by J. L. Berg
“Why is it so important for you to hide it from me?” I fired back.
“Maybe I’ve wasted enough smiles on you.”
“Fair enough. But it’s still something I aspire to see,” I answered softy, taking the photo from her fingers and repinning it to the board.
“I thought you got rid of all those photos,” she spoke up, turning around, brushing the sleeve of my shirt as she did. “The ones of us, I mean,” she clarified.
“I did—or at least I thought I had, but I found that one lying on the bedroom floor. Seems it managed to find its way out of the box I threw it in. That—or a very sneaky, super nosy ex-therapist of mine placed it there.”
“Ex?” she questioned, but hardly seemed surprised.
“He’s refusing to charge me anymore—keeps meeting me at restaurants and showing up at my door for beers. So yeah, ex-therapist, I guess.” I shrugged as I watched her continue to roam around the room. The faint red glow washed away most color, and the usually vibrant copper tone of her hair had transformed into something darker.
In here, there were no in-betweens. No middle tones. Just reds and blacks. I wasn’t processing so I could flip the overheads on and bathe us in white light, but here, in this space, I loved the contrast—the separation from normalcy.
Seeing her here, though, made me suddenly aware of just how erotic a darkroom could be. Every curve of her body was accentuated, enhanced by the lack of color and the stark red glare. Her lips appeared heavy, as if they were begging to be touched and caressed along with the rest of her body.
I needed to get out of the room.
“Will you show me how it works?” she asked, looking up from the main table I’d assembled in the middle, where the processing trays and enlarging equipment were set up.
“Really?” I asked, an equal mixture of dread and excitement running through my veins.
“Yeah, I mean—I don’t really want to go home yet, and we don’t have anything else to do.”
“Sure,” I answered quickly, hardly delaying the decision I’d just told myself to flee.
I truly hated myself. That or I really was the asshole she thought me to be.
Because damn if I didn’t think of bending her over every hard surface and reacquainting myself with every inch of that luscious body I seemed to have forgotten.
“—her name?” Everly’s voice yanked me back to reality. Catching the end of a question I’d barely heard, I blinked a few times, trying to clear salacious thoughts from my mind.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“What’s her name?” she repeated. “Your date?”
“Oh, um—” my mind searched— “Magnolia,” I finally answered, busying myself as I gathered the proper equipment to develop. She watched me intently from the other side of the table.
“Interesting name,” was all she said.
A small smirk tugged at my lips. “Her mom used to be a florist over in Half Moon Bay. She grew up on the coast so she’s really looking forward to seeing the house.”
“I’m sure her childhood home wasn’t quite like this,” she commented, running her fingers along the cool plastic table as her eyes met mine.
“No, but not all of us can be related to a founding member of SunGlobal.”
Her eyes went wide. “I thought you said her mom was a florist! Not an heiress to a billion-dollar company!”
“I did—and I said she ‘used to be’. I didn’t say what her dad did,” I laughed.
She launched a pencil at my head and I managed to duck at just the right time. “Well, you better clean up before she comes. Don’t want the place to look like a dump for the princess.”
Was that jealousy I detected?
Don’t jump to conclusions. That will get you in trouble, August.
“I’ll do my best. So, ready to get dirty?” I asked, watching her eyes fly up to mine.
“What?”
“Hands—are you ready to get your hands dirty?” I clarified, clearly missing a key word in my sentence.
“Yes—lead the way,” she instructed.
“Okay, first we need to clean the negative, and load it into the carrier.” I handed her a cotton ball I’d just soaked with a little rubbing alcohol and the negative.
“I just rub it on there?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yep.”
She did so tentatively at first and then, seeing that nothing bad was happening, completed the job back and front. Without thinking, I grabbed her hand and started moving it back and forth to dry the negative. Her hand froze as her eyes focused on mine and I quickly stepped away.
“Sorry—just shake it a bit until it dries. Good,” I said, watching her movements. “That should be good.”
“Now we put it…?” she questioned, looking around, until she found me pulling out the carrier—a large black frame with handles.
“Slide it in this way.” I pointed as she carefully put the negative down.
“But won’t it be upside down?”
“No, it will be great,” I promised with a warm smile.
And it was. As soon as it was loaded and focused, I had her look down at the photo.
“Wow—is this from the backyard?” she asked.
“Yeah—I hiked down a ways today and got some really great shots. I printed several earlier. This was my next in the set.”
Since I’d already done so many like it, and played around with f-stops and aperture, I already knew approximately how long to expose the photo, so I skipped test strips and decided to just go ahead with the entire photo.
“I don’t see anything,” she said softly, as if the sound of her voice would disrupt the process entirely.
“Ahh—this is where the magic happens,” I explained, handing her the tongs for the first tray. “Place our photo in here.”
She looked down the line of trays. “That’s a lot of steps.”
“Just trust me.”
Her eyes met mine and she hesitated. “Okay.”
She slowly dropped the white paper in the agitator solution. “Move it back and forth,” I said, resisting the urge to touch her again.
“There it is!” she exclaimed, as the scene came back to life underneath the liquid.
“Now, the next tray,” I instructed, standing so close to her I could feel the heat from her body meshing with mine. She was so entangled with what she was doing I don’t think she even noticed just how close we were standing to each other.
She went through the process, placing the photo in one tray after the other, with me closely beside her until it was set.
“Now we use this,” I said, grabbing the squeegee from the table. She took it from my hand, brushing the outer curve of my palm as she retrieved it. Every accidental touch or fleeting graze from her body felt as if an atom bomb were igniting in mine. My heart raced, my stomach tightened and I fought for every ounce of control not to return the favor.
She’s not mine.
She’s chosen someone else.
Move on.
But no matter how much I reminded myself of those simple facts, I knew that as many times as I’d kissed Magnolia goodnight on our dates, as I’d pushed her against the door of her luxury apartment her father had bought her, I’d never once felt an ounce of what I felt from just a brush of Everly’s hand.
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly, holding up the finishing photo.
“Yes,” I answered, my eyes never wavering from the real beauty in the room. Even without a speck of makeup on, she lit up a room. Fiery red hair, milky white skin, and those captivating blue eyes that seemed to sink directly into my soul.
I would give everything I had and more for a single moment with her. A single second when she looked at me with those eyes and I felt loved.
“Where do we put it now?” she asked, separating me from my distant thoughts.
“Here,” I answered, pointing to the area across the office where I’d strung some wire and clothespins. I heard her giggle slightly as s
he pinned the photo up and stepped back.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“I just remembered a time when I came in here and you had a million suits all lined up right here in this very spot—trying them all on for a gala. And now you have clothespins and fishing wire strung up in their place.”
I stared at her, trying to gauge her mood.
“Hmm—I’m pretty sure a bunch of suits would be pretty dirty in here now.”
She choked out a laugh, covering her perfect smile from me. But it was a smile nonetheless.
I’d done that.
Made her happy—for once.
Even for a second.
* * *
After cleaning up in the darkroom, I found her back in the living room, looking out at the dark water as tiny flecks of light caught on the waves that washed ashore. She didn’t say anything when I entered the room, just stood there, quietly observing…waiting.
“We had a fight,” she finally said, after I’d made my way across the large room to stand next to her. I resisted the temptation to look over, to soak in her expression. Somehow, I gained her trust in that moment, and I knew it was a heavy burden to bear.
“He doesn’t like me visiting you. He thinks it’s bad for our relationship.”
“He might be right,” I answered, finally turning to meet her hesitant gaze.
“Do you ever think of me—when I’m not around?” she asked softly, her eyes rounding in doubt.
Stepping in closer, so she could feel the breath of my words as they fell from my mouth, I whispered, “Every second, Everly. Every damn second.”
A small gasp escaped her lips as she pushed away from me.
“I should go,” she said. “Being here—it’s not a good idea.”
She was already retreating, her emotions…her physical reactions all crumbling, breaking apart until she was rushing toward the door.
“I’m so sorry for bothering you, August—for ruining your night. It won’t happen again.”
“Everly—damn it. Wait.”
I grabbed her hand, halting her progress. She looked down at our joined hands, her eyes wide with shock.
“Stop running,” I urged.
“I’m not running. I’m going home, where I belong. I want to go home.”
I shook my head, a disheartening chuckle escaping my throat. “Go home then. But don’t tell me a part of you doesn’t want to stay. Don’t tell me that deep down, a part of you wishes you were still here every morning making coffee in that kitchen and helping me develop film in the office. For a split second tonight, you saw it, didn’t you? What life could be like between us?”
Her eyes darkened and suddenly, she twisted her hand from mine.
“No,” she answered. “There is only one man I see in my future. And his name isn’t August Kincaid.”
And then she was gone.
And I was alone once again.
Slamming the door closed, I stomped into the living room and paced, attempting to clear my head.
Why? Why did I do this to myself?
Nothing would ever change.
She was not mine.
Picking up the phone, I did the only thing possible to ease the pain in my heart and the anger I felt toward my own stupidity.
“Hello?” Magnolia answered after the second ring.
“Hey, it’s August,” I replied, trying to act as casual as possible.
“Didn’t expect to hear from you again tonight.”
“Hey—I’m sorry to cancel. A friend had an emergency. It’s all taken care of. I was wondering how many dates I could possibly fit into one evening if we started…now?” I asked, my voice lowering with each word.
Silence followed before I heard, “be here in twenty minutes.” And then the line went dead.
Everly had left her empty mug on the coffee table, I turned and headed for the front door.
She’d made her intentions clear.
It was time I made mine.
Chapter Twenty-One
Everly
If I were a religious person, I would call what I did over the next several days repenting.
Since I wasn’t, I’d just go with calling it reveling in guilt. I felt it in spades.
Guilt over driving to the cliffs when I was angry with Ryan.
Guilt because I’d stayed…because of the things I’d said, things I’d done.
Guilt, guilt, guilt.
I hated the word.
Ryan still hadn’t asked where I’d gone after the failed intervention. Part of me thought he already knew, and the other enjoyed the quiet bliss of not knowing. Somehow, in the midst of all this, I’d become that heroine I despised—the one that always made me flip through pages of a book or roll my eyes in a movie because she just couldn’t get her shit together.
I’d become someone I couldn’t stand.
So now I would make amends.
Starting with the wedding plans I’d ignored over the last several weeks. There was so much to do and with the rift currently brewing between Sarah and me, the only person left to handle them was me.
As I looked through dozens of florist and cake brochures, I suddenly missed my best friend incredibly. We were supposed to do this together. Well, actually, she was supposed to pick out everything I liked while I sat here fooling around, making origami swans out of the dozen brochures she’d painfully gathered.
She loved this type of thing—me, not so much. It was why August and I had never hosted parties at the house and why I much preferred to spend an evening snuggled under blankets, rather than in a noisy club. I’d spent years living in other people’s homes and never having one of my own. For a child—having a place to call their own is one of the most precious things on earth. And I’d never had that until August and I moved into that tiny one bedroom home on that beautiful, crowded street in the city. That was the first time I’d ever had a place to call my own. No roommates, no foster parents—just August, me, and our cute little home.
The walls might have changed, but that feeling still remained. I loved the feeling of coming home.
And even though Ryan and I were back to renting rather than owning a place, I’d still made it ours as much as possible. And being there would always beat a night out at a fancy club. But our wedding would be different and that was something I had to realize. It wasn’t going to be a dinner party or fancy soiree. It was going to be our wedding day—and that deserved attention.
So why couldn’t I focus?
I’d been diligent in my other groveling duties. I’d cleaned the house from top to bottom after my morning work shift, made a killer dinner each night he’d returned home from work, and yet when it came to planning the most important day of our life…
I couldn’t string two minutes together.
Chocolate or vanilla…roses or lilies? It all seemed maddening.
“Ev, I think we need to talk.” Ryan’s voice broke through the silence as he stepped into the kitchen. I looked up and saw him awkwardly standing before me with his hands in his pockets, staring down at the brochures scattered on the table. He visibly winced and turned away.
“Sure, what’s up?” I asked, gathering everything up in an effort to make room for him at the table, but he just turned and began to pace, lacing his hands behind the back of his head.
“I should have known. You shouldn’t have to badger and practically beg a woman to date you,” he said under his breath.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, suddenly concerned.
“Do you remember how long it took for you to say yes to me? Do you recall how many coffee orders I placed…how many cheesy one-liners and mentions about good hygiene and my impeccable driving record it took before you took a chance on us?”
“Why are you bringing this up?”
“It shouldn’t be this hard,” he answered. “Love shouldn’t require thought or force. It simply is, and as easy as it is for me to feel that for you—I don’t know if you feel it back.”
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My heart hammered in my chest as I jumped to my feet.
“Are you crazy, Ryan? I love you—only you. I agreed to marry you!” I said, holding my left hand out as proof.
“Where did you go, Ev? The other night? When we fought—where did you go?”
Silence poured into the room.
An agonized laugh fell from his lips. “See, the sad thing is I already knew. The moment you left here, I knew where you’d end up—who you’d turn to. It’s like he’s your true north on a compass. Up until a few months ago, I thought I might be.”
“You are,” I cried as tears began free-falling from my cheeks.
“No, Everly. I’m not. I filled the void for a while. But your heart was already taken. I don’t get it…it’s something I’ll never understand, especially after everything he did to you. But even after all that, you never gave up on him. And now you need to give that a second chance.”
“What are you saying?” I cried out, and wrapped my arms around myself like a protective vise. He finally stopped pacing and turned to me.
“I’m taking the high road—and giving you an out to discover what your heart really wants. Him or me.”
I took a step forward but froze when I saw him back away.
“I don’t want an out!” I screamed. “I want you!”
“No, you don’t,” he said softly. “You don’t know what you want and until you do—I won’t be your second choice.”
His eyes met mine and I saw loss and pain, and then finality as he gave a single nod and headed for the door. Panic rose inside of me and I ran after him.
“Please Ryan, don’t. Don’t do this.”
“I’m only doing what you’re too afraid to do yourself,” he said, stopping just short of the door. He turned to face me, unshed tears visible in his blue eyes.
“I love you—and this is my way of showing you,” he whispered. He caressed my cheek and disappeared like a ghost out the door, leaving me alone with nothing but the silence and my tears to soothe me.
* * *
This time when my car pulled up that brick driveway, I knew exactly where I was. And why I was there.
