Chapter 22

The director’s dismissal was still hanging in the air as crew members bustled around, shutting down lights and wrapping cables. Celeste gathered her things, intent on slipping out unnoticed, when Rowan’s voice rang out clear enough for the nearby crew to hear.

“Celeste,” Rowan called, walking over with that easy confidence that always made people look. “Want to grab a coffee with me? I want to pick your brain about something.”

A few heads turned, curiosity sparking. Celeste paused, her lips curving into the faintest smile before she nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

Rowan grinned, satisfied, and the buzz of whispers among the crew followed them as they headed for the exit.

The afternoon sun hung low, streaking the city in amber as Celeste parked her car in front of a small corner café tucked away from the main streets. She’d chosen it deliberately—quiet, out of the way, somewhere the crew wouldn’t stumble into.

Rowan was already waiting outside, leaning casually against the brick wall with her phone in hand. When she spotted Celeste, her smirk bloomed instantly. “So, this is your secret hideout? I was expecting something… fancier.”

Celeste arched a brow, stepping out of her car. “What, you think I only drink overpriced lattes from a gold-plated espresso machine?”

Rowan laughed, shaking her head as she followed her inside. The café was cozy, with mismatched furniture, shelves lined with books, and the faint hum of indie music. The kind of place that smelled like roasted beans and warm pastries.

They ordered without fuss—Celeste her usual black coffee, Rowan something sweet and iced—and claimed a corner table by the window. For a while, they just sat, sipping in companionable silence, the hum of life outside muted by the glass.

Rowan leaned forward first, chin propped on her hand. “Alright, superstar. I know how Elena Vega works. But what about Celeste? What do you do when you’re not saving heiresses or breaking hearts on camera?”

Celeste chuckled softly, swirling her cup. “Honestly? I read. I run when I need to clear my head. Sometimes I just… disappear. I like being where nobody expects me to be.”

“That tracks,” Rowan said, her smile softening. “Always composed, always a little bit untouchable.” She paused, eyes glinting. “But not with me.”

The words sank deep, catching Celeste off guard. She cleared her throat, looking for a safe out. “What about you? Besides showing up unannounced at people’s houses and stealing their blankets.”

Rowan grinned, unashamed. “Guilty. I paint sometimes. Play guitar when I’m restless. And I love finding little hole-in-the-wall spots like this.” She gestured around the café. “Somewhere real. Somewhere I don’t have to perform.”

Their eyes met across the table, and for a long moment, neither of them looked away. It wasn’t charged like the scenes they filmed—it was quieter, gentler, something that felt more dangerous because it was real.

Rowan broke the silence with a crooked smile. “So… does this count as our first date, or are we still pretending it’s just coffee between coworkers?”

Celeste smirked, setting her cup down deliberately. “Depends. If it were a date, would you be expecting me to pick up the check?”

Rowan leaned back in her chair, grin widening. “Oh, absolutely. Big star, big paycheck. Might as well put it to good use.”

Celeste shook her head, but the warmth spreading through her chest had nothing to do with the coffee.

Rowan leaned back in her chair, stirring her latte lazily with a wooden stick, her eyes fixed on Celeste. “So,” she said, voice soft but pointed. “What’s it really like? Being a movie star. Everyone staring at you, watching your every move.”

Celeste wrapped her hands around her cup, letting the heat seep into her palms. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stared at the steam rising off her drink as if it carried the words she wanted. Finally, she exhaled.

“It’s… not what people think,” she admitted. “There’s this mask I put on whenever I’m out. Polished. Controlled. Untouchable. Everyone sees what I let them see, and they believe that’s me.” She took a sip, then smirked faintly. “But it’s not. Not really.”

Rowan tilted her head, studying her with that same sharp, thoughtful gaze she always had on set. “So who are you without the mask?”

Celeste’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, she looked almost caught. Vulnerable. “That’s the part I don’t show,” she said quietly. “Because the second you take the mask off in this business, people use it against you. They twist it, turn it into something ugly.” She set her cup down and leaned back, her posture still graceful but her eyes tired. “The mask keeps me safe.”

Rowan nodded slowly, not looking away. “But doesn’t it get exhausting? Pretending all the time?”

Celeste’s lips tugged into a small, rueful smile. “Every damn day.”

For a while, they just sat there, the hum of the café filling the silence between them. Rowan reached across the table, brushing her fingertips against Celeste’s hand — a simple touch, grounding. “You don’t have to wear it with me,” she said softly.

Celeste froze for a second, then let out a low breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her hand turned under Rowan’s, fingers lacing together. “That’s what scares me,” she whispered.