Irritated, he turned from the window, smoothing down the sleeve of his suit jacket over his gold watch. In his navy suit, cream shirt, and pinstripe tie, he looked every bit the business man that he was, partner in his own architectural firm Grafton & Hanover for seventeen successful years. They had offices in Beaverton and Portland to handle all the business that came their way. The town of Beaverton had grown increasingly in size over the past twenty years, and firms were needed to build condos, apartment buildings, banks, shopping malls, and office buildings. But playing the part of business man was not his style. He much preferred his den at home to working in this sleek office, leaving the paperwork and appointments to his secretary and accountant to handle, and coming in only when necessary. Over the past five years, he'd pulled himself almost entirely out of the commercial end of the business, leaving the large building projects to his partner, Jeffrey Hanover, and their staff. He preferred working with individual homeowners, helping them draft the homes of their dreams.
William ran a hand through his thick, black hair that he wore slightly long. A touch of gray tipped the ends now, but he was forty-four, and that was to be expected. And if age hadn't grayed him, then his children had, especially his daughter, Sandy. That's why he'd preferred working at home all these years, so he could try to watch over them and try to fill the gaping void in their household. But it had been too big a job, bigger than he'd ever imagined.
Four minutes late. How much longer would he have to wait? He paced the floor, wondering where she was. He usually didn't mind the publicity or the time it took to show off his work. Having photos of the homes he designed appear in a publication like Architectural Home always brought prestigious clientele his way. But having to waste his time redoing something because of someone else's stupidity irked him. And her being late irritated him more. He'd give her five more minutes, and if she didn't show, he was out of here.
Annie Paxton sped her car into a parking spot in front of the Beaverton office complex. She was annoyed with herself. She was late for an appointment, and she hated that. Usually punctual and articulate, she was never late for an appointment or photo shoot. But today was different. She'd mistakenly misjudged the amount of morning traffic, had taken a wrong turn and had to go in circles to find the building. It was only five minutes, but to her it was as bad as being late by an hour.
Hurriedly, she grabbed her camera from the passenger seat and slung it around her neck. She'd need the larger camera and tripod in the trunk, too but would get those after she met up with the client. She never went anywhere without her smaller camera. It was like a part of her, like an arm or leg. It was a piece of her.
Annie grabbed her small handbag and slammed the car door shut, forcing herself to stand still a moment and take a deep breath. It was only five minutes, nothing to be upset about. Besides, she was a photographer. Weren't artsy types supposed to be a little flighty? At least, that's what most people expected. She winced at that thought, hating to be thought of that way. Taking another calming breath, she ran a hand through her shoulder length, brown hair and headed into the building.
Five minutes later, Annie stood in front of the secretary's desk in the offices of Grafton and Hanover. As the secretary announced her arrival to Mr. Grafton, Annie glanced around, surprised the offices weren't larger. From what she knew about the firm, it was one of the largest and busiest in the Portland-Beaverton area. Since William Grafton was part owner, she had expected more lavish offices.
"You may go in now, Ms. Paxton," the secretary told her with a smile. Annie thanked her and headed through the door into William Grafton's office.
William was standing behind his desk, arms crossed, staring at her as she stepped inside. For a moment, he startled her, his eyes so intense, watching her as she walked across the room to his desk. Annie frowned. He looked familiar, yet she couldn't place him. He wasn't at all what she'd expected. He was taller, younger, and dressed much nicer than she'd expected. From the look on his face, she could also see he was annoyed.
Straightening herself to as tall as her five foot, four inch frame would allow, Annie offered a slender hand across his desk. "Mr. Grafton, I'm Annie Paxton. I'm sorry I'm late..."
"Yes, you should be. I almost didn't wait for you," William said gruffly, ignoring her outstretched hand and walking around to her side of the desk. "I'm a very busy man and I'm not happy about having to retake this shoot to begin with. I hope you don't make a habit of being late." Standing next to her now, he looked down at her from his six foot, one inch height. She's short, he thought as he continued to stare at her.
Annie was completely taken aback by his rudeness. Self-consciously, she dropped her hand, angry that she'd apologized to begin with and giving him the opportunity to spout off. Bully, she thought, uncomfortable under his blatant stare. Keeping her back arrow-straight, she spoke in a strong voice. "No, I'm usually very punctual and careful about my time, Mr. Grafton. I realize you are very busy, and I assure you I will be on time in the future."
"Good," he said, turning and walking back behind his desk. He tossed papers into his briefcase. "We have several places to stop today, so we'd better be off. Unfortunately, we won't be able to see everything in one day, so we'll have to waste another day tomorrow to finish up," he said, his tone annoyed.
Annie was suddenly sorry she'd taken this assignment. She couldn't imagine spending the entire day with him and his attitude, let alone two days. She no longer cared if she did the shoot or not.
"Mr. Grafton, I am not the one who lost the original photos. I'm not even an employee of the magazine. I'm a freelance photographer who was given this assignment so they could get their article out on time. If this is such an inconvenience for you, then I suggest you give me the addresses of the places to be photographed, and I will go on my own."
William's eyes darted up from the papers he was shoving into his briefcase to meet those of Annie's. Her words had stunned him but not as much as her eyes, green eyes, spitting fire at him. For a brief moment, he thought he was looking into the eyes of his wife, Sara. He pushed the lid of his briefcase shut, all the while staring at her with a sort of baffled look on his face.
Uncomfortable under his stare but still angry that he'd been so rude, Annie said, "Well?"
"You have green eyes," William said in amazement.
Annie blinked, confused by his sudden change of attitude. "Well, actually, they're blue-green, but when I wear green..." she trailed off, looking down at the hunter green turtleneck she wore.
"Of course, they turn green to match your sweater." William's voice had grown softer. "My wife had blue-green eyes. They always changed color depending upon what she wore, too."
Annie didn't know how to respond to this. She knew he was a widower, but she had no idea for how long. Should she pay her respects for his loss? She wasn't sure. The tone of the conversation had changed so incredibly fast, she was at a loss for words.
William saved her by coming out of his daze, shaking his head as if clearing away a thick fog. He smiled at Annie, a wonderful smile that warmed his rich brown eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice still soft. "We've gotten off to a bad start, and it's all my fault. I'm afraid I've been working away from my office for so long I've forgotten how to be civil. Of course, I'd be happy to take you around to the houses. I wouldn't even dream of letting you go alone."
He continued smiling at her, and Annie relaxed for the first time since walking into his office.
"Let's start over," he suggested, extending his hand over his desk. "Please, call me William."
Annie lifted her hand and placed it in his. His large hand enveloped her small one. It felt warm. It was at that moment she recognized him. It's you she thought, then hoped she hadn't said it out loud. "I'm Annie," she offered, "and I am sorry I was late."
"Not to worry," he said, holding her hand a moment before finally releasing it. "I made more of it than I should have. I'm afraid I've become very impatient in my old age."
&nbs
p; Annie couldn't imagine what he meant by "old age" when he was standing there with that boyish grin. She had thought he looked young before, but now that his face had relaxed, he looked even younger.
Together, they loaded her camera equipment into his black Explorer and set off. He drove her to an affluent area of Beaverton, where impressive houses sat on beautifully landscaped lots. He'd designed several in this one area, but they only visited two, and Annie set in motion, immediately taking shots both inside and outside the homes.
She set up her tripod and larger camera for the outdoor shots, preferring to use the smaller one around her neck for inside. She had brought along extra floor lights to set up, but found the homes had such wonderful lighting from their large windows and well-placed light fixtures that she didn't need them.
William solicitously followed her around, helping by carrying her equipment and pointing out the unique features in each house. The March day had warmed considerably, and he'd taken of his suit jacket and tie, making him appear less formal, more accessible.
They had full run of the homes they visited, because the owners had agreed to be gone for the shoots. It seemed his clients loved his work so much they were only too happy to let him show it off.
And Annie was impressed. The homes were beautiful, each one built uniquely to suit its owner. In all her years of photographing homes for magazines, she'd never been as impressed as she was today.
"These homes are fantastic," she told him enthusiastically as she continued clicking snapshots. "You do beautiful work."
William smiled sheepishly as he said a quiet thank you. She was surprised by his genuine humility.
Annie took dozens of photos at the first two houses, then they were off to the neighboring suburbs of Forest Grove and Hillsboro to view more homes. Again, Annie found each home completely different from the last, and the lighting was amazing in all of them. Large windows, large rooms, yet cozy, warm atmospheres seemed to prevail in all of them.
The afternoon flew by, and William treated Annie to a late lunch at a quaint cafe on their way into Portland. There were two more homes he wanted to show her near the city before calling it a day.
As they sat across from each other at a corner table, William couldn't help but admire Annie. Her eyes were still sparkling with enthusiasm at the photos she'd taken. Her warm, brown hair was tucked neatly behind her ears, showing off the perfect shape of her oval face. Everything about her was petite, her ears, nose, and heart-shaped mouth, making her appear doll-like. But her personality more than compensated for her size, exploding with energy, making him forget how small she was.
"These shots are going to be amazing," she said excitedly, unaware that he was staring at her so intensely. She took a sip of her soda and a hearty bite from her turkey sandwich. "I can't get over the great lighting your homes have."
William smiled, happy he'd impressed her with his work. Somehow, it seemed important to him that she approved. "Lighting actually makes the house," he told her. "Big windows make rooms appear larger, and the perfect balance of light creates the entire atmosphere of a room."
"I agree completely," she said, nibbling on a French fry. "But most home builders don't understand that. They just slap together walls and call it a house."
William laughed. "Most home builders don't get to work with the budgets I do. The majority of the homes I design run in the five to ten million dollar range."
"True," Annie said, smiling back at him. "I guess you can afford enormous windows with that kind of money."
William nodded. "Actually, it was my wife who emphasized to me the importance of perfect lighting. She was an artist, and lighting was paramount to her. When we built our home, it was her ideas I used for the most part."
"Your wife must have been very creative," Annie said softly.
"She was," William said quietly, his smile fading. His eyes were heavy with sadness. Annie's first impulse was to place her hand on his to soothe away the hurt in his eyes. But she only sat there, quiet, not quite understanding her urge to comfort him. After all, she barely knew him.
William broke the uneasy silence. "Well, we'd better go see the other two homes before it gets dark," he suggested. He paid the bill, and they took off in his Explorer toward Portland.
These homes were as incredible as the others and although Annie enthusiastically snapped pictures, the excitement of the day had dissipated. William was quieter, more reserved, although he continued to help carry equipment and was very polite. He seemed to have drifted off, far away into another place, and Annie didn't want to intrude on his silence.
They returned to his office building just as evening spread over the city. He helped her load the equipment back into her car. At the last minute, William invited her out for a late supper, but she politely declined. She wanted to go home and download her photos to see how they'd turned out. So they parted with an appointment to meet again at eleven the next morning.
Annie thought of him all the way back to her apartment, and again as she lay in her bed that night. It's him. I'm sure of it. It was obvious he was still heartbroken over the loss of his wife. She had seen it in his eyes when he spoke of her. She wasn't sure how long his wife had been gone, but thought how sad it was for him. He was an attractive, energetic man, and he seemed too young to cling to a memory. As she drifted off to sleep, she was looking forward to spending the next day with him.
Across town, as William lay in bed that night, his thoughts kept returning to Annie. Her energy and her enthusiasm as she constantly snapped pictures with the camera that hung around her neck had enchanted him. There was something so familiar about her, something he just couldn't put his finger on. Her eyes were exactly like his wife's, but other than that, she was completely different from Sara. All he knew was for the first time in five years, he'd completely enjoyed his day and was looking forward to tomorrow.
Chapter Five
Sometimes, the colors came. As she lay in bed, in that quiet state of semi-sleep, they twirled and danced high above her. Ribbons of watercolors so brilliant that they took her breath away. She wanted to reach up and touch them, but something inside her told her she couldn't. They weren't hers to touch yet.
Behind the colors was the light, a golden light that warmed her all the way to her soul, a luminous face smiling down at her. Even long after she awoke and the colors had faded away, she felt their warmth within her throughout the day.
It was with the fading colors that Annie finally awoke, pulling herself out of her dreams and into the morning. As she showered, she thought about the vibrant colors and what they meant, feeling their warmth still with her. It was but one of many dreams she had regularly that she didn't understand. Dreams that warmed her and touched her soul. They had just become a part of her life, as easily as the town of Seaside had when she moved here four years ago.
Annie made herself toast and a cup of coffee and sat at her small table. She watched the day arrive out her patio window. In the distance, she could see the ocean, the sky and water turning a rich pinkish-blue as the sun slowly kissed them. She loved living in Seaside. She'd actually been drawn to it. It was so opposite of where she'd grown up, so much friendlier in both climate and people. She didn't miss the cold winters of St. Paul, Minnesota, or the few relatives she had there. And she knew that they didn't miss her either. She'd only been a bother to them through the years, an obligation. When she was three, her mother had died after a long battle with breast cancer. Her father, heartsick over losing his wife, had found solace in a bottle and was never the same again. He died of liver disease when she was ten, and although he had tried to love her, all she really remembered of him was his sadness.
From then on she was shuffled between her father's brother and two sisters. They all had families of their own, and none of them wanted her. That time was just a blur to her now, a mixture of faces, houses, tears, and lost years. She learned then that love was a scarce commodity, passed on only to those more deserving than she. But th
at was fine with Annie. She saw what love had done to her father, how it had destroyed his life, and she knew she never wanted to love anyone that deeply. It was too painful to lose the one you loved.
As soon as Annie graduated high school, she went out on her own. She attended the University of Minnesota on a full scholarship, majoring in the arts, finding photography to be her one true love. For a child who didn't own many photos of her youth, she now took pictures of everything, preserving time with her camera for others to enjoy. After college, she interned for a landscape and architectural magazine based in St. Paul and landed a permanent position there. A few years later, when they sent her on a special assignment to Portland, she instantly fell in love with the area, especially the town of Seaside. The first time she saw the small beach town, she felt like she'd finally come home. It drew her in so completely with its quaint shops and friendly, casual atmosphere, so unaffected by big city life. She decided at once that she had to live there and immediately landed a job with a Portland-based architectural magazine. But after a year of being tied down to one workplace, she decided to go out on her own and freelance. Her work had become well-known, and she was always busy with several assignments lined up in advance. She loved her work, where she lived, and everything about her life. For her, it was perfect.
Annie worked on her computer, sorting photos from other assignments she had completed. She'd done an expansive spread on Victorian homes in the Portland area for a Portland-based magazine and had also shot some photos over the bridge in Vancouver, Washington, of new homes built by a well-known architect. But no assignment she’d had so far was as exciting as the one with William. His homes were truly works of art, a photographer's dream. She couldn't wait to see the other homes today. Excitedly, Annie dressed and drove the hour into Beaverton. Today, she would not be late.
Sara's Promise Page 3