STELLA
The following afternoon, Stella sprawled on her bed, making a list of all the herbs she wanted to have in hand for the final magic challenge.
A light knock on her bedroom door startled her. She looked up to find her father leaning against the doorframe.
“Arden Teripin is in the sunroom again,” her father said. “Is this going to be a regular thing?”
Stella didn’t move. She should have been prepared for Arden to show up, but when he wasn’t there to greet her at the end of the memory challenge, it had solidified where she stood with him.
When she’d heard someone at the front door, a part of her had hoped it was Teddy. He had no reason to come looking for her, but after her conversation with her mother, she couldn’t get him off her mind.
“Stella?” Rainer frowned, a deep crease forming in his brow. “I can send him away.”
“No, it’s not that. He’s just not who I was expecting.” She met her father’s gaze. “I’m sorry I took your spot last night.”
He smiled, and the crease in his brow softened. “That’s okay. You needed your mom. I’m happy you talked to her. She’s been missingyou and I think you’ve been missing her too, even if you’re too stubborn to say so.”
“I didn’t mean to kick you out of your bed, though.”
“It was fine. I just slept in Aunt Clara’s old room. That room has the best morning sun, anyway.”
Her parents were so opposite, and yet somehow so well-suited to each other. Her mother’s grumpiness in the mornings and her father’s energy. Her father’s neatness and her mother’s mess. Her mother’s emotional nature and her father’s steadiness.
For so long, she’d admired the way they fit together like puzzle pieces. Now she understood how lovely it could be to have someone to balance her out.
“What’s on your mind, Little Star?” Her father cocked his head to the side. “Who were you expecting?”
Her mouth went dry. “No one.” Stella swallowed hard and looked toward the bedroom doorway. “I don’t know what to say to Arden.”
Her father’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m happy to ask him to leave?—”
Stella laughed. “No. I mean—” She meant she’d already made peace with him in her head and telling him felt redundant.“I mean that I don’t think Arden is who I want to tell all my stories to.”
“You were hoping it was Teddy,” Rainer said.
Stella’s cheeks heated, and she nodded. She sat up, smoothing her dress over her legs. “How did you get so good at loving Mama?”
Rainer walked to the bed and sat down beside her. “Practice. It took a long time for me to learn how to hold your mother tight enough that she could grow, but not so tight that I smothered her. To give her room to wander, but to make certain she knew I’d never truly let her go. It took years to even understand where her soul ends and mine begins. It took a lot of practice to figure out that balance, but it’s possible.” Her father paused. “Is he the one you want to tell all your stories to?”
When she didn’t say anything, her father squeezed her hand. “You’ve had all this time to be just you—to grow into yourself,” he continued. “So now you’re challenged with trying to figure out where the edges of Teddy’s heart are and to try to learn that territorytogether. That’s the joy and the terror—to learn that softness—to learn how badly you can hurt someone else even without meaning to. And Stell-bell—” He smiled and the crease in his brow disappeared. “It’s okay for no man to ever be good enough.”
Stella laughed. “Papa.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “I have to say it, okay? I’m trying not to be that father who thinks no one is good enough for his baby, but just know this.” He pulled back so he could look her in the eye as he spoke. “I’ll never think a man is good enough for you unlessyoudo, Little Star.”
Stella swallowed hard. “I know.”
“Well then. I’ll leave you to it.” Rainer kissed her cheek and left her to gather her courage.
Stella rose from the edge of the bed, checked her hair in the mirror, and smoothed her dress. Normally she would have changed into a more elegant gown, or made sure her hair was styled more neatly for Arden, but she was done trying to convince him she belonged in his world. The fact that she’d ever felt that way to begin with should have been a sign that Arden didn’t make her feel at home. She couldn’t be bothered to pretend anymore.
She descended the stairs slowly with a sense of grief creeping over her, like she had already watched her dream die and was now going to speak next to its funeral pyre.
Arden stood when she walked into the sunroom. The afternoon light made the embroidery on his tunic look too bright, almost garish, and out of place in the cozy room. He thrust a bouquet of pink roses toward her.
“Thank you,” she said, setting them on a side table and urging him to sit down beside her on the couch.
Arden studied her like he was trying to figure out what was different. Could he see the newfound weight she’d taken on?
