The fifth day of the shoot comes and goes and remains uneventful. Which boggles my mind.
The shoot was on the beachside of the hotel, this time in the water. Normally, a shoot like this would be classified as simple, easy. The model is out in the water, playing amongst the waves, posing on occasion and I snap the shot. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
But, of course, with Gavin it is the complete opposite.
The shots weren’t difficult to capture. My breath, on the other hand, seemed to get lost in the breeze. My racing heart chasing on its heels.
Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I pick up my camera and remove the SD card. After inserting it in the card reader, I plug it into my laptop and download the photos. A few minutes later, my eyes are inundated with thousands of photos of Gavin in the surf. I scroll through the tiled photos, clicking on this one and that one. Some appear the same with maybe a slight angle change with his chin or eyes. Others are noticeably different.
My finger taps the trackpad and the next photo fills the screen, corner to corner. I suck in a breath at the sight before me, my eyes glued to the screen and glazing over. I can’t look away. Can’t stop the category five hurricane wreaking havoc on my insides.
Today’s shoot started earlier than the previous days. We needed to have Gavin in the water with no one nearby. In order to do that, he was in the water as soon as the sun started rising behind us in the east. The lighting was just enough to see him and the shorts hanging low on his hips.
The photo in front of me left me speechless.
Gavin stood in the water, the surface a few inches below the waistband of the shorts. His torso slightly twisted, palms resting on top of the water outstretched, his profile staring south into the distance. The dim morning light just enough to outline his silhouette. The length of his hair hiding parts of his profile. His contours defined with glimpses of curves and valleys and sinew, and droplets of water beaded on his skin. And the sharp edge of his stubble-covered jawline.
“Wow,” I whisper-gasp to myself.
This photo… consider me stunned.
Stunned by his gorgeous features, the relaxed muscles peaking and dipping and contouring in all the right places. Breathless by his form and posture in the light. Shocked by the way my chest heats and thumps vigorously at the sight of him like this. In his element and one-hundred-percent himself.
Flashes of his love for the beach wake from my memory. Not for the fine, white sands or the warm, salty water. But for the serenity it provides him. The occasional stillness mixing with absolute chaos. How the sun dips below the horizon and lights the sky in breathtaking pinks and oranges. We watched so many sunsets together before he left. No two the same. And each time, I watched him from the corner of my eye, captivated by his tranquility.
This is him. Pure and uninhibited.
And this photo may not be what the brand is looking for, but it is something I will never let go of. A piece of him. The real him. The Gavin I fell in love with all those years ago.
My finger strokes over the photo, the outline of his triceps and forearm. I sigh and drop my hand from the screen.
I am fucking hopeless. And screwed.
I save the photos to my external drive and shut down the computer. My head still in the clouds as I dream of Gavin in my life in ways he never has been. Jumping up from the bed, I startle Luna in the process.
“Sorry, Luna. Momma’s head is somewhere in la-la-land right now.”
I head for the bathroom and crank the hot water in the shower, praying the spray will snap me out of my thoughts. Thoughts which will more than likely lead down a fresh path of sadness and heartache. I should be trying to erase the daydreams running circles in my head, right? Erase them and replace them with Gavin’s inevitable departure. The more days that pass, the closer it gets to the end of the shoot. And the sooner this dream will fade away. Because that is all this is. A dream.
The parking lot of the bowling alley is packed. I wind up and down the rows in search of a vacant space, finally parking after I hit the fourth row. Jogging up to the entrance, I spot Shelly and Micah and slow when I notice they are in a heated conversation.
As I approach, Micah notices me and stops speaking, an artificial smile marking his face.
Great. I must have been the topic they were arguing politely about.
“Hey, Micah,” I say, laying the sweetness on a little thick. “Long time no see.”
Shelly bounds over to me and squeezes me as if I’m her lifeblood. Micah watches us, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he mumbles something unintelligible.
What the hell is his problem?
“Just ignore him. He’s pissed because he thinks you and Gavin will ruin his night of fun,” Shelly tells me before sticking her tongue out at her brother.
Not quite sure how he thinks us bowling together is going to disrupt his good time. And if I’m honest, I don’t really care about his feelings. I have seen Micah a couple times over the last year. About the same number of times I see him every year. And usually that is because I attend gatherings with Shelly where he happens to be also.
Whatever. He can suck it up like the thirty-one-year-old big boy he is.
“Micah,” I say, snagging his attention from the parking lot. “The only person that can ruin your night is you. So…”