Page 57 of The Mirage Guild

Luca was already there, setting up his camera against the urban backdrop. The historic brownstones and leafy streets of Gramercy Park offered a quintessentially New York scene—a blend of timeless charm and modern dynamism.

“Hey, Izzy!” Luca greeted, his camera slung around his neck. “You look sharp. Ready to capture some headshots that’ll wow your clients?”

I nodded, feeling a surge of excitement mixed with a touch of nerves. “Definitely. Let’s do this.”

Luca was a natural behind the lens, guiding me with ease. “Let’s start with some shots right here on the stoop,” he suggested. “The brownstone makes for a classic New York backdrop.”

I perched on the edge of the stoop, trying to appear relaxed yet poised. Luca clicked away, occasionally asking me to change my pose or look in a different direction. “Think about your business, your goals,” he advised. “Let that ambition shine in your eyes.”

As we moved through the shoot, Luca’s easy banter helped me loosen up. We captured a variety of shots—some with me looking directly at the camera, others more candid, as I gazed down the street or laughed at a joke he made.

“Perfect, Izzy,” Luca said, reviewing a few shots on his camera. “These are going to be great for your website. You’re embodying that confident, savvy entrepreneur vibe perfectly.”

Standing there on that stoop, amidst the heartbeat of the city, I felt a deep sense of belonging and purpose. This was where I was meant to be, building something of my own in the city that had always been my home. For the first time in forever, I was starting to feel hopeful about the future, believing that everything was unfolding exactly how it should be.

What do I do when the person criticizing my place in life is myself? How do I come to terms with the fact that it’s been my own self holding me to the ridiculous standards of others? How do I untangle my own expectations for myself and what I think other people expect of me?

The click of the camera shutter zapped away each realization. I wanted to free myself of the stress of playing catch-up. When I looked back at how I’d spent the last decade of my life, I didn’t actually have any regrets. I wouldn’t change anything.

I only wish I could’ve paused time so that, when I was ready, I could pick back up where everyone else had left off. But plenty of people, women, had been in my position before. This wasn’t new. Thirty-five wasn’t a freaking death sentence for everything else I wanted to check off my list. I just needed to start believing that.

As we adjusted for the last few shots, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves about everything coming together. “Thanks, Luca. I’m really looking forward to seeing the final shots,” I said, hoping my appreciation shone through despite the whirlwind of emotions about the upcoming event.

“You’ve got this, Izzy. And hey, isn’t your first big event under the WanderLand banner happening soon? You feeling ready for it?” Luca asked, packing away his camera gear.

I paused, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. This week marked the official launch of WanderLand with an event that felt more personal than I had anticipated. Not only was it my debut as an independent event planner, but it was also a gathering for a group my mom was deeply involved with—let’s call it the Women’s Leadership Circle. It was an influential network of women who led various boards across the city, and they were the exact clientele I dreamed of impressing.

It didn’t exactly soothe my nerves knowing my mom had specifically requested Max to helm the wine and cheese segment of the evening. Max, with his effortless charm and deep knowledge of wine, was perfect for the event’s wine and cheese theme. But our recent history, the carefully maintained distance since he’d set those boundaries, made the idea of working closely with him again both daunting and strangely exhilarating.

“Yeah, it’s coming up in just a couple of days,” I responded, forcing a smile as Luca looked on. “Just finalizing some last-minute details tonight. Should be . . . interesting.” My voice trailed off, hinting at the unspoken emotions tied to the event but not delving too deep. Luca nodded, understandingly, offering a supportive smile as we wrapped up the session.

Back inside the house, the quiet hum of the city outside my window became the soundtrack to my afternoon. I had a mountain of logistics to work out today, and I knew that a good bottle of wine would do the trick. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I remembered the last time I was down in the wine cellar with Max.

Descending the stairs, the cool, earthy scent of the cellar enveloped me. Rows of meticulously arranged bottles lined the walls, each a testament to my family’s love for fine wine. My fingers trailed over the labels, and I selected a bottle of Pinot Noir, one of my favorites. As I held the bottle, a blush crept up my cheeks, recalling the stolen moments with Max in this very room. It all seemed so daring, so unlike me, yet so undeniably thrilling.

Returning upstairs, I uncorked the bottle and poured myself a glass. The rich aroma of the wine filled the air, bringing a sense of comfort. I took a sip, letting the flavors dance on my tongue as I contemplated my next steps.

I settled at the dining room table, laptop open, and took a deep breath. It was time to make things official. I logged into the website for the Department of State and began the process of opening my first business bank account for WanderLand. The clicking of the keys felt almost ceremonial, each stroke a step closer to a dream realized.

I clicked over to my inbox and a tab I still had open made me pause. The invitation I’d created for Max’s wine event stared back at me and it made the flutters in my stomach start all over again. Working on that with him had been so easy. So effortless. Even when I’d royally fucked up with the wine selections, Max had taken it in stride and walked me through his passion again. He’d welcomed me into his world with ease.

Excitement tinged with a bit of apprehension bubbled within me at the thought of collaborating with Max later this week. Our schedules at the Mirage Guild had grown increasingly hectic, transforming our interactions into fleeting moments of acknowledgment as we passed each other by. The success of the events we had orchestrated together leading up to the grand opening had not only bolstered the club’s profile but had also ignited a surge in membership, culminating in an ever-growing waitlist. This newfound popularity meant our paths rarely crossed in more than a professional capacity, yet the prospect of working closely with him again stirred something within me that I couldn’t quite ignore.

Was it really that ridiculous to want someone like Max? And even more absurd to think he might want me too? The idea of us, together, seemed like a leap into the unknown, yet it was a leap my heart yearned to take. But there were so many uncertainties, so many “what ifs.” The age difference, our different backgrounds, the fear of what others might think . . .

There was a connection between us I couldn’t deny, a pull that went beyond the physical. It was scary, but it was real. Maybe, just maybe, it was worth exploring.

The thought of him brought a mix of emotions. There was an undeniable pull toward him, a connection that went beyond the physical. But then, there was the fear—the fear of what it meant to truly open up to someone, to let them see the real me, with all my uncertainties and insecurities.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the doubts. This was my life, and I had to start living it on my terms, without the constraints of societal expectations or self-imposed limitations.

Returning to my laptop, I messaged the web designer, approving a couple of layouts from the wireframes they’d sent. Each decision felt empowering, a step toward carving out my own path. I was creating something uniquely mine, a reflection of all the experiences, the journeys, and the dreams that had shaped me.

With a deep breath, I sent off the final approvals and closed my laptop. The evening stretched before me, a blank canvas for my thoughts and reflections. I sipped my wine, the rich flavor a comforting companion as I mulled over my feelings.

I picked up my phone, my finger hovering over Max’s contact. I wanted to tell him about the business, about the steps I was taking toward my dreams. But more than that, I wanted to tell him about everything swirling in my brain about us, about the longing I felt every time I thought of him.

But I hesitated, the fear of vulnerability holding me back. I set the phone down, deciding tonight was not the night for such confessions. Tonight, I would focus on WanderLand, on the future I was building. But sooner or later, I would have to face the feelings I had for Max. And when that time came, I hoped I’d be ready.

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