Perfectly Inappropriate

“Olivia,” said Audra, sidling up to her parents to kiss Olivia’s cheek. “I had no idea you were so talented with photography. Your work is stunning. I have purchased one of the photographs for our house in the Hamptons.”

“I’m so confused,” Olivia said. Again.

Audra joined in with the laughter, but when she stepped away, Olivia saw only one person.

Noah.

Dressed in black slacks and a black shirt unbuttoned at the top, he took her chin, placing a soft and sweet kiss on her lips. She melted under the strength, under the sweetness, and under the perfection of his mouth. And under the fact that he was there kissing her.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked when he leaned away.

He chuckled. “No, you’re not dreaming.”

“You did this for me?” she barely managed through her teary eyes.

“I did nothing,” he said. “You did this.” He took a step back and then his smile warmed further. “Olivia, may I introduce Harry Stem.”

The man in his fifties with wild gray hair might not look like much. Olivia knew different. This man was New York City’s top street photographer. “It is such a pleasure to meet you, Olivia.” He offered his hand.

“Oh, wow!” Olivia said, her heart beating a mile a minute. “Harry Stem. It’s definitely my pleasure.”

Noah smiled and inclined his head. “I’ll let you two get acquainted.” Then he turned away.

Olivia watched him fade into the crowd, apparently letting her have this moment. Tears spilled down her cheek. “You’ll have to excuse me,” she said to Harry, wiping at her cheeks. “I’m apparently emotional.”

“Your first show always is,” said Harry, glancing around, examining her photographs. “When Noah invited me tonight I thought he might be exaggerating your talent.” He approached the photograph of the elderly couple on the street. “But clearly, he wasn’t.” Harry turned to her then, eyes curious. “Might I ask why you haven’t had a show before?”

“It’s…” She inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to control her out-of-control emotions so she didn’t sound like a blubbering idiot. “I…” I wasn’t brave enough to go after my dreams. I didn’t think of me enough. The answers to that question were endless. But then suddenly, the answer became clear. “It wasn’t the right time.”

“But now is?”

She nodded. “Now is.”

Harry turned back to the photograph and rubbed his chin. “You’ve got real talent at capturing emotion. It’s really quite beautiful and definitely not something that can be taught.”

“Thank you.” Dear God…Harry Stem was complimenting her work.

Before she could faint, Harry faced her again. “Is your goal to freelance?”

She gave a soft laugh. “To be perfectly honest with you, Mr. Stem, I’m a little winded here. I had no idea that Noah had arranged this show for me. I have no plans at all for the future. All I know is I love taking pictures, and if I could make a career out of it, I’d be ecstatic.”

“Please call me Harry,” he said softly then lifted his eyebrows. “And isn’t it so like a senator to be so sneaky?”

She smiled and nodded. “I’m actually still trying to accept the fact that I’m standing here talking to you about my photographs than to even truly think about what I want to do next.”

Harry reached in his back pocket, took out his wallet, and handed her his business card. “When you finally have a moment to breathe and think, why don’t you give me a call?” He glanced around at the photographs again before he nodded and smiled. “Perhaps I can get you in contact with some people who would appreciate your work.” He offered his hand and lifted his brows. “Does that sound good to you?”

She nearly hugged him but stopped herself. Instead, she shook his hand. “That sounds perfect. Thank you for coming tonight.”

His smile was warm and tender, and all the things she’d thought it would be if she ever met him. “Thank you for finally sharing your talent with us,” he said, then he winked. “Though I suppose I should be thanking Noah for that, shouldn’t I?”

She lifted her gaze, finding Noah watching her across the way. “Yes, I suppose so, and you’re not the only one.”

* * *

—

The show began to clear out a couple of hours after Olivia had arrived at the cocktail bar. Noah stood in the back room in front of the loading dock after placing the final photograph that Olivia had been willing to sell in the trunk of a man’s SUV. Three of the twelve photographs she had kept. The close-up of Noah’s face. The one of him in bed. And the photograph of the elderly couple on the street that Noah had originally noticed. He liked the meaning of why she had kept those, even if she did not tell him yet. All those photographs meant something to her. Christ, they meant something to him too. She meant something to him.