“That’s nice. A combo event.” I take her glass to the sink.
“What’s a combo event?” Phoebe asks.
“It’s when more than one thing is happening at once.” Stephen scrunches her napkin before tossing it in the trash.
I refuse to reflect how we work well together.
“Oh, okay. Like you and Jenny saying you’re getting married when you’re really not getting married? That’s two different things happening.”
If Stephen’s eyebrow could rise off his forehead I think it would. “Yeah. Like that.” He gives me the look.
I don’t give him the look back. It won’t do any good. He thinks the whole fiasco is my fault and nothing will change his mind.
He needs to hurry up and break up with me. That will solve all the problems and we can quit pretending.
ARE ALL KIDS THIS good about going to bed? According to what I’ve heard, putting a child to bed ranks right up there with trying to model swimsuits in the cold New York air.
Not fun.
But Phoebe doesn’t mind at all. Maybe that’s because she obeys her mom. Stephen says Phoebe is always well mannered and polite, and I see that. I have no reason to think she is a difficult child.
She’s snuggled in her bed with her blanket and smile. I automatically brush her bangs away from her eyes. She crinkles her nose.
“Your fingers are so soft,” she says. “Like your voice. Most of the time. Sometimes with Mr. Stephen it gets a little loud.”
I can’t help but laugh. “It does.”
“But sometimes it’s really whispery soft. Like you guys have a secret or something.”
I clear my throat. “We don’t have any secrets,” I assure her. “Let’s continue on with our story. So, we know Princess Bea can’t marry Prince Jonah and continue to play her beautiful music. And she knows that.”
“But Prince Jonah doesn’t,” Phoebe adds.
“No, he doesn’t. Princess Bea and her family have a big feast for dinner every night, so she asks Prince Jonah to stay for supper. She needs to make him fall in love with her, and she needs time to figure out how she can marry him and keep playing her music.”
“What if there’s a secret ingredient in the food? Like a love potion that will make Prince Jonah fall in love.”
Love potion? Seven years old? Kids are growing up so fast. “Okay. I like it. But what if Princess Bea doesn’t want to give him the potion at dinner? What if she wants to find out what goes into the potion, so maybe she can tweak it so that when he falls in love with her, her ability to play music won’t automatically stop?”
“Tweak?”
I keep forgetting she’s seven. “Adjust. Make changes. Maybe there is an ingredient in the potion that stops the women from playing the music?”
“I know how to fix it! It’s when the prince kisses her. After he kisses her, she can’t play the music anymore.” Her excitement causes her to talk fast.
“And they never kiss until they are married,” I add.
“Right. Maybe something in the potion goes from his lips to her lips and it gets into her body and she can’t move her fingers over the harp anymore.”
I like how her imagination works. “I think you’re onto something, Phoebe. It sounds like Princess Bea isn’t going to be satisfied until she figures out the potion.”
She clasps her hands. “But she can’t wait too long, or the prince might not fall in love with her.”
“You don’t think he’ll fall in love with who she is? You think he has to have the potion?”
“I guess if we want to make sure he loves her he has to drink the potion. If he doesn’t, he might fall in love with someone else.” Spoken like a true teenager, and she’s only seven.
“Okay, so Princess Bea keeps the potion in her room and doesn’t bring it down to supper that night.”
“But the prince sits by her.”
“Of course he does. And he stares at her.” I think about how I stare at Stephen.
“Because she’s smart.” Phoebe’s tone is matter of fact.
“Smart? Okay. And she’s beautiful.”
“I think they are eating a chicken for dinner. Do they have macaroni and cheese where the princess lives?”
Can you say random? “I think they do. All princesses must eat mac and cheese.”
“I agree. The story is exciting. What happens after dinner? Does Princess Bea play her music for the prince again?”
“Maybe. We’ll see tomorrow night.”
“Not again.” Phoebe puts her palm to her head. “Just when it’s getting good.”
“That’s what a good storyteller does. Leaves you hanging, waiting for more.”
Her face scrunches and she frowns. “Okay. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Phoebe.”
Bending over I brush a kiss across her forehead. She smiles.
I exit the room before she can guess at the tears in my eyes. That child can detect things I wouldn’t imagine. Standing outside her room, I gather my composure before possibly running into Stephen.
What is it about the simplicity of Phoebe that tugs at my heart so? Is it her ability to flourish? Her blindness doesn’t seem to hinder her in any way, nor does she seem bitter about it.
Unable to help myself, I trace the line of the scar on my face. I’ve thought about it less and less as I’ve been here, but it’s a bitter reminder that everything I ever knew in life is no longer.
Even though I now have the opportunity to design, a desire I’ve had for a long time, it has come at a high price.
And getting the line photographed has been met with strife at every turn.
Why can’t I catch a break?
You did catch a break. Ann agreed to model the clothing.
The thought runs through my mind, and I know I have blessings to be thankful for. That Dominick Redding is willing to look at my line for his Inter-Season show is more than I could have hoped for.
My thumbs become moist as they press against the corners of my eyes. Quickly going through all five fingers, I finally stop my tears. Walking toward the kitchen, I hope no signs of my self-pity are evident, as I’m sure Stephen is somewhere close.
BRAZEN
“IF YOU WANT TO go out at night or something, feel free.”
Stephen’s voice greets me as I walk into the kitchen.
“What?” Am I too focused on my self-pity to focus on his comment?
“I’m sure you’re used to going out at night. I can handle Phoebe as long as she’s sleeping.”
Is he dismissing me? I’m not sure my state of mind can take any more rejection right now. The tears I had tamed moments earlier are now waiting to spill out all over again. I lower my head, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not a party girl if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
Once again his presence overpowers everything else in the vicinity. I don’t have to be looking his way to know he’s walking toward me. The air simply shifts, making me aware.
It’s rather unnerving.
“You’ve been cooped up in this house since you arrived. I thought you might want a change of scenery.”
Close. He’s so close he can probably smell my hidden tears. This man has a way of extracting everything within me. Everything about me is revealed when Stephen is around.
I have to counter attack. “I have no idea what’s around here. No, thanks.”
“Use your navigation on your phone. You can take my SUV.” His voice is a whisper on the wind as he basically orders me out of his house.
I’m not budging. “I’m perfectly content to languish in this house for another evening.”
“All right. Just thought I’d offer.”
Self-pity gives way to a more brazen feeling. Actually the tears are no longer threatening, which gives me the courage to look at him. I give him my hard look. The one the photographers love.
The one that made me money.
That look. “You can offer to kick me out for an evening, but you can’t bre
ak up with me? Interesting.”
The lazy warmth in his eyes ices. “I wasn’t aware you needed the actual breakup acted out.”
Coldness seeps into me as if his gaze has the power to dip my body in ice water.
Stephen has me so confused. I’m a grown, confident woman. And I’ve never known another human who had the ability to turn my senses into a hay-wired mess.
No wonder he photographs wildlife. No human model could sustain his scrutiny.
I’d either be an ice statue or a melting mess.
“I do need to talk to you,” he says.
So, has the handsome photographer laid a trap for me? Now that he’s assured I’m in for the evening, he wants to spring something on me? How easily I fall under his spell. “Talk.”
“You don’t have to be so blunt. I’m actually going to make nice.”
“Nice?” I ask.
“I know you are in a bind, so I’m offering Millie to you.”
He’s offering Millie? Can my heart assume that the mention of a guy named Mike coming around to take pictures has actually affected him? “Thank you.”
“Since you aren’t going out or anything, I can give you lessons tonight. Why don’t you call Ann and tell her to come tomorrow morning?”
No harm in pushing my dream come true scenario. “Are you sure you don’t want to shoot the pictures?”
“I told you, I don’t shoot humans.”
Hearing those words sounding so serious makes me chuckle. His eyes narrow and he turns, placing his hands on the counter. Something about this topic makes him nervous. Is there a chink in Stephen’s Day armor?
If so, I’m not pressing it now. It doesn’t seem like a good time. “Okay. I appreciate it.”
He picks up his camera. “It would be optimal for me to go over this with you in the morning, considering you are going to be taking the pictures in the morning. But there are a few basic things you can learn about photography anytime.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
He drapes the strap over my head, and I grasp the camera in my hands. Standing behind me, he wraps his arms around me, his hands covering mine briefly, like he’s making sure I have a good grip on his baby.
“This is your menu.” His thumb pushes a button. “I don’t think you’ll need to be changing anything here, but it’s good to know where it is. To exit, simply push it again.”
We spend the next twenty minutes going over the buttons on the camera. He’s still standing behind me, his body pressing into mine. I’m listening to him speak, but occasionally I find my mind wandering. I think about how tan his skin is next to my pale white complexion, how I could stand in his arms forever.
“So.” He steps from behind me. “Now you know basically how the camera works. Any questions?”
I look at him full in the face. He’s so beautiful it takes my breath. Maybe one day his looks will be second nature to me. “I guess my biggest question is how do I take a great picture?”
“Instinct.” He doesn’t hesitate and his tone is adamant.
Can I make my tone as adamant? “Panic and desperation I have. Instinct? I’m not so sure.”
He shakes his head. “Cheetah. You’ve been a model for years. You have instinct. You couldn’t have survived without it.”
Eyeing Millie, I turn slightly putting the big black camera to my face, pretending I’m focusing on the kitchen sink. Not doubting I only have one shot at this, I back up a couple of steps, pivot, and click the button quickly, capturing the beautiful Stephen Day in the view finder.
His laid-back expression flat lines. His gaze moves sharply over my face as he jams one hand in his pocket. “The flash wasn’t on, and don’t ever do that again.”
Everything inside me knows he’s never been more serious, the words he spoke not up for any sort of discussion. Not warranting even an acknowledgment.
Maybe one day I’ll have his impact on people. Until then, I’m going to learn from him. Although honestly, I don’t want to give him too many opportunities to be so serious with me.
It only seems natural to return Millie to him at this moment, like it only seems natural that he would push a few buttons erasing the image I took of him. The image that probably didn’t turn out.
I totally forgot about the flash.
Instead of placing the camera around his neck, he sets it on the counter. His index finger pretends to scrape something off the counter top, but there’s nothing there.
Maybe a nervous habit? Although what Stephen would ever have to be nervous about is beyond me.
“Do you ever think that your surgery turned out the way it did for a specific purpose?” he asks.
Is he serious? A downward spiral kind of feeling runs through me. “What purpose?”
“Can I ask what happened? Why you had to have surgery?”
This is it. The moment I sound like somebody I don’t want to. But facts are facts. I can’t change the truth. “I had a small pimple on my cheek. It had been there awhile, so I went to the dermatologist to see about having it removed. He assured me it was a simple procedure done all the time.”
His hand clasps mine. “Not so simple, huh?”
“No. The root was much deeper than he anticipated. It happens sometimes. It’s rare, but it’s real. I’m living proof.”
“I have this feeling that you think it’s your fault. It’s not.” His voice is husky, emotion-filled.
The truth needs to be told. “I was scared. Scared of losing jobs to younger girls. Scared of not having the things I was used to. All those things that I’m living right now. And I now see that I was simply being vain. Nobody cared about that little pimple. Nobody but me.”
“I want to show you something,” he says. “Come outside for a minute.”
We walk, hand in hand, out to the patio, the pool light shimmering through the rippling water.
His gaze travels upward. “There’s too many city lights here to really see the stars, but do you know how many stars there are?”
“No idea. Millions, I’m sure.”
“Hundreds of thousands of millions. And that’s just in one galaxy. There are millions of galaxies.”
While night has fallen, Stephen’s right about not being able to see many stars. Dark grey, almost black skies hover overhead, with the occasional airplane white or red blinking by.
I imagine he sees a lot of stars when he’s out in the wild. “I don’t know too much about astronomy.”
“I don’t either, but I know that each star was put there by God for a purpose.” He squeezes my hand. “If you didn’t have this scar, what would you be doing right now?”
Scooting closer to him as the breeze picks up, I shake my head. “I’m not sure. Probably vacationing somewhere for the holidays with my friends.”
“You’re cold.” He folds me into his arms.
“Not anymore.” His touch renders me mindless. I’m glad he quit talking astronomy. No way could I keep up.
“If you didn’t have the scar you wouldn’t be standing here. In my arms.”
Is he at war within himself? Is he glad I’m here? His touch says yes, but I’m not convinced. “You’re right. I wouldn’t be here.”
He tilts my chin up. “What if you are supposed to be here? With me?”
What part of we’re supposed to be breaking up doesn’t he understand? And he can’t seriously think that he and I are supposed to be together. Can he?
“What purpose would I being here with you serve?” I focus my gaze on his chin. Anything to keep from looking into his eyes or at his mouth.
“One we may not even be aware of at this time.”
“Are you talking fate?” Fate is proving cruel teasing me with Stephen.
“I don’t believe in fate. I believe in Jesus.”
To me it’s weird for us to be in an embrace and talking about Jesus. Like it’s sacrilegious or something. And I would much rather be embracing Stephen than talking about Jesus. “I’m not sure of your point.”
“My point is this. What if it was meant for us to meet?” He drags the words out like they aren’t easy for him to say.
They’re even harder for me to hear. “Like Jesus wanted us to meet?”
The idea spoken out loud sounds even weirder than when it was in my head.
Stephen shakes his head, his gaze drifting upward. “I know it sounds crazy, surreal. But that’s how it feels to me. Crazy. Surreal. You’re here. I’m here. And given normal circumstances neither of us would be here.”
His words fall on me, settling onto my unsettled heart. “You’re supposed to be in Zaunesia capturing the wilds through your viewfinder.”
“And you’d rather be languishing on some covered veranda, feeling warm temperatures caress your skin. Not cool breezes.”
When we’re this close, it’s like we’re in a cocoon, closed up and melded together. “There’s something to be said about cool breezes.”
I barely finish speaking as his lips touch mine. Not really in a kiss at first. Even though this isn’t our first kiss, it’s like he’s treading carefully, and it’s up to me to embrace his offer.
Like this morning, my lips capture his, the sweet taste of him making me weak with desire.
Weak for more of who he is.
Only as I deepen the kiss, I realize I’m craving for more of what I don’t know. Because honestly, there’s not too much about Stephen that I do know.
Except that his kisses are amazing.
And I guess, if you only know one or two things about a man, that’s a good thing to know.
TUESDAY MORNING I open my eyes and am filled with excitement. Today I’m shooting my SunKissed! line.
As I lie in bed, visions of poses running through my head, I hear a soft, pelting sound. My heart sinks as I realize the continual soft, pelting sound is rain.
I push the covers away and slip on my lounging pants, then shuffle over to the window.
The loud sound of the blinds lifting echoes the scream inside me. It can’t be raining. But the scream is rounded out at the edges with bits of relief.
A relief I don’t want to think about.
Steady, dripping rain soaks the earth and any chance I have of taking outdoor pictures today.
Rich in Hope (Richness in Faith Trilogy Book 2) Page 13