Page 25 of Click of Fate

“You know, you can’t pretend you don’t know where you can find me now. You know where I live and where I work.”

“Noted,” she replies flatly.

“Plus, I think your niece will make a fantastic climber. Guess that means we’ll be seeing more of each other,” I add.

She exhales, then says, “Not really. Anyway, Finn Cooper, the writer of this piece, will be in touch for the full interview.”

“Cool. But you still have to send me the final shots, right?”

She pauses, her hand on the door, narrowing her gaze on me.

“I could just send them to your marketing manager.”

But I’ve got her. My confidence knows no bounds with this woman. “You could. But you won’t.”

She stares at me for a moment, then lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. But I’m only sending them because it’s my job.”

"Of course. Strictly business." I fight back a smirk and try to be professional.

Rolling her eyes, she pushes the door open and steps out into the late afternoon.

I watch her go, and I can’t help but feel like I’ve achieved something great… because she’s not running quite as fast this time.

The sun has dipped low by the time I leave the gym, but I’m not ready to head home. Not with my mind still full of Stella. Or maybe it’s just full, period. The photo shoot, the surprise reunion, the tiny climber class, grandma meddling—it was a lot today. I need food. And a reset.

The Trading Post is already buzzing when I walk in, warm light spilling through the windows, the hum of conversation and low 90s rock wrapping around me like a familiar hoodie. It feels good here. Familiar, but new in the best way. Indianapolis isn’t Chicago, but lately, I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing.

There is something quieter about Indy. Less noise, less pressure to keep up with everyone else’s grind. Maybe it is the space, or the way strangers actually make eye contact when they pass you on the street. I’d come here for the business, for the next phase of Squeaky Bum, but somehow, I’d found a rhythm that felt… solid. Like maybe I could belong here, too.

Alex is behind the bar, already watching me with that all-knowing, shit-eating grin.

I sent him and Wade a quick message this afternoon about seeing Stella at the gym, so I’m not surprised he’s ready to pounce on the topic.

He shakes his head and slides a glass of house whiskey across the bar the moment I sit down.

“Alright, I knew you weren’t a one-night stand guy, so you finally have a proper one and this happens?”

I groan and lean against the barstool, shrugging like it’s nothing.

“Come on. A one-night stand who shows up three weeks later…in your gym? In your space? It’s like fate is trying to punk you.”

I take a slow sip of the drink, letting the heat settle before answering. “It’s not a big deal.” Lies. Itisa big fucking deal.

He raises an eyebrow, not buying it for a second.

“Dude. I’ve known you for more than a decade. You don’t do casual. You date. You plan. You build entire futures in your head by the second date.”

I shoot him a look, but it doesn’t land. He’s not wrong. I’ve had some hookups here and there, even a one-night stand a couple years back. After experiencing both relationships and hookups, I’ve realized that I’m clearly a relationship guy.

Casual never really worked for me. I don’t like surface-level connections. I’ve always preferred to know the person I’m with. What makes them tick. What they’re afraid of. What makes them laugh so hard they snort.

And maybe that’s what threw me. With Stella… I didn’t get the time to do any of that. One night, and she was gone. No awkwardness, no follow-up, just… gone. Like I imagined it.

Until today.

“I wasn’t expecting to see her again, that’s all,” I tell him honestly.

“And yet, here you are. Spiraling.”

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