by Amelia Wilde
Lou nestles himself into one of the chairs in the side room, looking down into his freshly creamed and sugared coffee and shaking his head. “I shouldn’t be in here.”
I sit down across from him. Everybody who’s going to be in right now will want drip coffee—they always do—and they can shout if they need to. “I’m glad you are because I need your help.”
That perks him up. “With what?”
“Tell me about Lisa and Fred Collins.”
He narrows his eyes. “Why do you want to know about them? Isn’t it enough that you’re putting them out of business?”
“I don’t want to put them out of business.”
“They’re two of the nicest people I’ve ever met,” Lou says fiercely, not bothering to hear what I’m saying. “They’ve bailed out everybody in this town at one time or another. They bought me a used car when mine died in the middle of the winter forty years ago when my daughter was small. I had a new gig at the cement plant up the highway and couldn’t miss—” He waves a hand, dismissing this for the main point. “You won’t meet more generous people. They’re not here right now to defend themselves from you city sharks because—” He presses his lips together. “I can’t say exactly why, but you shouldn’t be doing this.”
“That’s exactly why I need your help,” I say, trying to appeal to his best nature. “I need to talk to them.”
Lou takes a sip of the coffee, and his eyebrows go up. “This is good.”
“Thank you.” I keep it cool. It’s satisfying to hear, but that’s not the point of this conversation.
“What do you have to say to them?”
I lean in, glancing around like a cartoon character to make sure he gets the point. “I have a business proposition.”
Lou’s eyes glow. “What is it?”
I sit back straight. “I can’t tell you. It wouldn’t be right to tell someone else before—” He nods. Of course. “All I wanted to know is if you had a phone number I could reach them at.”
He looks at me like looking is going to tell him everything he needs to know about what kind of person I am. Is he deciding I’m the monster I’ve been made out to be? Is he realizing that he’s already made a deal with the devil by buying my coffee and liking it?
I look back.
He keeps looking.
“You’re not some kind of scammer, are you?” he asks, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.
“I swear to you,” I say, raising my hand in the air like a boy scout. “I am not a scammer.” I do wish I could have asked Ellie for this phone number instead, but that’s not an option at the moment.
“Okay,” he says finally, and relief floods my veins. “You got a piece of paper?”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Ellery
Two weeks later
“Ellie! You’re not going to believe this!”
Honey ambushes me as soon as I step outside Medium Roast. It’s been a long day, one of the buzzy summer afternoons when everyone seems to want something frozen. I ran out of coffee at two o’clock and had to make people to-go cups filled with watered-down espresso. I never thought I’d say this, but it’s probably best that I had to run those damn blenders for hours in a row.
“What?” I shout back, a little too loud. “What am I not going to believe?”
Honey’s still wearing a studio smock covered in different shades of paint, and she looks slightly flushed like she ran here from her house three blocks away from the center of town. Without the air conditioning, it’s hot, so that probably explains it. “You got a client.”
I roll my eyes. “I had a hundred clients already today. I am so not making any more coffee. The store is clean, and—”
“A photography client.”
“What?”
Honey was true to her word, setting up a Facebook page for my new “business” the same night I edited those photos. When the woman emailed back to say how much she loved them, Honey struck up a conversation, using her as a testimonial.
“They messaged your page to set up the appointment. I’ve been watching, and I already confirmed. You’re closing early tomorrow.”
“Wait, how early? I can’t just—”
Honey’s eyes sparkle. “You can, and you will.” She throws her arms around me and squeals. “Three o’clock tomorrow,” she says, then turns and hustles back down the street. “I’m in the middle of a painting! You’re going to be great!”
I’m a basket of nerves all night and all morning.
Texts fly between me and Honey.
This is a bad idea.
You’ll have your phone. You can do this!!!
I’m not going to do it.
You’re doing it.
This goes on right up to the moment I close the shop. I have a plan. Zip home, shower, meet at the beach. It’s not secluded, so if this “client” is a serial killer, they won’t have much of a chance. In the shower, I practice smiling and giving directions. Honey says it’s for headshots. I can do that. I can. Of course I can.
At ten to three, wet hair pulled back in a bun, I stand on the beach near the playground, looking for the client. It’s hard to look cool when I’m so nervous, but I check the settings on my camera, get them dialed in, pretend everything is fine.
“You must be the photographer.”
The voice comes from right off my left elbow and my entire body leaps into action. I put on my biggest, brightest smile. “Yep! My camera’s all set to go and—” The sentence ends in a gasp when I see his face.
Dash.
Oh, my God. No. Not now. Not when I’m about to meet the client. I can’t be a wreck on my first job. “Dash,” I croak. “You’re at the beach.” The sight of him fills me with a wild excitement and an equally wild dread. “You can’t be here right now,” I say in a rush, politeness be damned. “I’m meeting—”
“Me.” He drops the word into the air like a diamond.
Finally, my brain catches up with his words. “You’re the client?”
His nod is so confident I could cry. “Yep.” He looks out at the waves on the sand. “Where should I stand?”
I’m dying. I’m dying and I’m dead of hope and sadness and heartbreak. I can hardly speak. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” he says like nothing ever happened between us, or like everything happened between us, I can’t tell. “I want you to take my photo.”
My hands shake around the body of the camera, and I flip the on/off switch on and off, on and off. There’s so much I want to say. He looks at me, unflinching.
Do your job.
I turn around and scan for some open shade with the lake in the background. There’s a tree. Perfect. “Uh, over there,” I say, trying to keep my chin up. I’m not going to burst into tears. I am not.
He strides to the tree so quickly that I almost break into a jog to keep up. Under the branches, he sticks his hands in his pockets and waits once again. “This good?”
“Yeah,” I say. Pay attention to the light. Pay attention to the angle of his face. He looks like a fucking dream, in jeans and a white t-shirt, and I want to do more than take his photograph. I’d do him right here, in plain view of everybody, if we weren’t mortal enemies. I raise the camera to my face, make a few more adjustments, and take a few shots.
He looks into the lens and then shifts. “Any tips?”
Oh, God. “Yeah,” I say, forcing surety into my voice. I don’t feel it, but what else am I going to do? “Turn your body toward the lake a little bit. Not your head. There.”
He turns this way and that, and I take photo after photo. Then we move to a different spot, up against the brick of the concessions stand. It’s empty at the moment, which is good because I might die at any moment. I can’t catch my breath.
Finally, I lower the camera. He stays leaning against the building, his green eyes catching the sunlight.
“Why did you hire me?” I ask him, my voice low and trembling.
“I wanted to see you,�
�� he says. “I have some news.”
My entire soul plummets straight to the center of the earth. He’s leaving town, that’s what this is. I’ll have won and lost at the same time.
“What’s that?” My voice is neutral, barely?
“I miss the fuck out of you.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“I miss the fuck out of you,” he says again. “And you know what? I’m sick of having this shit between us.” He waves his hand in the air between his chest and mine.
“Having what—”
“I am done not being with you because of a pair of warring coffee shops,” he says, standing up straight and stepping closer. “So I took some drastic measures.”
I swallow hard. “What—what drastic measures?”
He comes another step closer, and he’s inches away. All that’s between us now is my camera and our clothes. “Here’s what I did. Are you ready?”
I nod. It’s all I can do.
“I went into business with your aunt and uncle.”
The words don’t make sense for the space of five long heartbeats, and when they do, a shriek escapes from my mouth. “You did what?”
“I bought that little coffee shop on the corner. They’re both part of an umbrella company now. There are money details, but I’ve got the funds to cover staff and overhead for now—”
“Staff?”
“Starting tomorrow, I’m having someone come in to train six people for each store.”
I want him to touch me so badly.
“I want to be with you, Ellie. I want you to be in my life, every day. I want you to do what you love. And look,” he glances down at the camera. “You took photos of a client, and nothing terrible happened. On the drive home after this, nothing terrible is going to happen. The past is past.” He takes a deep breath. “This is now. And right now, I don’t want to be without you. Ever again.” He steps back, putting a little distance between us. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. I’m not going anywhere. You have my number.”
With that, Dash turns and walks away, back toward the parking lot.
He gets ten steps before I can move, and once I do, I’m moving.
I run after him, camera bouncing against my chest. I’m two steps away when he finally starts to turn, but it’s too late. I tackle him. Full body. It takes both of us over, me landing heavily on him, his back on the ground.
“Fuck that,” I say, and then I crush my lips against his, kissing him harder than I’ve ever kissed anybody. “Don’t ever walk away from me again.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Dash
My heart pounds, one hand on the steering wheel, one hand gripping Ellie’s so tightly my knuckles are white. She can’t wipe the smile off her face. She also wouldn’t drive her own car here, insisting on staying with me.
“God, I missed you,” she whispers as we fly toward the cottage.
“You have no idea how much I missed you,” I tell her, hitting the brakes and making the turn with as much care as I can in this moment.
She’s on me as soon as I step outside the car. I don’t know how she got out that fast, but she did, abandoning her camera on the front seat. Ellie wraps her legs around me and holds on tight.
And me? I’m practically bursting out of my jeans. I want her. I have to have her. And she’s mine.
All we need to do is get into the house.
I hustle us both there as fast as I can go with this tigress wrapping her arms around my neck, kissing down the side of my jawline, licking at my earlobe.
I never want this to end.
In the house, she jerks her head toward the counter. “Kitchen?”
I shake my head. “No. You, princess, deserve a bed.”
It’s perfect, because I washed the sheets yesterday, in case things went well today. I made the bed with military precision. Ellie doesn’t notice it at all. I let her down onto her feet at the foot of the bed. At some point, I thought I might try to take things slow, but she’s not having it, and neither is my cock. Ellie has her shirt halfway over her head by the time I think to get my jeans off.
When I look up again, she’s naked and glorious, looking a little shy.
First things first.
I put one hand under her jaw, on the smooth skin of her neck, and tilt her face up toward mine. Her eyes are so gray they’re almost blue. I kiss her, slow and deep, and she presses her hips forward to meet mine. “I love you,” I whisper into her ear.
“I love you too,” she whispers back. My entire body is fire. My entire body is alive. “But Dash?”
“Yeah?”
“I need you. To fuck me,” she adds after a breath. “Just so there’s no confusion, I—”
She doesn’t get another word out before I have her spread out on the bed. Not another word, except for a moan as I drag my fingertips down from her collarbone to her clit, circling it once, twice, three times before I sink the length of me into her. Ellie lets out a hiss like she’s touched something hot and opens wider for me, her ankles locking together behind my back.
It’s a long time before she lets me go.
The dappled sunlight plays over her pink cheeks, her hair spread out on the pillow, and I hate the fact that I have to disturb her.
Only...I don’t. She can stay in my bed forever if that’s what she wants.
“Are you good?” I ask her.
A slow smile lifts her lips. “Almost.” She opens her eyes and grins at me. “Maybe if we came back to it later tonight...”
“You can fucking bet on it.” I push myself up on one elbow and grab my phone off the bedside table. “I have to pick up Rosie in half an hour. But I should shower first.”
She leans over and kisses me, her tongue darting out to lick my bottom lip. “What, you think you can shower alone now?” She shakes her head. “I don’t think so, mystery man.”
Four minutes later, she’s standing under the stream, head tilted back, and I’m admiring the way the water rushes down over her perfect breasts. “You know what?”
“What?” I say, reaching up to circle her nipples with the pads of my thumbs.
She giggles, arching toward me. “I like you better now that you’re not a mystery.”
“Oh, you think you know everything about me now?” Ellie’s giggle turns into a laugh. “I’ll show you.”
Ellie sits in the passenger seat with her camera on her lap, twisting her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. She’s radiant, and she smells soapy and clean.
“Are you nervous?”
“To pick up your daughter?”
“Yeah.”
“No,” she says. “We’ve met before. At Medium Roast. Remember?”
I wait for the worry to come—the worry that this won’t work out, the worry that this will be too much for Ellie. It never does. “Right. You two are old pals.”
Ellie shrugs one shoulder. “We will be one day.”
When I pull into Norma’s driveway, she’s waiting at the door with Rosie in her arms. Rosie lifts a chubby baby hand and waves, her arm flying, a big smile on her face. Soon she’ll have more than four teeth, and won’t that be a party.
Ellie doesn’t hesitate. She gets out of the car at the same time I do, bringing her camera along.
“Daddy!” cries Rosie. Ellie is right by my side as we climb the porch steps.
“Hi, baby.” I take the squirming baby in my arms. She’s not going to be a baby much longer. “Norma, Rosie, this is Ellie.” I grin down at Rosie. “Can you say Ellie?”
“Lee!” she chirps, giving Ellie another charming smile.
“See you tomorrow?” Norma says to Rosie. “Hi, Ellie. I’ve seen you downtown.”
“White chocolate mocha, right?” God, Ellie is the real deal.
“You’ve got it,” says Norma, and closes the door with a wave.
I take Rosie down the steps, Ellie following close behind. We’re halfway down Norma’s walk when Ellie calls out. “Wait!”
I turn to face her. She’s got the lens cap off her camera and the camera up to her face. “Smile!” Rosie giggles in my arms and I look into the lens. For once, it’s a real smile. How could it not be? I’m looking at the love of my life.
“Perfect,” says Ellie, putting the lens cap back on. “You’re going to love this.”
“Hold on,” I say, as she gets close. “We need one more.”
“Of what?”
I take the camera in one hand, flip it around, and hold it out with my arm. “You belong in these photos, too.”
Ellie’s eyes shine. She wastes no time tucking in beside Rosie, her arm going around my waist. “Ready? Look at the camera, Rosie! Say happy! One, two, three!”
Epilogue
Ellery
One year later
“Hug each other like you really love each other!” I call the instruction and the cute family of four does, Dad wrapping his arms around his gorgeous wife’s shoulder, her auburn hair catching the sunlight. Their blonde daughter grins cheesily at the camera, and the toddler girl, dark-haired and beautiful, wraps her arms around her sister’s waist.
Nailed it.
“That’s a wrap!” I call, and there’s a flurry of goodbyes and thank-yous and rushing to get the kids home for a late dinner. The things we do for the golden hour.
My shoulders ache, but it’s a good kind of ache. I’ve been shooting sessions all day, and the weekend is booked, too.
“Hi! Hi! Hi!”
A little figure is running at me across the grass, barreling on toddler legs.
“Rosie! Rosie! Rosie!” I cry, running to meet her, barely getting my lens cap on in time.
It’s been a hell of a year.
Honey was right. I can start a successful photography business. It’s so successful, in fact, that I’ve been pondering getting a second assistant. If I keep booking at this rate, I’ll never be able to take a vacation again. And Dash needs a vacation. He’s got five coffee shops open in three of the neighboring towns.
