Izzy took his hand and smiled. “You too.”
He shook her hand and touched the base of her spine lightly with the other, turning her toward Richard Crawley. “Let me introduce you to Mr. Richard Crawley.”
She met the eyes of the TV host and ex-Templeton resident. With his dark hair and even darker eyes, square jaw and strong build, it would be hard to deny his good looks.
Izzy blushed under his friendly gaze and held out her hand, relieved it was steady. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Crawley.”
“You too. I like your work. And please, call me Richard.” His dark eyes sparkled as they bored into hers, his equally dark tan accentuated under the glare of sunlight through the large window beside them. “You’re a phenomenal photographer. I’m delighted with this chance to work with you.”
Izzy dipped her head, a little of her self-consciousness deteriorating in the face of his kindly stare and infectious smile. “Thank you.”
He nodded and gestured toward a black leather sofa. “Would you like to sit down?”
Izzy eased her hand from his and walked around the low coffee table to sit in an armchair. The men asked for more coffee from the receptionist and returned to the sofa beside her.
Richard Crawley lounged back, crossing his legs so his ankle rested casually on the opposite knee. “So, from what I’ve heard, it’s been a while since you’ve taken any work past the mundane bread-and-butter stuff.”
Mundane bread and butter stuff? I love my work. All of it. Her smile faltered. “Excuse me?”
He looked apologetic. “I mean, it seemed to me you were quite in demand around the Southwest until a few months ago—”
“I still am.”
“Yet you haven’t accepted any work that’s taken you from Templeton in months.”
Izzy swallowed, hating the unwelcome observation. She’d barely left the studio since Robbie died, let alone ventured out of the Cove. “Can I ask how you know that?”
He smiled. “I did a little research...as I’m sure you have too.”
Busted. She coughed. “Well, I hope my being here shows that I am ready to step out again. I’ve had other things going on.” She held his gaze, annoyance straightening her spine. “Personal things.”
He stared for a moment longer before raising his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I just assumed someone with your talent would want to stretch her wings a little, that’s all.”
Izzy curled her hands around her portfolio in her lap. “The Cove’s a great town, Mr. Crawley. I love it there.”
Mr. Sanford shifted in his seat. “Shall we talk about the project?”
With an infinite amount of effort, Izzy dragged her gaze from Richard Crawley’s, her spine so rigid, she concentrated on not making any sudden movements for fear of it snapping clean in half. She smiled at Mr. Sanford, ignoring Crawley’s stare as it bored into her temple. “I’ve brought a few examples of my work along with some ideas for what I have in mind for the firefighters’ calendar. These are purely suggestions, so anything either of you don’t like, I’m more than happy to discuss and rethink with you. The guys at the fire station are happy for me to proceed as I see fit, so really it’s a case of whatever you and—” she faced Crawley “—and you, are happy to do.”
He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his gaze on her photo examples. “I’m convinced whatever you have in mind will be great. I’m at your command.” He met her gaze. “Honestly. I’ve admired pretty much everything you’ve done from your shots of the Cove, land and seascapes, to celebrities, everything.”
Izzy’s shaky confidence itched for renewal under his seemingly genuine admiration. “I’m flattered. Thank you.”
“I mean it. I’m really looking forward to working with you. Maybe we could discuss the possibility of shooting the entire calendar in the Cove. What do you think?”
Surprised and pleased, Izzy steadfastly pushed away the notion that shooting in Templeton was borne from cowardice. “That would be great.”
The office door opened and the receptionist came in with their coffees. She laid the tray on the table in front of them. “Would there be anything else, Mr. Sanford?”
“No, that’s great. Thank you, Tiffany.”
She nodded and walked from the room, softly closing the door.
Izzy picked up her latte and took a sip. When she raised her eyes, she saw Crawley carefully watching her. She frowned. “Mr. Crawley?”
“Richard, please.” His gaze turned somber. “I was sorry to learn you recently lost your brother.”
The switch from her professional to personal life slammed Izzy’s defenses back into place. She cleared her throat. “Thank you. I miss Robbie every day, but I didn’t come here to talk about my brother.”
A faint blush stained Crawley’s cheeks and he briefly closed his eyes before opening them again. “I apologize.”
Swallowing hard, Izzy turned to Mr. Sanford. “I assume you’re happy if we decide to shoot the calendar entirely on location at Templeton?”
Mr. Sanford nodded, his gaze darting between Izzy and Crawley. “Of course. I’ll leave the order of things to you and Richard. In fact, why don’t we set up a meeting in the Cove as soon as possible? I understand Kate Harrington would ideally like the calendar to be shot by the middle of September so we have the finished product ready for sale at Christmas?”
Izzy nodded. “That’s right.”
Sanford looked to Crawley. “Your schedule is pretty free for the rest of the month. Would you be okay to spend a few days in Templeton next week? How about you, Miss Cooper? Would next week be okay with you?”
Izzy fought back her sudden panic. She could fit anything in at any time. She worked twelve-hour days whenever she needed to. More than that, this shoot was all for a little girl lying in a hospital bed, her parents praying for a miracle to save their daughter. If she, Richard Crawley and Templeton’s firefighters could play a part in making that miracle come true, next week would be perfect.
She nodded. “Absolutely.”
Sanford faced Richard Crawley. “Richard?”
His gaze met Izzy’s rather than his agent’s and she struggled not to fidget under the celebrity’s blatant study. He looked almost remorseful as he ran his gaze over her hair, lower to her eyes. He smiled warmly. “Next week would be great. It’s been too long since I’ve been to Templeton. Is there anywhere in particular you suggest I stay, Miss Cooper?”
Izzy softened. The guy looked genuinely sorry for mentioning Robbie and wanted them to start over. She smiled back. “Considering your celebrity status, I would recommend you stay at the Christie Hotel. It’s one of the best in Templeton and you can trust in their service and discretion.”
His shoulders relaxed beneath his smart black jacket and crisp white shirt. “The Christie it is, then.”
Mr. Sanford stood and Izzy turned to face him.
He held out his hand. “Well, that’s settled. I’ll be in touch as soon as we have Richard booked into the hotel so you’ll know when to expect him.”
“Great.” She shook his hand and then held her hand out to Richard Crawley. “I look forward to working with you.”
His gaze burned with a whisper of flirtation as his fingers curled around hers. “And I you.”
Cursing the sudden warmth at her cheeks, Izzy slid her hand from Crawley’s as Mr. Sanford held his hand out toward the door. Izzy gratefully walked toward it. As the agent reached for the door to open it, he stopped. “When I read about the explosion that killed your brother and was then approached by Ms. Harrington for Richard’s help, I was onboard immediately. I’m confident the extra emotion you’ll bring to the shoot will be invaluable.”
Izzy stilled. “The emotion?”
He flitted his gaze from her to Crawley, and back again. “What I mean to say is, we,
Mr. Crawley and I, believe having a local photographer, shooting a local celebrity, will really reunite the community after such a devastating tragedy. It will bring people together, knowing even celebrities as big as—”
“It doesn’t take something like my brother’s death to bring Templeton together, Mr. Sanford. Everything brings us together. You and Mr. Crawley need to be absolutely clear on that. Otherwise the people of Templeton will think celebrities have zero morality when it comes to promotion and making money. It will be up to you and Mr. Crawley to prove differently.”
“I think you misunderstand—”
Richard Crawley raised his hand silencing his agent. “Miss Cooper, Francis doesn’t speak for me. I’ve admired you...your work...for a long time and very much look forward to working with you to help raise money for Maya Jackson. That desire has nothing to do with your loss. We apologize.”
Torn between Richard’s clear sincerity and his agent’s ignorance, Izzy drew in a strengthening breath before nodding. “Then I’ll wait for your call.”
She strode from the room, nodded at the receptionist and continued to walk to the glass front door. Holding her breath, she rounded the corner toward the taxi stand. She opened the passenger door of the cab in front and gratefully slid into the seat. “Templeton Cove, please. The photography studio on Nelson Street.”
He nodded and turned the ignition.
Izzy shifted back in her seat and sighed. The sooner she got home to the safety of the Cove, the better. City life crawled with leeches...some clearly more blood-sucking than others.
CHAPTER FIVE
TRENT STROLLED OUT of the fire station, his body aching from cleaning and polishing the trucks all day. Thankfully, the shift had been entirely uneventful. No fires. No accidents. No cats stuck in trees. The Cove’s firefighters had enjoyed a day of peace, and now all he had planned for the night was to sit in front of the TV with a take-out dinner and a couple of beers.
He walked along the promenade lining Cowden Beach and smiled to see two teams of teenage lads playing a game of soccer on the sand, the goalposts made up of their discarded jackets. Trent wandered over to the iron railing and leaned his forearms on top to watch the boys play, remembering his own time doing the exact same thing in a park not too far from Templeton Cove.
As soon as he could afford it, he’d moved out of parents’ home, leaving them behind...along with the tortured memories of Aimee. Little did he know that no matter how far he ran, his sister’s ghost would follow. As often as he tried to visit his mum and dad, Aimee permeated every room of their family home and his anguish sometimes felt as raw as if the fire had happened yesterday.
The shout of a scored goal jolted Trent from his unwanted memories. He straightened from the railing to head to the fish and chip shop when he spotted Izzy standing on the tumble of rocks at the far side of the beach. Hunkered down, she held her camera to her face with the lens turned to the sea. He followed her line of sight to where she photographed.
The day had been unseasonably gray and the ocean showed its disproval. Waves churned, the sea dark and moody. Now that he’d seen her, the ocean echoed the torment inside him. Should he try to talk to her? Or leave her to work?
She lowered the camera and let it hang on the strap around her neck as she stared into the distance. Even from this far away, the high set of her shoulders and her immobilized stance showed her misery. The need to comfort her lurched in Trent’s chest.
As if she sensed him watching her, she slowly faced him.
He pulled back his shoulders and met her gaze.
She stood still awhile longer before she lifted the camera to her face and aimed the lens directly at him. He fought the need to smile or pull a face to make her laugh, as he would have before Robbie died. Helplessness writhed inside him. What did she want from him in that moment? He had no idea. Not anymore.
Once upon a time, he’d thought Robbie, being Izzy’s brother, had been the obstacle keeping him and Izzy apart, but it hadn’t taken long for Robbie to give Trent the go-ahead to ask out his sister. Little did Trent know how much of a flirt Izzy thought him, rebuking his advances at every turn. Yet now it wasn’t other women keeping Izzy from him, but his firefighting.
How was he supposed to make her understand how Aimee’s death brought forth a need so ingrained and painful inside him that he didn’t know what else to do with his life but fight what killed his sister? Could he ever give up that fight? He very much doubted it.
She carefully climbed down the rocks, one hand steadying her as she made her slow descent. Trent waited, needing to know she was safe on the sand before he could leave.
He wanted to protect his family and loved ones—to never fail someone again as he’d failed his baby sister. In Izzy, he saw his future. Why her, he wasn’t sure he could ever explain, but she mattered. Deeply.
Yet with every day that passed, she slipped further away from him and he wished it didn’t hurt so much.
He briefly closed his eyes before opening them again, ready to walk on. Walk away. He glanced in her direction one last time as she leaped from the final rock, her hand protectively clasped around the camera at her breasts. Looking up, she held up a finger toward him as though asking him to wait for her. Surprise turned to pathetic relief as she jogged across the sand, her long blond hair swinging back and forth in its ponytail. As she got closer, the more Trent tensed.
It had been over a week since he saw her. The beach party was a bigger disaster than he could ever have anticipated.
She came up the steps toward him, tucking some fallen hair behind her ear. He noted the way she tried to give him a smile, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Hi.”
He pushed his hands into the pockets of his work trousers. “Hi.”
Slightly out of breath, she exhaled through pursed lips. “I think I owe you an apology.”
She might as well have said she loved him. The pleasure that jolted through him probably wouldn’t have been any less powerful. He dragged his gaze from hers to look blindly toward a spot over her shoulder. “For what?”
“For the way I spoke to you at the beach last week.” She sighed. “Won’t you at least look at me? You know apologizing doesn’t exactly come as second nature to me.”
He turned. The trepidation and pleading in her gaze teemed with the blush at her cheeks, tugging at his chest. “I get it, Iz. It’s fine.”
“What do you get?”
“You need to blame me for Robbie’s death. You’ll only ever look at me and see a firefighter now. The man who couldn’t save your brother. You’ll never see just me. A guy who really likes you.”
The shouts from the teenagers on the beach, the passing traffic and the odd screech of a seagull punctured the silence. She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Guilt pressed down on him. The last thing he wanted was to add to her pain. He touched a finger to her chin. “Hey.” He winked. “I can’t be irresistible to every woman in the Cove, can I?” Her smile was slow in coming, but when it did, the sight of it pushed the air from Trent’s lungs. “Apology accepted, okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
He glanced toward the row of shops on the opposite side of the road. “I was going to grab some fish and chips. Do you want to join me?”
Hesitation flashed in her eyes before she nodded. “Okay. Could we take them back to my studio? I want to show you something.”
“Sure.”
They walked side by side and Trent fought the need to take her hand, instead fisting his fingers in his pockets.
Twenty minutes later, Trent walked into Izzy’s studio behind her, their wrapped fish and chips in his hands along with two cans of soda. “Do you have plates or shall we eat these straight from the paper?”
“From the paper, of course.” She raised an eyebrow as she shut the door
. “You disappoint me. I’ll go as far as providing knives and forks, but that’s it.”
He laughed and stared at her denim-clad ass as she threw the lock in place and checked the sign was turned to Closed. Anticipation churned with the rumbling in his stomach. Her wanting to be alone—and undisturbed—with him could only be a good thing.
He inwardly berated himself as he carried their food over to her workstation. She pushed aside some papers and then walked over to the corner of the room, where she plucked a plaid blanket from the floor. “I used this for a shoot earlier, so it needs washing anyway. It can be our makeshift tablecloth.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
She lifted the blanket and covered half of the enormous worktop before pulling two stools to either side. He slid onto one as she walked to the kitchen at the back of the studio. As sounds of a drawer opening, cutlery clattering and then the drawer slamming shut filtered through the open door, Trent tried to figure out the best way to play out the next minutes, or maybe hours, he’d spend with her.
His friends’ warnings about his distraction on the job poked at his conscience, along with the way everyone but Izzy believed they were meant for one another. He couldn’t keep pushing her. For his own self-preservation, he had to back off and be the friend she needed.
The soft scent of her perfume floated across the room as she emerged from the kitchen. Awareness lifted the hairs on his arms as Trent concentrated on unwrapping their meal. The aroma of fresh, battered fish and fried chips filled the studio and they both gave an appreciative, unified sigh.
They laughed and Trent’s gut wrenched at the fleeting sight of undisguised joy in her eyes. She plucked up a chip. “So, how was your day?” She popped the chip into her mouth. “Anything interesting happen?”
“Nope. It was one of the quiet days firefighters are grateful for.”
“Really?” Her bright blue eyes scrutinized him as though she suspected him of lying. “Do you really mean that? You’re grateful for the quiet days?”
Saved by the Firefighter Page 5