Page 82 of Click of Fate

She gasps. “You were going to bail?”

“Not bail. Opt out. Quietly. Respectfully.”

Truth is, the thought of getting dressed, socializing, and pretending I’m fine sounds like the emotional equivalent of scaling Everest. I haven’t seen Luke in over a week, and I’m trying really hard not to call this what it is, depression. But it’s like everything’s dulled around the edges. And I don’t know how to fix it, so avoiding people seems like the next best thing.

“Absolutely not,” Cassie says, shaking her head. “You’re already in too deep. I’m pretty sure you signed a blood oath the last time we did tacos.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t.”

Cassie stops walking and throws me a look over her shoulder. “Stella. You promised. And I’m not above bribing you with truffle fries.”

I groan louder. “You’re a menace.”

“Truffle fries, Stella. You know I’ll do it.”

“Fine,” I mutter. “But if someone makes me pour a soy candle called Midnight Seduction, I’m out.”

She grins. “Deal. You won’t be disappointed.”

I’m still muttering to myself when we reach the car, but I don’t argue again.

Because she’s right.

I promised. I’m going to keep it, even if only to prove to myself that I can still show up.

The scent of sandalwood and bergamot hits me the second I step into Penn & Beech. Warm, cozy, and slightly overwhelming—like walking into a well-curated hug. Cassie’s practically vibrating with excitement as she leads the charge to the reserved room in the back.

Layla is already there, holding court with Hazel, who’s eyeing the wall of fragrance oils like she’s about to commit a felony. Harper trails in behind me, all casual in her jeans and sneakers, but her eyes flick my way like she’s watching for cracks. She’s not wrong to check. Cassie has been wanting to make candles here for a while but was having a hard time getting the small group room reserved. When a spot opened up and they called her, she jumped on the reservation before confirming anyone else was free tonight.

“I made us a playlist,” Cassie says, pulling out her phone and cueing it up. “It’s girls night approved. Equal parts empowering and nostalgic. You’re all welcome.”

“God help us all,” I mutter, unzipping my jacket and hanging it over the back of my chair.

Hazel waves a little scent strip at me. “Okay, but tell me this one doesn’t screamFlirting with Bad Decisions at Midnight.”

I lean in, sniff, and wince. “That’sTequila and Regret.”

Layla cackles. “She’s not wrong.”

We’re given quick instructions by the candle bar staff—how to select fragrances, pour wax, pick holders, and pricing. Everyone dives in like it’s second nature.

I stare at the rows of jars and try not to overthink it. Which, of course, is impossible.

“What aboutSmells Like a Man You Shouldn’t Text?” Hazel holds up two oils—leather and cedar.

Cassie’s eyes sparkle. “Only if it comes with a warning label.”

“Add pine,” Harper suggests. “And call itEmotional Damage.”

I laugh before I mean to. And that’s when it happens—the familiar warm feeling I haven’t let myself enjoy in over a week. Safe. Seen. Like maybe I’m not unraveling as fast as I thought.

We all take our time smelling the samples and marking down our preferences. Once we all settle on our scents, we head back to our table to wait for the next steps.

Layla lifts her chin at me. “So. Harper tells us you’ve been broody.”

I shoot my sister a look. She shrugs, unapologetic.

“Okay, that’s a strong word,” I hedge.

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