by Jenny Hale
“Let me know if it gets too hot for you,” he said.
The coastal wind kept the intensity of the heat at bay enough to enjoy the fire.
“So have you always owned a gallery?” Hallie asked, taking a seat, the cool glass in her hand refreshing and light, helping her to relax.
“No. I was in medical sales before this.” He leaned against the broad stones of the fire pit, the edge of it so far from the center of the fire that it could serve as a table. “I always took pictures, though. Even when I didn’t have a camera. I remember things in moments and images, like the way your hand rested on your heart when I startled you the first time we met.”
Hallie nodded happily, understanding exactly what he meant, delighted to know she wasn’t the only one who did that. The idea of how she remembered things hadn’t occurred to her before.
“You’re so talented,” she said. “I’m surprised you ever chose to do something other than take pictures for a living.”
“I wanted a plan for my life. I wanted to know where the money would come from so that I could make a good living to raise a family one day. And then… everything went wrong. After Gwen…” He shifted a little, picking up his glass. “I stopped worrying so much.” He took a long drink and then said, his face brightening, “I sent off a few of my photographs to some magazines and was surprised to find they showed interest in them. After that, I finished the renovations on the house, quit my job, left home, and opened the gallery.”
“You were very brave to do all that,” she said.
He chuckled. “Funny thing is that I did it all not out of bravery, but out of fear. Fear that I wouldn’t be able to move forward if I didn’t completely change my life, fear that I may never stop hurting if I had to wake up in the same house we shared, fear that I’d find myself an old man, wondering what I’d done with my life.”
His comments made Hallie think of Aunt Clara’s list. Could this be why she’d suggested it? Was she hoping for something different for Hallie, a new start to prevent Hallie from having regrets?
Gavin stood and brought his camera to his face, leaning over, tipping the lens up at an unusual angle. Hallie watched him, and she could see where he was going with it. He pointed it at the fire, twisted the focus, and snapped a photo.
“Let me see,” she said, feeling more relaxed after he’d shared such a heartfelt story, almost eager to view his perspective.
“Wait.” He kept his camera close to him. “You take a shot.”
“What?”
“I want to see the technique you use.”
Even though she felt comfortable talking to him about it, Hallie was frozen in place. She wasn’t sure why, but she was afraid. She’d never had another person outside her family judge her abilities before. Regardless of how he’d got to this point, she was competing with a pro, and it was making her too nervous to think through how she wanted to take the picture.
Gavin took a step nearer to her, the skin between his eyes wrinkling with concern. “I only want to see your method out of curiosity. You see, the way we decipher light and angles is as unique as we are—no two photographers view it the same way.”
“But how others perceive our view is what sets the best of the best apart from the average person,” she challenged, not knowing where all of this feeling was coming from. She hadn’t ever thought about any of this, but somehow she had opinions regarding photography methods, and her statement surprised her. Sure, she’d taken pictures growing up, but putting rules around it, creating a technique that was uniquely hers—she’d never considered it before.
“Ah, but what if the ‘best of the best,’ as you say, is simply an opinion as well? What if it’s just a matter of people connecting with your interpretation of an image?” He took another step nearer, putting his face into her line of vision. “I’m not judging it. I just want to see what you see,” he said gently. Gavin set his camera down on the chair and then came up behind her, leaving ample space between them. “Close your eyes.”
Instead she turned her head to make eye contact, not sure of his motives.
He smiled hesitantly. “Hold your camera in both hands and close your eyes—go with me on this.”
Hallie did as she was told, realizing he was just getting out of her view.
“Locate the heat from the fire on your skin,” he said from behind her. “Take in the scent of the burning embers.”
She inhaled deeply, the smell of summer and woods and fire… and Gavin’s cologne—notes of lime and white pepper—consuming her.
“What do you want people to feel from this shot? Fear? Love? Fun? What?”
“Serenity.”
He stepped away and she opened her eyes with his movement.
“Now look at the fire through your lens. Give me a serene shot of it.”
Hallie lifted the camera to her eye and suddenly, it all became clear to her. She needed a picture of the gardens. The fire was only a detail, one element in the shot. She wanted to capture the quiet of the trees, the low light, the fire just off center, the empty chair that was waiting for someone to sit in it. She noticed the fireflies in the distance again, and adjusted her focus to incorporate them. Then, she moved around the fire until she had just the right angle with the chair, the visual aspects of the composition working like music in her mind—the same way Ben described how it takes all the instruments in harmony to make a song. She had to move, to play her own instrument, until all the elements in view were singing. Then she snapped a shot.
Gavin stepped back over and looked down at her screen. “Wow. That’s amazing.”
It was as if she’d never understood her camera before. She wanted to spend every minute from here on taking more photos just like that one. In that moment, something changed inside her creatively, and it was as if all the scattered pieces of who she was were sharpening and coming together to give her meaning. Hallie had been right: she wasn’t a photographer. Not until this minute. Aunt Clara had just seen her potential before she had.
“Your depth of field is spot on. I love how the trees make a natural frame at the edges. It’s almost geometrical. The front lighting you chose with the diffraction of the gardens there is incredible.” He tapped the screen. Then he tilted the camera back to her. “Look at the colors now, rather than the actual photo itself. What colors are captured in your shot?”
“Even though the gardens are green, the low natural light causes them to be almost a denim color… And the fire has a gold tone that complements the dark brown of the fire pit and the wooden chair. So, blue, gold, and brown.”
“How would you mat and frame blue, gold, and brown?”
“Um… A dark tan-colored mat? Maybe with some texture—like a burlap. The texture would add depth to the simplicity of the shot.” She looked up at him for encouragement, and to see if he agreed with what she said, and he seemed actually interested, as if he didn’t have an opinion himself, as if she were the expert, telling him. She continued, “And because the shadows are nearly black, the frame should be black. A simple black frame to balance the texture of the matting. It would be perfect paired with a white canvas sofa with burlap throw pillows in various shades, and maybe a light blue sculpture—something natural like a tree or a vine—on a table nearby…”
He was smiling, a bright happy grin. “You, my dear, are a natural.” He laughed out loud. “Come inside. Let’s have dinner and then we’ll upload your shot to my computer. I’ll show you how you can edit it to adjust for crispness and color harmony.”
* * *
Hallie and Gavin had talked about photography so much over dinner that she’d barely realized when she’d finished her food, the plates sitting empty for hours while they discussed different views and times of day, how their experiences shaped their photography, and the energy that consumed them when they were able to find their shot of the fire pit. She couldn’t stop talking about it, asking questions, watching everything he did. They continued their discussions all the way back to Starl
ight. In her entire life, she’d never felt so artistic. Photography was like this giant open space just waiting for her to figure out how to fill it with colors and furniture and fabrics, and she hadn’t grasped until tonight how badly she needed to put herself in that space.
Gavin was an endless stream of knowledge, his ideas blowing her away at every turn. They’d spent the last two hours after dinner tweaking and changing the photo, which she’d never done before and found to be extremely fulfilling artistically. The editing might even have been her favorite part. Gavin told her that he’d help her purchase and install the software if she ever wanted him to, and she told him she planned to buy it as soon as she could.
Hallie waved goodbye to Gavin as he pulled out the drive. She was wired from the excitement. She couldn’t possibly shut herself up in her room, and everyone was probably asleep. Really, she was making excuses for why she wanted to share this new exhilaration she was feeling with one person and one person only. She noticed Ben’s light was on in the guesthouse. Hallie nearly skipped up to the door and slid her key into the lock.
Ben was on the sofa wearing his oversized headphones, his computer in his lap, concentration etched on his face, with one hand on the keyboard and the other hand resting on Beau. He hadn’t heard her come in, and when Ben wasn’t concerned, neither was Beau, who only moved his eyes to look at her so he wouldn’t disturb Ben’s gentle rubbing on his side. With a silly grin, Hallie butted in to Ben’s line of vision, making him jump. Beau finally lifted his head.
Ben gave her a crooked smile. “Hey,” he said, taking off his headphones. “You look like you had a good night.”
Hallie dropped down next to him.
“How much wine did you have?” He chuckled at the sight of her.
“I’m not drunk! Well, I’m drunk on elation.”
Ben’s face sobered but he was clearly trying to maintain a pleasant look. “Did you have fun with Gavin?”
“I had the time of my life!”
He took in a deep breath and let it out quietly, forcing his smile wider, those ever-present thoughts filling his eyes. “That’s great!”
Hallie told him all about what Gavin had taught her, about editing her photo, and how she’d never known that there was anything more than just snapping a shot. She was overwhelmed by the presentation of it, by the excitement of editing and making the image uniquely beautiful. But it didn’t stop there. She could envision an entire range of design products to go with it, all of them as unique as the photo itself. She continued on until she realized she’d been talking a mile a minute, but Ben was lost in her explanation, listening to every word.
“I’ve been telling you for years that this line of work suited you.”
“You always like everything I do, so I thought you were just being nice.”
His smile contorted to a more serious expression. “I wish you would trust me sometimes.” He moved his computer to the coffee table and set his headphones down beside it, facing her. “I like everything you do because I truly believe in you. You don’t do things that are mediocre, Hallie. I understand that creative world—I think that’s what has drawn me to you since we were kids. I know talent when I see it. I’ve bet my adult life on that ability.”
Once again, she hadn’t listened to Ben when she should’ve.
“But regardless of whether you believed me or not,” he said, “you’ve finally found your passion—I can tell because it’s right there in your eyes.” He stood up. “We should celebrate. I was saving it, but tonight’s important. I have champagne in the fridge.”
Hallie’s eyes grew round. “You do? Why?”
“I was going to bring it out once you’d completed all the things on your list.”
She laughed. “How do you know I’m going to complete the list?”
“Once I saw you trying to make a sandcastle, I knew. You’ll get it done.” He went around the bar and opened the refrigerator.
“Ben,” Hallie said, getting up from the sofa and following him over, his unwavering faith in her abilities troubling her. What if she couldn’t live up to his opinion of her? “I’m glad you believe in me, but building a sandcastle and finding excitement in photography doesn’t mean I’ll finish that list. I’ve decided to try—for Aunt Clara—but some of her demands are downright impossible.”
Ben set two flutes onto the counter and unwound the casing around the bottle. “Nothing’s impossible.” He pressed against the exposed cork and pointed it away from them into the living area. It wouldn’t budge. Ben gritted his teeth and adjusted his thumbs on it. “Nothing’s impossible except getting this cork out of the bottle.” He laughed, clearly straining against it. He set it down and rested his fingers a minute.
“Let me try.” Hallie grabbed the bottle by the neck and pushed against the cork until her fingers were sore, the thing not moving.
Ben wrapped his arms around her, putting his thumbs outside hers. His breath on her neck, he said, “On the count of three, push. Ready?”
She looked back and nodded, succeeding only in taking in the scent of him. It was the smell of home, of everything she’d ever known. She closed her eyes like Gavin had taught her and breathed in as Ben counted, wondering what she was trying to capture in this moment… Her inner voice told her. Perfection.
“You didn’t push!” he said, his laughter pulling her out of her thoughts.
Hallie looked down, noticing how masculine his arms were, how different they’d become from the years when he’d taught her to fish as kids. That had been the last time he’d had his arms around her like this. She hadn’t noticed it at all then, but now they provided security, calm, a sense of overwhelming need for him to never let go. She blinked over and over, wondering if all the romanticizing of the photography shots tonight had made her overly euphoric or something. It was Ben. She couldn’t be having these thoughts about Ben… He was off limits in so many ways.
“Try again. Ready? One, two, three!”
She pressed against the cork with him, her thumbs straining, and then POP! The cork sailed across the room, landing on the rug. Beau went over and inspected it, the smell of the liquid making him sneeze. But she hardly processed it before champagne erupted from the bottle like a sparkling volcano, angrily fizzing and bubbling down their hands, causing her to squeal. Hallie jumped out of Ben’s arms as he moved the bottle to the counter. He grabbed the kitchen towel for her.
“It’s all over your arms,” he said, smiling.
“It’s everywhere.”
“Hang on. Here, it’s on your neck.”
He put the towel against the bare skin of her neck to wipe off the liquid, his hands slowing when his fingertips came in contact with her skin, the laughter sliding off his face. His touch wasn’t anything like the Ben she’d known, the boy who’d been a part of her childhood. His light caress was that of a man, and overwhelmingly more than just having his arms around her, she truly felt who he was now. She imagined his fingers trailing down her skin, his mouth at her neck… Trying to get the picture out of her mind, she focused on his face, finding his lips as they moved just slightly with his breath, and suddenly all those thoughts she’d seen in his eyes but didn’t understand became clear. Her skin prickled with the realization that, not only did she understand his thoughts, but she now felt the same way.
And it terrified her. What was this she was feeling? Their moments of closeness flashed like a slideshow in her mind and she started to wonder if she needed Ben’s proximity in her life because she was in love with him. She couldn’t live without him. Was that what this was? There were so many reasons this couldn’t be happening.
He offered her the towel, their hands touching again as she took it. He gently caressed her fingers with his and his gaze seemed to be asking her if they should move into this new realm. Her breathing was shallow and fast, her pulse racing. Ben had touched her hundreds of times. He’d kissed her cheek, rubbed her shoulders, taken her hand… None of it felt like this. He’d made her feel de
sirable. She swallowed, the towel woven through her fingers, not wanting to move for fear she’d erase the trail along her skin where Ben had awakened her nerves.
If they allowed themselves to go any further and things went wrong, she stood to lose her best friend. And then if things went right… She’d never be able to offer him a happy life. He deserved more than she could give him. He didn’t know… Tears welled up in her eyes, and she didn’t have to say anything for him to understand that she wasn’t going to do this.
Ben turned away, pulling a paper towel from the roll and wiping down the counter where the champagne had splashed as if nothing had happened, leaving her shocked and confused.
Hallie jumped when he opened the trashcan to throw the paper towel away. He ripped off another and started to wipe the spill on the floor, his strokes hard and fast as if he were upset with himself.
Once he’d taken care of the mess, Ben slipped his hands into his pockets. “All clean,” he said, producing a smile. He grabbed the flutes again and handed one to her. “We should drink,” he said. He didn’t have to say a word for her to know that if she never mentioned this, it would be forever buried in their pasts and he wouldn’t put her in that position again.
“To finding the things in life that bring you joy,” he said, looking dejected and unlike himself. He lifted his glass. He’d said the words, but there was so much more behind them.
She raised her glass and touched it to his.
FOURTEEN
“Good grief, Hallie.” Mama’s voice meandered through Hallie’s consciousness as a streak of light pierced the back of her closed eyelids, making her head ache. “Did you drink all this?” Another vibrating sound rattled in her ears when Mama tugged a second shade to allow the light to filter in. She let it go, the wide vinyl coiling around the roller at the top of the window.
Hallie opened her eyes, the summer sun blinding her. She squinted through it to see a blurry image of Mama holding the empty bottle of champagne from last night. After the first glass, Hallie had told Ben that she was really tired, and he’d corked the bottle and told her to take it with her. She still remembered his eyes when he told her goodnight—they said more than they ever had, or maybe it was just that she could finally read him. She rolled over and put her face in the lump of feathers Aunt Clara had called a pillow when she’d insisted they buy them, because the quality of comfort equaled the design.