10

The country club was too polished, too quiet, and way too white for Stella's mood—but it was better than being stuck at the house while everyone nursed hangovers or avoided each other.

She sipped a mimosa under a striped umbrella, sunglasses perched on her nose as she watched an older couple argue over a golf score in the distance. Bougie drama. The only kind of entertain around here.

Her hair was still beach-wavy from the morning, and she hadn't bothered with makeup, but still no one seemed to care.

That is, until she felt someone approaching. The distinct sound of heels on stone. Expensive heels.

"Stella Valentine," a honeyed voice called out with such confidence, Stella almost thought she was in trouble.

Stella turned, setting her glass down. The woman was tall, statuesque, with pale blond hair pulled into perfect twists. Pearls, of course. A pressed blue dress, Chanel flats. The whole vibe screamed old money.

"Yes, that's me," Stella replied with a calm smile, standing to greet her.

"I'm Clara Hampton, darling. Your mother and I serve on the Historic Preservation Board together. I've simply heard the world about you." She leaned in to kiss Stella's cheek, air on both sides, then gracefully lowered herself into the chair across from her.

"It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Hampton," Stella said, her tone smooth. "My mom speaks very highly of you."

Clara waved a hand, pleased. "Please—call me Clara. Mrs. Hampton sounds like I'm about to read from a will. And I already like you. You're poised, direct—rare traits these days."

Stella gave a gracious smile, folding her hands in her lap. "Thank you. That means a lot."

Clara leaned in ever so slightly. "I won't beat around the bush. I have a son—Oliver. Just returned from Florence. Speaks fluent Italian, knows his wine from his water, and he's—" she lowered her voice conspiratorially "—tall."

Stella laughed softly. "Well, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued."

"Oh, darling, you're divine," Clara said with a satisfied little sigh. "You've got the kind of presence you can't teach. Just enough mystery to keep people watching."

Just then, a voice came from behind them. "Mother. Really?"

Stella turned—and there he was.

Oliver Hampton was tall, broad-shouldered, with golden hair that flopped just a bit over his forehead, and an ease in his posture that said he'd never rushed for anything in his life. He had a quiet sort of handsomeness, polished but unbothered.

"She means well," he said, sliding into the seat beside Stella. "Though she treats matchmaking like it's a full-time sport."

"I treat everything like a sport," Clara said breezily as she rose from her chair. "Stella, always nice seeing you darling. I'm leaving you two in capable hands. And remember—Clara, not Mrs. Hampton."

Once she was gone, Oliver gave her a long-suffering smile. "She's been planning this since January."

"She makes an impression," Stella said with a polite laugh.

"She is an impression," he corrected, taking a sip from his espresso. "But, for what it's worth, I'm not as intense."

"I can tell," she said. "You've only been here five minutes and haven't judged my posture or asked for my star chart."

He grinned, relaxing. "I'll save the star chart for the second conversation."

They slipped into an easy rhythm—talking about art, music, and ridiculous country club traditions. He was charming, clever, and easy to talk to. The kind of guy her mom would gush over. The kind of guy who said things like "let's go to Capri sometime" and might actually mean it.

But still—Stella felt it. A thread of distance. Of comparison. Of someone else's name echoing in her thoughts.

She pushed it aside. Not everything had to be heavy. Not everything had to be him. For now, this was simple. Charming. Safe.

And for just one afternoon, Stella let herself lean into it.

"Okay, so give me the rundown—everything." Sarah flopped backward onto her bed, legs draped over the edge, eyes locked on Stella like she was about to spill the biggest secret of the summer.

Stella sat cross-legged near the headboard, scrolling through her texts before setting her phone down with a sigh. "His name's Oliver Hampton. His mom cornered me at the club—full pearls and pedigree—and basically threw him at me."

Sarah propped herself up on her elbows. "Clara Hampton? Oh my god. She's like... country club royalty. Her house has columns."

Stella laughed. "Yeah, and she insisted I call her Clara. Said Mrs. Hampton sounds like she's reading from a will."

"That is so her."

"She was sweet, in that terrifying old-money way."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Whatever. What about him? Is he cute? Wait—no, don't answer that. I already know the answer."

Stella smirked. "Okay, yeah. He's cute."

"Like... cute cute? Or, like, guy-you-secretly-crush-on cute?"

Stella hesitated. "He's... golden retriever cute. Polished. Kind. Smart. Definitely not dangerous cute—like, it's a different league. Oliver's the guy your mom brags about at dinner parties."

Sarah groaned and buried her face in a pillow. "Ugh. Oliver Hampton has been hot since ninth grade. I used to stalk his Instagram in like... every class."

Stella laughed. "Wait, seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. He was the one who wore suits to junior prom when everyone else looked like sloppy. You're living my high school fantasy."

Stella fell back onto the pillows, covering her face dramatically. "I'm not! It was just coffee. He told me about studying in Florence and how he broke his phone on a Vespa. That was it."

Sarah shot her a look. "That was it? Babe, that sounds like the intro to a Netflix rom-com."

Stella grinned. "He's nice. It felt easy, you know? Like I didn't have to try so hard."

Sarah tilted her head, more thoughtful now. "You sounded... calm just now. Like, genuinely calm. Not like how you talk when you're overthinking everything."

Stella paused.

Sarah leaned in, her voice quieter. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Stella didn't answer right away. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the comforter. "Maybe. I don't know." She knew she couldn't tell Sarah the truth, there was no easy way to put it. She was crushing on her best-friends asshole older brother.

Sarah gave her a look, but didn't push. "Well... whoever's got your head spinning better get it together, because Oliver Hampton is like... endgame material."

Stella rolled her eyes. "Says the girl who used to call him 'Ollie with the jawline.'"

"Yeah, and I stand by it." Sarah smirked. "But seriously, if you don't want him, I'm stealing him. I've got no shame."

Stella grabbed a pillow and smacked her.