Chapter Seven — Clover's Café
If fame teaches you anything, it's how to pretend you're not exhausted.
And after two days of workshops and interviews, I deserve an award for pretending.
The first shooting day for The Last Page is in three days. Three days until the lights, the marks, the pressure of making fictional love look cinematic.
And I'm already counting the hours till I can breathe again.
So when Miles, our director, announces during wrap-up that he wants Axel and me to "spend some time off-screen together" to build chemistry, I almost laugh.
Axel just grins and says, "Guess we're going on a date, Everglow."
"It's not a date," I reply automatically.
He tilts his head. "Then what should I call it?"
"A PR nightmare in the making."
He only smirks. "See you at five."
Clover's Café sits on a quiet corner of downtown Lumera — all ivy walls, warm lights, and the smell of cinnamon and roasted beans. It's the kind of place you'd never expect a celebrity to walk into without getting mobbed.
But it's also the kind of place I used to love before I forgot how to slow down.
I slide into a booth near the window, hoodie pulled low, oversized sunglasses hiding half my face.
Axel arrives a few minutes later, in a plain white T-shirt and baseball cap, looking too normal for someone with three movie awards.
"You blend in well," I say, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugs. "I've been practicing 'casually mysterious' since high school."
"Must've been exhausting," I deadpan.
He laughs softly, and somehow, it's not as infuriating as usual.
The café is half full — students, artists, couples sharing laptops and pastries. Near the corner, a table of six teens catches my eye: two boys, four girls, still in their Saint Valley High uniforms.
Their blazers are unbuttoned, ties loosened, the kind of carefree chaos that belongs to people who haven't learned how heavy the world can get.
(A/nMight we know these familiar teens?)
They're laughing — loud, unfiltered, alive.
For a moment, I can almost see myself there. A normal seventeen-year-old girl with midnight-blue hair and a future not yet planned by headlines.
I blink the thought away.
"Saint Valley," Axel notes, following my gaze. "That's the rich kids' school, right? Where the heirs and heiresses go to learn how to be slightly less unbearable?"
I laugh before I can stop myself. "That's one way to put it."
"You sound like you went there."
I shake my head. "No. I didn't go to school, not really. Tutors, studios, press tours — that was my education."
He leans back, studying me. "You started young."
"Sixteen," I admit quietly. "My mom's from Stockholm — Swedish. She moved here after my dad left. Money was tight, so when the network picked me up after an open call, we didn't think twice. I thought it'd be fun — lights, music, fame."
I stir my coffee absently. "Turns out, fame just comes with better mirrors and louder silence."
For once, Axel doesn't have a witty comeback.
Just a soft, "That sounds lonely."
"It was."
I meet his eyes — steady, warm, unexpectedly kind.
"But it's less lonely now," I add, and I almost mean it.
He nods, something unreadable flickering in his expression. "You know, you could write a whole album about that."
I smirk. "Maybe I already have."
The barista brings us pastries — croissants, strawberry scones, and two cappuccinos with tiny clover leaves dusted in cinnamon.
Axel breaks his in half, pushing one piece toward me. "Peace offering. In case we start arguing on set again."
"You really think a pastry will fix that?"
"History has shown croissants are powerful tools for diplomacy."
I can't help the small laugh that escapes. "Fine. Truce accepted."
Later, when the crowd starts to thin, we walk out into the dusk. The city hums around us — car horns, laughter, the distant click of a camera shutter.
For once, it doesn't feel like the sound of pressure.
It just feels alive.
As we reach the corner, Axel glances at his phone and groans.
"What?" I ask.
He shows me a headline already spreading online:
"Spotted: Sienna Everglow and Axel Reeve on a Cozy Coffee Date at Clover's Café!"
"Oh my god." I bury my face in my hands. "We were literally just breathing in the same space!"
"Relax," he says, grinning. "At least they called it cozy and not catastrophic."
"Give it time."
The next morning, I walk onto the The Last Page set for our first official day of shooting.
The studio smells of new paint and nervous energy — lights being adjusted, props rolled in, makeup artists buzzing like bees.
I love this part. The moment before something becomes real.
Ember waves from the makeup chair. "Guess who's officially trending worldwide?"
"Please tell me it's not me."
"Fine. It's you and Axel. Together. Again."
I sigh. "Of course it is."
Before I can reply, Miles steps up onto the stage, clapping his hands.
"Everyone, listen up! We've got a surprise for you before we start blocking."
He grins — that too-happy grin that usually means trouble.
"The author of The Last Page will be visiting us today. She wants to see how her story's coming to life."
The room buzzes instantly — whispers, excitement, panic.
"The author?" Ember whispers. "Do you know her name?"
I shake my head. "No idea. Haven't met her."
But for some reason, my heart stutters — just a flicker, like the feeling before a storm.
Whoever she is, something about this moment feels important.
Miles continues, "She's flying in this afternoon. Everyone, be at your best. Let's show her what we're building here."
Axel leans toward me, voice low. "Guess the pressure just doubled."
"Yeah," I say softly. "But maybe… that's not a bad thing."
As the crew resets the lights and the first script pages are distributed, I glance toward the entrance — where the sun is spilling through the studio doors.
Somewhere out there, a woman is on her way. The one who wrote The Last Page.
The one who unknowingly brought Axel Reeve back into my orbit.
And something tells me she's about to change everything.