let it go.

Not without trying.

Not without a fight.

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