by Ranae Rose
Despite the heavy feeling in the pit of his chest, he couldn’t help but smile a little over her passion for photo frame shopping, of all things. “Hope you have a good time. Still need a ride home from the airport day after tomorrow?”
“Only if it won’t be too much trouble for you. If you’ll be with a client, I can see if Mina’s free, or take a cab home.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there. What time does your flight come in?”
“Six-thirty.”
“I’ll see you then.”
“Thanks. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad you’ll be picking me up. I miss you, you know.” A breathy sound came from her end of the connection, and it sent a slow frisson creeping down Jed’s spine.
“Yeah. Spending the night in that big haunted house just isn’t the same without you.”
“You slept there alone?” She sounded genuinely surprised.
“Last night. Going back tonight, too.”
“Wow, you’re brave.”
“Just facing my fears.”
She laughed, but he hadn’t been joking. Spending the night alone in the place in Allegheny West had very much been about facing ghosts. Not the kind that walked through walls and whispered in your ear, but the ones in his head.
* * * * *
Karen reached out and touched one finger gently to the side of a thick picture frame, tracing the curve of a golden lily with the tip of one finger. Her grandmother would love everything about it – the way the burnished gold made it look antique, the way the ornate carvings scrolled from corner to corner in the shapes of dozens of lilies. She—
Realization hit Karen like an arrow to the heart, sharp and piercing. Her grandmother would have loved the picture frame. She lowered her hand and moved on, searching for something that would suit Mina and Eric’s style.
“These are gorgeous,” said Miranda, the photographer Karen had hit it off with the day before. “Very modern, but still unique, you know?”
Karen nodded. “I like this one.” She reached out and touched silver, thinking of Jed. How many times had he been hit by those sharp little arrows, those split second realizations that reminded you of a sickening truth you’d somehow forgotten?
He was strong, though, and she endeavored to be strong too as she glanced back at the lily frame and attempted to appreciate it for what it was, for what her grandmother would have liked about it. She didn’t want to stop thinking about her just because it hurt – truly forgetting her would be the worst tragedy of all, something she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for.
“It’s nice.” Miranda eyed the frame, giving it an appreciative nod. “Think the bride-to-be would like it?”
In the end, Karen decided that yes, Mina would like it. A salesperson carried it to the register, wrapped it carefully and surrendered the bag after a swipe of Karen’s credit card.
Moments later, Karen and Miranda were out the door, on their way to a place Miranda promised Karen she’d love.
Inside one of Miranda’s favorite restaurants near the frame gallery, Karen placed her shopping bag beneath the table.
“So,” Miranda eventually said, smiling over a bowl of soup, “when are you coming back to New York?
“I don’t know,” Karen said, a little wave of surprise rippling over the surface of her mind as she paused with a spoonful of French onion halfway to her mouth. “I don’t have any plans to return right now, why?”
“You want to be a fashion photographer, don’t you? That’s why you entered the contest. Well, it’s not like you’re going to make a name for yourself shooting fashion in Pittsburgh. That’d be like trying to fish in the desert – pointless.”
Karen mulled the analogy over and nodded. The Steel City was full of bridges, not runways. The fashion work was in New York. Everyone knew that.
“So, you’ve got talent,” Miranda continued. “But talented photographers are a dime a dozen. More importantly, you’ve got opportunity – give it a few months, and you’ll have Marc St. Pierre tear sheets. It’s tough to make it in fashion, in New York – but you know that. Point is, play your cards right and you’ll be a fresh – dare I say exciting – new arrival on the fashion scene instead of just another hopeful with a camera.”
“I guess I hadn’t looked at it that way – I hadn’t considered moving here.”
“Why not?”
Karen dipped her spoon back into her bowl, stirring its steaming contents as she bit down on her inner lip.
“Look,” Miranda said, “I grew up in a wide spot in the road in Georgia. I know how daunting the idea of striking out on your own here can be. But Marc St. Pierre – hell, I felt like I’d just discovered the Holy Grail the first time I booked a shoot with them. And it took me a long time to work my way up to landing that job. I spent years sharing an apartment the size of a postage stamp with two other women and eating peanut butter sandwiches most days.”
Karen finally lifted a spoonful of the soup to her mouth. As it slid down her throat, spicy and hot, she tried to imagine living in the city, devoting her life to shooting gazelle-like models in designer clothing – or at least, trying to land jobs where she could do just that.
“What I’m really trying to say is that if you do want to give it a real try here, I can help. You saw my studio – it doesn’t come cheap. I rent it out to other photographers on a fairly regular basis to help recoup the cost. If you move here, we can negotiate a rental agreement so that you’ll have a place to shoot indoors when needed, right off the bat. It wouldn’t be free, but I wouldn’t price-gouge you, either.” She grinned broadly from across the table. “I’d even make sure you don’t get stuck on an all peanut butter diet.”
Karen’s imagination soared at the thought of shooting inside Miranda’s studio on a regular basis. It was no wonder she rented it out – it was a dream facility in the city, with its amazing location, wide-open space, high ceiling and abundant natural lighting provided by huge windows that showcased the Manhattan skyline. And it was stocked with top of the line equipment – stuff that Karen’s own supplies back in Pittsburgh paled in comparison to.
“It’s your decision, obviously,” Miranda said, “and I’ve made my offer, so I won’t pressure you anymore. But I really think you owe it to yourself to make the most of the opportunity you’ve been granted and give New York a try.”
* * * * *
Jed’s heart beat just a little too quickly as he guided the Charger down a nighttime street, leaving the airport behind. When Karen had emerged into the baggage claim area, she’d embraced him, and when they’d slipped into the car together, she’d given him a sultry smile that had thrown him into the grip of memories of their night together in the Allegheny West house.
Now he drove, expectation tingling in his veins as a sense of apprehension weighed him down. Karen had been quiet since they’d entered the car – a rarity, for her. “How was the rest of your trip?”
She beamed. “Great. I found the perfect frame for Mina and Eric. It’s in my suitcase, but I’ll show you when we get to my place.”
When they arrived at her apartment, she invited him in first thing, then embraced him again before pulling a silver picture frame out of her luggage.
“Looks great,” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
She set it on the kitchen table, reverently re-wrapping it in several layers of paper. “There’s something I want to talk to you about, Jed,” she said when she faced him again.
A weight tumbled from somewhere in his throat to the pit of his gut as a sense of the inevitable settled over him. “Okay. What is it?” He could handle this – he had to. She deserved New York; she deserved the best of everything, including the best possible chance for her career.
CHAPTER 8
“I want you to tattoo me.”
It took a few moments for her words to settle in. “You do?” He searched her face, meeting her unblinking eyes and examining them for any trace of a joke, any evidence tha
t he’d misheard.
“Yes.” She stood with her hands clasped together, her eyes wide. “Will you?”
“Of course.” A fierce wave of emotion flashed through him at the thought of his gloved hands against her uninked skin, his needle poised to leave a permanent mark.
She breathed a sigh, her shoulders relaxing. “Oh, good. I thought you’d laugh at me.”
“Why would I?”
“Because, you know, I’m afraid of needles, and I’ve always said there was no way I could get a tattoo.”
He knew that, of course, and the knowledge only made it that much more gratifying that she apparently trusted him to tattoo her. “I’m not going to laugh. What made you change your mind?”
“I want a tattoo to honor my grandmother. When I was in that frame gallery in SoHo, I found a frame she would’ve loved. It had lilies worked into the design – stargazer lilies were her favorite flower. She loved them. She used to pick up a little bunch from the florist every week and display them in a vase in her kitchen, and I would always give her a huge bouquet of them on her birthday.”
“So you want a tattoo of those flowers?”
She nodded. “I thought of it a little while after I left the frame place. I know that was only yesterday, but I’m sure I want it.” She exhaled, eyes flashing. “Even if that means I have to voluntarily come into contact with a needle.”
“And you need a design?”
She nodded again.
“Do you have a piece of paper and a pencil I can use?”
“Yeah.” She retrieved both items and surrendered them, looking curious.
“Can you bring up a picture of a stargazer lily on your phone?”
“Sure.” She brought one up, and he took the phone, studied the image for a few seconds and then laid the device on the table where he could see the screen easily.
“Where do you want the tattoo?”
“On my shoulder. Here.” She crossed her left arm over her body and touched her fingertips to her back, running them over the area just above her shoulder blade.
“Okay. Now explain to me what you have in mind for the design.”
As she spoke, he sketched, doing his best to translate what she was describing into an illustration. Two lilies and a delicate swirling design behind them, darker than the flower petals, which would be carefully shaded in tones of pink and white. For now, he used the flat side of his pencil to color in shades of grey where the pink would go.
Karen watched with a bright smile as he used the tip of the pencil to add dots to the petals, a freckling pattern like the one belonging to the real-life flower displayed by her phone.
“That looks amazing,” she said when he was done. “Like I imagined, only even better.”
“It’s just a rough sketch. I can take this home and draw up something neater.”
“Really? Thank you. I love it.”
“We can do the tattoo whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be. Whenever you have time will be fine.”
“Tomorrow night, if you’re sure.”
She nodded. “Thank you. And … how much?”
He did laugh then – he couldn’t help it. “I’m not charging you anything.”
“I don’t expect you to do it for free. I’ll pay whatever you’d charge any other client.”
He shook his head. “No way. It’ll be a gift.”
Maybe she sensed his resolve, because she nodded, thanking him again.
And then, with the preliminary sketch lying on the table before him, there was nothing to do but address what had been eating away at him for over a week. “Karen, did your trip change how you view your career – do you plan to go back to New York?”
She raised her gaze from the sketch, blinking. “I’m sure I’ll return at some point.”
“I mean, do you plan to move there to pursue your photography?”
Her eyes widened, but she shook her head. “No, why?”
“I’m no photographer, but I know New York is where all that stuff happens with fashion. I figured if models go there to try to make it big, photographers must too, right? After getting a break with a famous designer there, I thought you might decide to stick around for any other opportunities that might bring.”
“New York definitely supplies the lifeblood of the country’s fashion industry. And Miranda, the photographer I spent yesterday with, did offer to rent me partial use of her studio if I move to the city.”
He nodded, resignation stiffening the bones and muscles in his neck, making the motion difficult. What she was saying made sense – why was it so hard to accept, especially when he’d been expecting it? “Pittsburgh is so small compared to New York. When you told me you won that contest, I figured…”
His voice faded, betraying him as he remembered her legs wrapped around his waist, her nails digging into his back. Maybe he could still see her even if she moved to New York.
Hell, no, that was just wishful thinking. The drive was a good seven hours, not even counting city traffic. Way too long to work, way too much to ask. And Pittsburgh, where he’d built Hot Ink from the ground up, was his home, for good. The idea of a long-distance relationship was ridiculous, and a sinking part of him knew it.
“You thought I’d want to stay in New York?” She arched a brow. “Then this will sound crazy, but… Jed, I don’t want to be a fashion photographer. I realized that when I was shooting for Marc St. Pierre.”
“You don’t want to be a fashion photographer?” The words felt alien on the tip of his tongue, false. Was his disappointment so obvious that she was lying to him, denying her dream to try to spare his feelings? The thought made his head ache as a wave of faint nausea washed over him.
“I know what you must be thinking. I almost feel bad saying it, after being granted such an awesome opportunity. I enjoyed the shoot and I’ll be showing the catalog off every chance I get when it comes out this winter, but I’m just not interested in pursuing fashion photography as a career. I want to focus on other areas.”
“Other areas?” He looked around at the many black and whites hanging on her apartment walls, his gaze lingering on the beautiful photographs of his work. Her tattoo portraits were amazing, and they may have given her the boost she needed to go full-time with her photography, but tattoo photography alone couldn’t sustain a career. Surely she realized that.
“Shooting for Marc St. Pierre was fun, but it’s just so different than what I really love shooting – people, their stories, their tattoos, the important moments in their lives… I love taking photos that people will cherish or admire for the rest of their lives, not advertisements that will be thrown out after a few weeks. Does that make any sense?”
He nodded, slowly. “Still, couldn’t you continue to take the sort of photos you love most on the side, in addition to fashion photography?” He was no expert, but advertisements sounded a hell of a lot more lucrative than portrait and personal photography.
“I guess. I mean, that’s basically what I’m doing now – I’ve done commercial shoots for quite a few businesses here in Pittsburgh. But if I relocated to New York to pursue fashion photography… I think it would be sink or swim, you know?
“It’s a hard business to make it in, and a hard city to afford. Miranda’s studio is state of the art, but I’d have to work my butt off to have a chance at being able to afford the rent, not to mention my living expenses. And frankly, I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to struggle for a chance to make it in an industry my heart isn’t really in. I like what I have here – I want to continue to grow my business in Pittsburgh, and spend as much time as possible on the projects that are meaningful to me.”
“Are you sure?” He had to ask – had to. Because what she was saying was almost too good to be true, and not making sure it was really, truly what she wanted most would’ve been selfish.
She laughed softly. “You almost sound like you want to get rid of me, Jed. You’re not going to for
ce me onto a one-way flight back to New York, are you?”
“No. I just need to make sure that you’re telling me the truth – that you’re not just saying all this because we’ve been seeing each other.” It seemed kind of egotistical to say it out loud, but if the attraction she felt to him was anything like what he felt for her … well, it was a powerful fucking thing.
She looked directly into his eyes, unblinking. “Pittsburgh – my life and my work here – is really what I want. I’m not being dishonest. Not even a little bit. And maybe if we’d been seeing each other a little longer, you’d know me well enough to realize that if I was lying, I’d be blushing really badly right now. I don’t have a poker face, Jed, so I usually don’t even try to deceive people.” She grinned.
He drummed his fingertips on the table, mulling the situation over, mentally exploring every facet as best he could. He wanted to stand up and sweep her right off her feet, but only if he wouldn’t be pulling her future out from under her by doing so. “Okay.” What she’d said was pretty thorough, and if that was what she wanted, who was he to tell her what to do?
“Okay as in you’re not going to try to force me into fashion photography?” Her grin stretched a little wider. “Okay as in we can pick up where we left off before I went to New York, and you’ll stop looking like you’re waiting for me to give you a good, sharp kick in the shin?”
His lips twitched at the corners, bowing to an involuntary smile. “Is that what I look like?”
“Pretty much. But for the record, I’ve never seen someone look so sexy while anticipating being hurt.”
“Thanks.” He stood, reaching for her, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her close.
“Did you really think I was going to want to stay in New York? For good?” She leaned into him, her breath warming his chest, even through his t-shirt.