Chapter 24 - Stella
Stella
The first two nights of Sweeney Todd went perfectly.
The stage looked incredible. Costume design? Flawless. Makeup? Beyond what I could’ve dreamed.
Everyone poured their hearts into each number—and the standing ovations made it worth every sleepless night.
But after Friday’s show, Aster lost her voice. She’s sipping warm tea with honey, trying to rest as best she can. Meanwhile, the damn stage floor mechanism broke—the one that lets the students drop down.
I’ve been working tirelessly to get it up and running again.
My phone buzzes with notifications—the championship game is over. Virginia Bay won.
I fire off a quick text to Donovan.
Me: Congrats on your win, Coach. I can’t wait to see you so we can celebrate ??*party popper emoji*
Three hours and a minor engineering miracle later, the stage is finally fixed. Ansel walks into the auditorium—she came back to pick me up.
Mr. Lightheart steps out of his office and onto the stage to test the lever. It glides like butter.
“Thank you, Stella, for your hard work and dedication to this mechanism. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says, descending the steps to the front of the house.
“You’d have a broken lever,” I reply with a tired laugh.
He holds out a hand to Ansel. “Hello there. I’m Theo Lightheart.”
She takes his hand, but doesn’t shake it—just stares, mouth open like she wants to speak but has completely forgotten how.
“Theo, I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced you. This is Ansel—my roommate and best friend.”
He smiles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope to see you tomorrow.”
As we head out the doors and toward the car, Ansel grabs my arm and whisper-shouts, “What the actual fuck, Stella?! Why didn’t you tell me the theater daddy looks like a young Jeff Goldblum—slutty little glasses and all!”
I link arms with her as she continues gushing the whole walk. “Ansel, what about Colin?” I ask.
She smirks.
“Colin who?”
We go back to my house with the take-out food we get from Honey and Heat. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bed, eating, Ansel looks at me, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, and what sounds like an orgasm slipping through her mouth. “This is the best damn taco I have ever had.”
Ansel and I sit for hours, curled up on opposite sides of the bed, partially empty food containers sitting between us. She’s still reeling—fully unhinged—over how stupidly sexy Mr. Lightheart is.
“He’s like… if a tortured playwright and a hot literature professor had a love child and gave him perfect forearms,” she groans, tossing a pillow dramatically.
I snort into my drink. “You are so far gone.”
She ignores me, eyes glazed over in fantasy. “Stella. Stella. The way he said ‘mechanism’? I swear my ovaries did a tap number.”
I’m laughing too hard to speak.
Ansel fans herself. “Listen, I don’t need him to write me a sonnet. I just need him to pin me against the costume rack and whisper stage directions in my ear.”
I choke. “Ansel!”
She shrugs, unapologetic. “What? I want him to give me a standing ovation… in more ways than one.”
Right on cue, her phone buzzes. She glances at it, then groans, flopping backward against the pillow like she’s just been personally attacked.
“It’s Colin,” she mutters.
I raise an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. And what does Mr. Art History want?”
She holds the phone above her face, squinting at the message. “He said he had fun the other night and can’t wait to see me again.”
“And…?” I ask, already knowing what’s coming.
She sighs, the drama draining from her voice. “I don’t know, Stel. He’s nice. Sweet. Safe. But he doesn’t make me want to ruin my reputation in a prop closet.”
I laugh, tossing a popcorn kernel at her. “Then maybe he’s not your final curtain call.”
She groans again, dragging a pillow over her face. “Don’t make this poetic. I’m already spiraling.”
She peeks out from under the pillow. “Okay, but like… if I volunteer to help backstage tomorrow, is that desperate?”
“Yes,” I say flatly.
She lifts her chin. “What if I wear my sheer black blouse and bring cinnamon rolls?”
“Okay, that’s slutty and strategic.”
She grins, her spiral momentarily replaced by scheming. “He’s just so… refined. I bet even his moans have good grammar.”
I snort into my drink. “You’re disgusting. But I fully support this chaos.”
She smiles, already texting back Colin a polite but vague “Maybe sometime next week,” and then turns to me with a glint in her eye.
“Operation Curtain Call Seduction is officially in motion.”
We wake up early and head to the school, Ansel tagging along under the very transparent excuse of “wanting to help”—we both know she’s here to flirt with Mr. Lightheart.
I step onto the stage, eyes scanning every corner. It all looks perfect. I tilt my head, squinting, and then I see it—a section of the false building wall left half-painted. No idea how we missed it. Instead of spiraling, I head to the supply shop, grab the paint, and fix it myself.
By the time I’m wiping the last stroke clean, Ansel and Theo step out onto the stage. He’s holding a cup and hands it to me with a soft smile.
“Prickly pear latte,” he says. “Figured you could use it.”
I take a long, slow sip, letting the warmth hit my soul.
“Stella, you did phenomenal on this production,” Theo adds. “I know we’re recording tonight so it can go in your portfolio, but… you’ve got an A+ recommendation from me.”
He starts to walk away, but spins on his heel. “Ansel, would you like to come backstage and check out the costume studio?”
Her wide-eyed glance at me says everything. “I would love to,” she says, her voice dipped in honey as she follows him.
I head back to the supply room, but knock over the bottle of turpentine as I put the paint away.
“FUCK!” I shout, grabbing a wad of paper towels to clean the mess.
Once the floor’s dry and smelling faintly of regret and chemicals, I head back to the front of the house. I have about an hour until everyone starts arriving.
And that’s when I see him.
Donovan.
Standing there like a fever dream, flowers in hand, eyes locked on me.
He’s in a dark suit that hugs his frame like it was stitched for him, all six feet of muscle and tension. My breath catches as I walk closer. His blue eyes are electric today—the kind of blue that makes you forget every coherent thought. The deep merlot tie at his collar draws them out even more.
It’s the exact shade of my nails.
And just like that, the chaos of the morning fades. Everything in me stills.
Because he’s here.
I run to him, arms thrown around his neck as he pulls me into his chest. His face finds the crook of my neck, and I feel him inhale deeply—like he’s trying to memorize my scent.
“My god, Stella,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you so much. Missed you in my arms… and the way you smell.”
He pulls back just enough to flash that crooked smile. “And you’re even rocking the hint of turpentine today.”
Before I can laugh, his lips are on mine—desperate, deep, like the kiss itself is proof we survived the distance. My arms wrap around his waist, my hands finding their home on his perfect ass, and I moan into his mouth, unable to hold it back.
The sound of footsteps breaks us apart.
We turn to see Ansel and Theo stepping onto the stage. I swipe at the corner of my mouth and try not to look like I was just seconds away from climbing Donovan like a tree.
He hands me the bouquet he brought—dark calla lilies and blush peonies—and my heart tightens.
My favorite.
The perfect balance of who I am: softness without weakness, darkness without shame.
The play goes off without a hitch—every note hit, every scene seamless. The cast and crew get their well-earned standing ovation, and I feel like I’m floating.
Afterward, there’s a small celebration in the black box, full of hugs, cupcakes, and backstage selfies. Just when I think I can’t take any more love, they present me with a framed photo of the whole class. Tears well up in my eyes. It’s absolutely perfect.
Aster finds me in the crowd and wraps her arms around me.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “For listening to me. For bringing my vision to life. For pushing me out of my comfort zone, even when I fought it.”
She wipes her cheek, then pulls a rolled-up piece of paper from behind her back. “I also… finished this. Thought you might want it.”
It’s her sketch—the one she started that very first day. It is now alive with color and detail. Honest and beautiful.
“Aster,” I whisper, holding it like it’s made of glass. “This means the world to me.”
Everyone starts to head home, laughter echoing off the walls as the post-show buzz settles. Theo tells the remaining students they’ll strike the set on Monday during class—tonight is for celebrating.
Ansel, Donovan, and I start walking toward the door, heading to Honey and Heat to meet our parents. Just as we’re about to exit, Ansel glances back.
Theo’s still on stage, casually stacking chairs.
Without a word, she spins on her heel and jogs back to him. I watch her lean in, say something low, and then hold out her hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He stares at her for a heartbeat—then takes it.
They walk over together, and her smile could power the whole damn theater.
“I asked Theo to come to dinner with us,” she says, practically glowing. “Hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it is—the more the merrier,” Donovan replies, stepping forward and offering his hand. “Good to see you again, Mr. Lightheart.”
Theo chuckles as he shakes it. “The girls seem to be on a first-name basis with me, so let’s drop the formalities. Just call me Theo.”
“Sounds good to me.”
With that, we head to my house so I can change before we head to the restaurant—where, if I had to guess, things are about to get a little interesting.