The door to Mrs. Sweeney’s apartment is opening very slowly. It’s almost as if time has crept to slow motion.
Finally, she peeks her head out. “This is fate.”
I approach her. “What is fate?”
“I was just about to cross the hall to see you.” Her hand pops into view with her index finger raised. “Give me a moment, Calliope.”
I steal a glance at the door to Saint’s apartment. I’m tempted to go and knock on it again, but I know he’s not in there. I can’t imagine Sean intentionally ignoring me.
I hear the sound of Mrs. Sweeney’s sneakers as they hit the wood in the foyer of her apartment. The door swings open, and she’s standing in front of me with a broad smile and a gift-wrapped box in her hands.
“I have something for you, dear.”
Taken aback, my hand jumps to the center of my chest. “For me?”
She shoves the box at me. “Open it, Calliope.”
Not one to deny a kind woman anything, I tuck my phone and keys into the pockets of my dress and take the box from her. With one swift pull of the ribbon tied around it, the wrapping paper falls to the side, revealing the box of a digital camera.
It’s the same brand as the one I sold six months ago, but it’s a newer model. It has all the bells and whistles that mine didn’t have.
My gaze darts up to Mrs. Sweeney’s face. “I can’t accept this.”
Her kind eyes stare into mine. “Consider it a trade.”
“A trade?”
“A fair trade.” She smiles. “In exchange for the camera, you’ll get that print framed for me and take a photo of my grandmother’s tea shop and frame that as well. Does that sound fair to you?”
Not at all.
I shake my head. “This is far too generous. It won’t cost me much to frame that print.”
“Your time and talent are worth far more than the price of that camera.” She pats my forearm. “I went to the camera shop that my grandson works at. He’s the one who recommended that particular model. He knows his stuff.”
I laugh through sudden tears. “I don’t know what to say, Mrs. Sweeney.”
“Say that you’ll accept it in the spirit it’s been given.” Her hand lingers on my arm. “Use it to capture this city in all its splendor. Share those pictures with the world. A creative hobby feeds the soul, and if you can make a few extra bucks while pursuing it, more power to you.”
This camera feels like a stepping-stone toward my new life.
“Thank you.” My voice quivers. “I’m so grateful.”
She gathers me into her arms. “I’m going to tell everyone I know that my neighbor takes the most breathtaking photos of our city. I have a feeling that there’s going to be a line of people waiting to buy one of your future creations.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Callie
A quick walk around the block did little to curb the anxiety that is still twisting my gut into knots.
I haven’t tried texting or calling Sean again, but I’m about two minutes away from typing out a message asking if he’s still alive.
I glance over to where I set the camera Mrs. Sweeney got me.
I had a hard cry after I brought it into my apartment. As I was unpacking it, I had visions of a photography show at the small gallery in midtown. I haven’t been able to afford the cost of the opening night of an exhibit of my photographs.
I’d want a catered affair much like Adam had.
Maybe, just maybe, I can set aside some of my tips from Tin Anchor for that.
A soft knock at my door sends my gaze in that direction.
I hope it’s Sean, but I suspect it’s Mrs. Sweeney. Before I left her at her apartment door, she told me she was in the middle of baking a batch of chocolate chip cookies for Sean. She promised to drop off a half dozen for me to feed my sweet tooth.
I drop my bare feet to the floor and slide off the couch.
As another knock fills the silent space, I up my pace so I can get to the door as quickly as possible.
I swing it open and stare. I just stare up and into the face of the man I love.
My hand darts to my mouth because, oh my god, he’s sporting a black eye.
“Sean.” My voice is breathless, which makes perfect sense since my breath is caught somewhere between my lungs and my lips.
“You should see the other guy,” he quips.
“The other guy?” I tilt my head to get a better angle of his eye. “What did you do to him?”
“I broke his nose in high school. “He flashes me a smile. “It’s still as crooked as the day it happened.”
My brow furrows. “What?”
“You’ve seen the other guy, Champ. You’ve seen what I did to his nose.”