The London Sisters: The Complete Series: Bonus Content Edition

by Abby Brooks

  I tell her about the job I have taking pictures of a bed and breakfast in the area in exchange for a free room for a week or two. I do that a lot. Trade pictures in exchange for a place to stay. Cuts down on costs and considering just how much I actually travel, cutting down on costs is a very good thing indeed.

  “Oh wow,” says Dakota. “You just left Africa and came straight here? Talk about jet lag. Don’t you get homesick?”

  “Can’t get homesick if you don’t have a home.”

  Now I’ve got her confused. This part of my life is the hardest part for most people to wrap their heads around. “I don’t have a house. Makes traveling so much easier if I don’t have to worry about things falling apart while I’m gone. Or paying for a place I sometimes don’t see for months at a time.”

  “Wow. No home.” Dakota looks thoughtful. “I can’t decide if that sounds exciting or terrifying.”

  “It’s both. I try to keep myself booked up at least a month or two ahead so I know I’ll always have a place to stay. That’s life experience talking right there. It only took me a few times of realizing that I wasn’t going to have a roof over my head the next day before I figured out the luxury of having a plan.”

  Dakota sucks in her lips and studies me. I study her right back. “What’s it like?” she asks. “Not having a home base? What about your family?”

  A massive man waddles up to the bar. Surly. Angry. “Dakota.” He barks her name and she jumps. “Been watching you stand around chatting this guy up for most the night. How about you stop picking up strangers at my bar and start actually working for your paycheck.”

  He hits her with a look that makes me want to hit him with my fist.

  “Sorry,” she says after the asshole disappears. “My boss is … bossy.” Dakota laughs at herself and gets busy organizing stuff behind the bar.

  “I should be going anyway. The best light is early light and it’s gonna be a bitch to drag my ass outta bed tomorrow.” I gather my things and finally check my phone. Just as I suspected. It’s so late it’s early and I have about half a million comments on my latest uploads to reply to. “Maybe you can show me the sights sometime before I leave.”

  “Sure. I can show you all the corn you ever wanted to see.”

  I shake my head and slide my phone into my pocket. “Sounds like maybe I need to show you the sights. There’s a lot here, Ms. London. You just need to open up those pretty eyes to see everything you’ve been blocking out.”

  I manage to leave before she whips up a witty comeback. Turn around for one last look at her as I push through the door and find her smiling after me, her hands on her hips and her eyes lit up with that too-wide smile of hers.

  Chapter Four

  I can’t believe I met Dominic Frickin’ Kane last night. And he’s as good looking as his pictures. And he’s as down to earth as he seems online. There’s no way I’m not going to see him again before he leaves. I have too many questions.

  What’s it really like to live without a home?

  What is his favorite place to visit?

  His favorite picture he’s taken?

  How does he afford to live out of hotels?

  Has he ever had to sleep in the street?

  How close has he been to a lion?

  He said he’s staying at a bed and breakfast which is all the information I need. Townsbury is small. So small it really doesn’t warrant a B&B, but somehow it earned one anyway. Good news for me is that there’s only one possible place Dominic could be staying. Bad news for me is that I haven’t figure out just how crazy stalkery it makes me if I just show up uninvited and start asking him questions.

  Well. I take that back. I’m fairly sure that means I fit squarely into the definition of a crazy stalker, but I’m just not sure how much I care. How many times will I have an opportunity like this? I may never actually get to travel. I’d be a fool to pass up the chance to talk to someone who makes a living doing it.

  But, because I’m not so sure if Maya and Chelsea will count hanging out with Dominic as dating, I can’t help but feel like I need to clear it with them first. Okay. I take that back again. I definitely know they’ll count it as dating. I also know that they won’t approve because he doesn’t meet a single one of their criteria. That’s why I’m heading over to Maya’s this evening. I’ll just tell her about why he’s so awesome and we’ll be good to go. Surely, as soon as I explain everything to her, she’ll understand why I have to hang out with Dominic.

  We can just put this whole Find the Right Guy for Dakota plan on hold while he’s in town. There’s no way they can’t see how much sense it makes. Well, I take that back, too. There’s no way Chelsea will understand. She’ll see me getting all excited about a guy who just spells trouble in her eyes and that’s all there is to it. Chelsea sees the world in black and white. There are right answers and wrong answers and very little wriggle room between them. That works for her.

  But me? I’m all about the shades of gray and all the other colors in between.

  Which is why I’m bringing this up to Maya first. She’s been caught between our arguments pretty much since I came into existence. If anyone can smooth the way for me to explain this to Chelsea, it’s Maya.

  It’s one of those great days at the end of summer where it’s still warm enough to wear shorts but not at all humid. Where the light is bright and perfect and the wind blows just enough to rustle in your hair without messing it up. I drive over to Maya’s house, singing along to the radio as if I actually had a decent voice. Which I don’t. But hey! It’s my car and I love to sing. No one can judge what they don’t hear. I pull up in front of Maya’s perfectly sensible house and admire her perfectly weeded flowerbeds as I wander up the walk towards the door.

  She’s waiting for me in one of her lounge chairs on the front porch, eyebrows lifted, gaze locked on the bottle of wine in my hand.

  “You want something,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

  “Sure I do.” I spread my arms wide. “To hang out with my sister who I love so very much.”

  Maya shakes her head. “Nope. You only bring wine when you want to get me tipsy and butter me up.” She narrows her eyes. “You met someone.”

  “I did not.” Technically that’s not a full on lie. I already knew who he was. Kind of. Through Instagram. That kind of counts as knowing him already so I didn’t like, you know, meet him.

  Maya purses her lips and stares me down. “No. You met someone. And you’re afraid we won’t like him.”

  “Now that is definitely not true. I know you’ll like him.”

  Maya stands up and takes the bottle from my hand with a sigh. “Well come on in. Let’s get some glasses and you can tell me all the reasons you don’t want Chelsea to know about him.” She hits me with a knowing look and heads into the house. I follow her dutifully and plop down on her couch, kicking off my shoes and tucking my feet underneath me.

  “Where’d you meet him?” she asks from the kitchen.

  “Uhhh…” Great. She’s going to pull a Chelsea and tick off all the boxes on the list they made for me. “At the bar.”

  She laughs at me, shaking her head as she puts two empty glasses down on the coffee table and pulls the cork out of the bottle.

  “But he’s not just any guy.” I grab my phone and open up Instagram, click on his profile and hand it over to Maya.

  Her brow crinkles and she brings the screen closer to her face. “Is that you?”

  “Huh? No. That’s Dominic Kane. The world renowned travel photographer who just happened to come into The Bad Apple last night.” I go right ahead and pour the wine, going a little heavier than I had originally planned.

  “I’m not dumb. I know how to Instagram, Dakota. But here. This picture. It’s you.” Maya sits down beside me and I peek at the pic on the screen. That’s me all right. All cropped in close, the rows of bottles and lights behind me a blur. It’s somehow stillness and chaos all in one.

  “It’s stunning,” says M
aya. “If there was ever a picture that captured your essence, this would be the one.”

  I look a little closer and then sit back, shaking my head. “Nah. That girl is too mysterious to be me. Look at that smile. The secret in her eyes. I’m just plain old Dakota. That girl has magic in her soul.”

  “Exactly.” Maya hands me back the phone. I take one last look at the picture, the one Dominic took while I got his drink. “I’ll be honest. I wish I looked like that. He’s just that good of a photographer that he can me me look that interesting. Look, he took this one, too.” I close out Instagram and pull out the picture of the two of us together.

  “Wow.” Maya takes the phone from me. “He’s so intense! All that dark hair and five o’clock shadow? He’s so everything you ever look for in a guy.” She pulls the phone in close again. “And look at you. He caught everything that makes you who you are in this one, too. I want those pictures.”

  I send them to her and make her promise not to post them anywhere, remembering Dominic’s stern warning about his intellectual property last night. I’m mostly sure he was joking around with me, but it’s probably better to err on the side of caution there.

  “So, can I date him?” I ask after we’re about halfway through our second glass, feeling toasty and relaxed and warm.

  “Did he ask you out?”

  “Well, no. Not officially. He did ask me to show him around town.”

  “That’s another check in the no category.”

  “How is that a no?”

  “Dakota. He didn’t even ask you out.” Maya says it like that explains everything.

  “So? I’m sure he wanted to. And I bet he will. Or hell. I’ll ask him out.” I widen my eyes. “Shocking, I know! Whoever thought a woman could ask a man on a date?”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Maya tries to look stern, but the blush on her cheeks and slightly drunken tilt of her head makes her look anything but.

  “Hey wait. You said another. Another check in the no column. What’s the first check?”

  “You met him at The Bad Apple. That’s like, one of the biggest reasons to say no that I can think of.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Don’t yeah but me.” Maya slides her hand up into her dark hair and props her elbow on the arm of the couch. “Does he have a job?”

  “Yep.” I smile proudly, glad to be able to answer in the affirmative. “A fucking cool one.”

  “Right. Travel photographer.” Maya takes a long drink of her wine. “Gotta admit, of all the possible jobs out there, that one really is a good match for you.”

  “Exactly!” I say. I knew Maya would understand. “So maybe that’s one in the yes column, right?”

  “Does he have a house?”

  “Well see, that’s the thing. He doesn’t have a house because he travels all the time. Which makes total sense when you think about it and I don’t think it should count against me.” I clear my throat. “I mean him.”

  Maya raises an eyebrow. “What about a car?”

  I shake my head. “No, he doesn’t have a car. But—”

  “Does he meet any of the requirements we talked about the other night? Any of them at all?”

  “He has a job.”

  “Right,” she says, drawing out the word. “A job that means he travels all over the world and won’t even be here for you to actually date.”

  I take a long breath and let it out slowly. “I mean, when you put it like that, it’s pretty clear that Dominic Kane doesn’t measure up and I should just leave him alone.”

  “But you’re not going to do that, are you?”

  “There’s not one chance in hell.”

  Chapter Five

  Sometimes, when I’m out in the world, watching the sun chase the dark out of the sky, I feel so small and so insignificant that it’s almost soothing. Today is one of those days. The bed and breakfast that hired me is the only building for miles. Set high on a hill. Surrounded by fields and trees. This morning, the dew is still wet in the grass as the sun sets the sky on fire. I put my camera down on the ground, let it capture the glimmer of water on the grass, the gleam of light in the sky outlining the stately house up on the hill. I just need a few more shots of the outside of the place before I can head inside and start capturing the charm of the interior.

  With the light cooperating like it is, I should be able to sell the shit out of this place. They’ll get some great pictures for their promotional work, but as a sort of bonus, I’ll post some pics to my Instagram account and I bet they will have the rooms booked full within days. Maybe I can figure out a topic for a YouTube video while I’m here. Get some shots of the area while I do.

  Whatever I do, I’m going to need some coffee. I stayed out way too late last night, talking with that cute bartender at that raggedy old bar. One look at The Bad Apple told me it was not my kind of place but for whatever reason I stopped in anyway. I’m glad I did. Dakota London might turn out to be one of the most intriguing people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.

  Which is saying a lot because I’ve met a lot of people in a lot of places. Imagine my surprise when I find someone who captures my attention the most in a town just a few miles away from where I grew up.

  I head inside and wander into the dining area, snapping pictures as I do. I fully expect to be alone, given that not many people on vacation choose to be up at the buttcrack of dawn like me, but there’s an elderly couple sharing a table in the corner when I walk in. I watch them as I drink my coffee.

  They hold hands across the table. Look deeply in each other’s eyes. Smile. Laugh at each other’s whispered comments. So many elderly couples I’ve seen just stare past each other in silence, having used up all the interesting conversation between them years ago. Or worse, gripe at each other over every little thing they say or do. This couple has happiness etched into their wrinkled faces. Laugh lines instead of frown lines.

  With the way the light spills through the window near their table, landing on their clasped hands and splashing up onto their smiling faces, they would make such a fantastic subject for a picture that I can’t bring myself to pass up the chance to photograph them. I grab my gear and head their way.

  “Good morning,” I say as they look up.

  “Morning.” The old man dips his head in greeting.

  “Thought I’d be the only one up this early.” I pull out a chair at a table near theirs and take a seat. We talk for a while. I ask them why they’re here and they tell me they’re celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

  “And I love her now just as much as I did when I met her.” The old man reaches for his wife’s hand. Pats it twice before twining his fingers with hers.

  “I believe it,” I say. “One look at the two of you together was enough to make me want to come get to know you. Your happiness is irresistible.”

  “Good. That’s what we aim for.” The old woman’s voice is thin and gravelly, well worn by age, but so rich with love and emotion, it would be just as easy to believe that she was twenty-something and on her honeymoon.

  “Mind sharing your secret?” I ask, leaning in. Elbows on knees. Smile on face. Friendly. Curious.

  The old man looks at his wife. “I let her be her and she lets me be me,” he says after a bit of thought.

  “And the beauty of it is that we love each other anyway.”

  I laugh because she meant it to be funny but there’s something profound in that statement. As I ask their permission to take their picture and then set up the shot, I wonder if that’s the secret to finding a relationship that lasts. Discovering that one person out there that has all the ingredients I admire. Someone who sees life the way I see it and enjoys all the things I enjoy. They say opposites attract, but maybe that’s where it should end. Maybe the trick to looking into your lover’s eyes and still smiling at them fifty years later is finding someone just like you.

  Of course, as stubborn as I am, as much as I like to be in control, maybe that’s more of a recipe
for disaster than I’d like to think. Finding someone just like me sounds like a lot of bullheaded arguments and slamming doors.

  Doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m not interested. Love is a waste of time. Who wants to go through all that just to end up broken hearted at the end of it? Not me. No thank you.

  Shit. I sound like a woman this morning. Thinking all my deep thoughts. I blame the beauty of the sunrise and the sweetness of the couple at breakfast.

  Hell. There I go again.

  I thank the couple and head upstairs to upload the photographs from today. The picture of Dakota catches my eye. I wonder how many people found her just as striking as I did last night. Opening up Instagram is sure to eat away my day, replying to all the comments that have been rolling in since yesterday, but I do it anyway, promising myself that I won’t reply to anyone, just take a peek.

  The first thing I see is that someone with the username of DoLo has tagged me in a post—the picture I took on her phone of Dakota and me last night. It has a metric fuck ton of likes and comments already.

  And the picture I posted of her last night? The one of her at the bar? It has even more likes and comments then the one she posted of us together. I message her without thinking.

  See. Look how interesting you are. The whole internet wants to know who you are.

  I mess with my phone, replying to comments even though I said I wouldn’t while I wait for her reply.

  Your argument is invalid. They’re interested in you. Anyone with you is interesting by default.

  I tap out a few more comments while I figure out just how to respond to her. Finally, I decide to just get right to the point.

  Can I take you out tonight? You show me around and I show you what you’re missing in this beautiful place?

  I don’t have to wait at all for her response to come in.

  Gotta work tonight. But if you stop in and keep me company, I won’t complain.

  Bet your boss will.