Page 84 of Click of Fate

We fall into a rhythm after that, pouring wax and blending oils. The air smells like a bizarre, oddly pleasant mix of vanilla, citrus, and burnt wood. Hazel is first to start labeling.

“Sugar & Steam,” she says, sliding a perfectly neat label onto her jar. “For the candle that smells like my café and poor life choices.”

Cassie giggles, her fingers sticky with wax. “Mine’s calledLove, Actually. Because I’m a sucker for fictional British men and grumpy CEOs.”

Layla grins, holding hers up. “Table for Two. Champagne, red currant, and a dash of mahogany. Because matchmakers need a signature scent.”

Harper smirks, writing slowly on her label. “Catch My Breath. It’s lavender, sea salt, and palo santo. Smells like calm. Or at least what I imagine calm feels like.”

Everyone turns to me.

“Well?” Cassie says. “What did you name yours?”

I hesitate. My thumb traces the rim of the jar. One candle smells like bergamot and linen—clean, easy, forgettable. The other one…

Cedarwood. Amber. Smoked vanilla.

I swallow and clear my throat.

“This one’s calledNight Climb.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Hazel breaks it with a soft smile. “That sounds like a man.”

Layla raises a brow. “A tall one with good arms and good intentions?”

Cassie practically squeals. “Oh, my God. That smells like Luke?”

I shake my head. “No, it doesn’t.”

“It totally does,” Harper says.

I glare at them, but there’s no fire in it. Just heat rising behind my eyes. I blink it away.

Cassie reaches for my hand. “Stella. You didn’t end it because it was bad. You ended it because it felt good. And that’s not a flaw—it’s a fear.”

“Yeah,” Layla adds, squeezing my other hand. “But you don’t have to stay afraid.”

My throat tightens, and for the first time in days, I let the warmth of these women sink in. Their laughter. Their love. Their belief in something lasting.

In someone like me.

I nod, softly. “Okay. Maybe I don’t.”

And then Cassie nudges me. “Your other candle gonna smell like internal conflict and wasted potential?”

I burst out laughing. “Shut up.”

And for the first time in a long time, I believe it’s possible to want more.

To be more.

To stay.

We ate dinner after we made our candles, and now, a couple hours later, Harper and I head home.

The quiet in Harper’s car is companionable… until it isn’t.

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