25

The house was peacefully quiet that afternoon.

Sarah and Topper had left after finally waking up, Kelce had wandered off with some excuse about food, and Rafe had given Stella a look before heading out — one of those Are we okay? kind of looks she couldn't stop thinking about even now.

She'd just pulled her hair into a claw clip and was half-focused on some reading when the doorbell rang.

She padded to the front door, not expecting anyone — and froze the moment she saw him through the glass.

Oliver.

In a fitted blue button-down, holding two coffees like he'd walked out of some prep school catalog.

Stella hesitated, then opened the door slowly.

"Hey," he said, all charm and polish. "Thought I'd bring you something warm. Figured you might need it after last night."

She blinked. "How did you...?"

"Your mom told me you were home."

Of course she did.

Reluctantly, Stella stepped aside. "Right. Um... come in."

He handed her one of the cups and followed her into the living room, settling onto the couch like he belonged there.

She sat at the far end, already on edge.

"I wanted to check in," Oliver began. "I know things got a little... tense last night. I probably shouldn't have been so overbearing."

Stella nodded slowly, sipping the coffee just to do something.

"But," he continued, shifting slightly to face her more directly, "I also wanted to talk to you about something a little more serious."

That caught her attention. "Okay..."

"I'm going into business with your dad."

She blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah," he said proudly. "He and my father have been discussing it for a while. Some property investments. Long-term stuff. He asked me to come on board and shadow him. I start next week."

Stella's stomach twisted.

"So... we'll be seeing more of each other," Oliver added, like it was some kind of reward.

She tried to keep her voice neutral. "That's... good for you, I guess."

"I think," he said carefully, "it would make sense for us to revisit where we stand. I know it's been casual, but with everything aligning—our families, the timing—it just feels right to take things to the next step."

Stella stared at him.

"I mean, we have history. And your parents have always liked me. You and I, we work. We make sense," he said, leaning in slightly. "And I think it's time we start taking this more seriously."

Her throat went dry.

She opened her mouth to say something—but nothing came out at first. Her heart was pounding in that all-too-familiar panic.

"Oliver," she finally said, "I'm... not in that place right now. I'm focused on school. And... I'm not really looking to be in something serious."

He didn't even flinch.

"That's just fear talking," he said smoothly. "You don't have to shut it down before it starts."

"I'm not shutting it down," she snapped, more sharply this time. "I'm being honest."

He leaned forward, still wearing that calm, steady expression that somehow made her feel more trapped. "You're overthinking this. We're already halfway there. You don't have to push me away to prove something."

"I'm not—"

"I'm not giving up on this just because you're scared."

That was it.

Her fingers clenched the coffee cup, knuckles white.

"Oliver," she said firmly, though her voice trembled, "I told you what I want. You not listening doesn't change that."

He blinked. Finally thrown off.

"You need to go," she said, standing up.

For a second, he looked like he might argue. But something in her expression must've shifted, because he finally stood as well, clearly frustrated but trying to hold onto his composure.

"I'll see you around," he muttered, moving toward the door.

And then he was gone.

Stella exhaled, her chest aching, pulse racing. She stood there frozen for a moment—tight, overwhelmed, like she couldn't even breathe right.

Then she pulled out her phone, not even thinking.

And texted Rafe. > are you free?> need someone to talk to

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

< Where are you?< I'm coming.

And for the first time since the door had opened, she finally let herself feel the tiniest bit okay.

The rumble of Rafe's truck was steady and low, a comforting hum under the weight of everything Stella was carrying. The sun was just starting to dip, painting the sky in soft orange and gold streaks as they drove along the backroads, away from the town, away from her house, away from him.

Stella sat curled up in the passenger seat, legs pulled close, arms wrapped around them. She stared out the window, chewing the inside of her cheek, debating how much to say.

Rafe hadn't spoken much since picking her up. Just a quick, "You good?" when she climbed in, and then silence. Not cold—just... waiting.

Finally, she broke it.

"He came to my house."

Rafe didn't respond, but his grip on the wheel tightened showed her he knew who she was talking about. She noticed.

"Brought coffee. Acted like nothing happened last night. Like I owed him some kind of conversation."

Still, nothing. Just the sound of tires on gravel and the soft music playing low on the radio.

Stella swallowed. "He told me he's going into business with my dad. Said we'd be seeing more of each other. And that we should... take things to the next level."

That got a reaction. Rafe's jaw flexed, sharp and tense, and his hand on the steering wheel visibly tightened. White-knuckle tight.

"He just... said it like it was some plan already set in motion," she continued, her voice smaller now. "Like he and my parents already decided, and I was just supposed to fall in line."

Rafe still didn't say anything. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, like if he looked away he'd snap.

Stella let out a shaky breath. "I told him no. Told him I wanted to focus on school. That I wasn't interested."

Rafe let out a low, bitter laugh—more of a breath than a sound. "Bet he took that well."

She shook her head. "He didn't. He wouldn't let it go. He said I was scared, that I was pushing him away for no reason."

Rafe finally spoke, his voice low, edged with barely contained anger. "Because he knows what's best for you, right?"

Stella looked over at him. His profile was sharp in the fading light—jaw clenched, brows furrowed, lips pressed tight. But it was the way his hand gripped the wheel that said the most.

He was pissed. Not performative or jealous or trying to win points.

He was pissed for her.

She looked back out the window, guilt creeping in.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't know who else to call."

Rafe shot her a glance—quick, but pointed. "You don't have to apologize for that."

"I just... I didn't want to be alone. And I didn't want to pretend I was fine when I wasn't."

His voice softened, just barely. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Something in her chest pulled tight. Not painfully. Just full. Heavy with all the things she wasn't used to letting herself feel.

They didn't say anything else for a while. Just the hum of the engine, the soft breeze coming through the open window, and the quiet, steady presence of Rafe beside her—protective, careful, and just angry enough to make her feel safe.

And for the first time that day, she didn't feel trapped.

She felt like she could breathe again.

The sun was dipping low on the horizon by the time Rafe turned off the road and pulled into a narrow gravel spot overlooking the ocean.

The water shimmered under the orange glow, soft waves lapping against the shore below. The windows were cracked just enough to let the salt air in. It smelled like dusk and summer and memory.

Neither of them moved to get out.

Stella curled her knees to her chest, staring out at the endless water. Rafe leaned back in the driver's seat, one hand draped casually on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. They hadn't said much since they parked. The silence wasn't awkward. Just... waiting.

Eventually, she spoke. Quiet.

"I've been trying to piece everything back together all day."

Rafe turned slightly toward her, brow furrowing.

"Last night," she clarified. Her voice was soft but heavy. "It's like these flashes. You and me. The party. Then waking up and just... feeling everything all at once."

He didn't interrupt. He didn't move. He just let her speak.

"I don't regret it," she added quickly. "I just—"

She shook her head, staring harder at the horizon.

"I feel guilty even asking about it. Like I should just move on. But my head's been spinning all day. Trying to figure out what it meant. If it meant anything."

Rafe exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes still locked on the sunset. His voice came low, almost too calm.

"It meant something to me."

That stopped her. Her heart gave a hard thump.

"I wasn't drunk," he said. "I knew what I was doing. I knew what we were doing."

She looked over at him, startled. "You weren't?"

He shook his head. "Buzzed, yeah. But not gone. Not like you were."

Her lips parted, guilt immediately washing over her. "Then why didn't you—"

"Because you wanted it," he said, glancing at her now, eyes steady. "And I wanted you. But I also knew if you woke up and regretted it, I wouldn't push."

He looked back at the ocean.

"I just hoped you wouldn't."

Stella's chest tightened.

"I don't," she said softly. "I don't regret it. I just... I didn't expect it to feel the way it does."

Rafe nodded once, slow. "Yeah. Me neither."

They sat there a minute longer. Just the two of them, the sky slowly deepening into lavender and gold, the ocean breathing quietly below.

Finally, Stella leaned her head against the window, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn't know who else to ask. Or talk to. It just... always comes back to you."

Rafe glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and something in his expression cracked open — not smug, not cocky. Just... open.

"I'm glad it does."

They didn't touch. They didn't move closer.

But something between them shifted.

Like the tide turning, slow and certain.

Whatever came next, it was no longer just a question of what happened last night.

It was what they were going to do now.

Together.

The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, leaving only streaks of gold and purple in its wake as Rafe pulled up outside Olivia's house per Stella's request. The engine rumbled quietly, headlights casting a faint glow across the driveway.

Stella shifted in her seat, glancing toward the porch light that had just flicked on. "I won't be long. I just forgot my sweater," she said, already reaching for the door handle.

Rafe didn't say anything right away — just nodded, his hand resting casually on the steering wheel. But as she pushed the door open, his voice stopped her.

"Stella."

She turned back slightly, eyebrows raised.

He was looking at her — not in that cocky, unreadable way he always did, but something softer. Like whatever he wanted to say had been sitting on the edge of his tongue since they left the ocean view.

She tilted her head. "Yeah?"

Rafe's fingers flexed once on the wheel. Then he reached over — slow, deliberate — and gently tugged at a strand of her hair that had gotten caught in her lip gloss. His thumb brushed her cheekbone as he did, a light, barely-there touch. But it sent a flutter down her spine anyway.

"There," he said quietly. "Got it."

Her breath caught. She didn't move. Neither did he.

They sat in the stillness, the truck warm, the air between them thick with something unspoken but undeniable. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't reckless. Just two people suspended in a moment that felt... easy. Natural.

Stella blinked up at him, heart tapping a little faster. "Thanks."

She started to turn away again — but Rafe leaned in just enough to stop her.

Not to kiss her.

Not fully.

His forehead brushed lightly against hers, their noses almost touching. Just a soft kiss on the cheek that made her eyes flutter closed on instinct. She could feel his breath, soft and warm.

"I'll wait here," he said, voice low. "Take your time."

She nodded, unable to form words.

Then she slipped out of the truck, heart racing, sweater long forgotten.