Protect Me Not ((Un)Professionally Yours 2)

The views at the apex of the wheel were phenomenal. London—an open jewelry box—lay glittering below them. The lights of the city, multi-colored flickering gems. Ty shouldered his camera and came to stand behind her again, his strong arms wrapped around her waist. He folded himself almost in half, until his bristly cheek was resting against hers.

“It’s breathtaking,” she sighed. “I knew it would be.”

He turned her in his arms—the view replaced by his beautiful, somber face—and kissed her. The caress was soft, sweet…oh-so-loving. It was the once-in-a-lifetime kind of kiss that only two people at—what felt like—the very top of the world could experience. And it was as breathtaking as the view.

He released her lips and maneuvered her until she was facing the glass again, without once relinquishing his hold on her. He didn’t speak. Which was just as well. Speaking had become an impossibility for Vicki, who was trying very hard not to cry.

That tender, earth-shattering kiss had only confirmed what she already knew. What she had known for a very long time.

She had fallen for this man. Tumbled head over heels. Plummeted down a steep hill and landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom of a ravine. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t all rosy hearts and flowers.

It was visceral and it was agonizing. Because he was lost to her. He had always been lost to her. When he left, it was going to break her. She knew that.

Yet, having him now…having this moment…

It was worth it.

Ty watched as Vicki silently clicked through the pictures on his camera while they were having dessert and coffee. Her face—usually so mobile and expressive—revealed not a single one of her thoughts. He had swapped out the memory cards, showing her some of the stuff he’d taken a few months ago. No snaps from tonight, those were too…different.

Confusing.

There had been a lot of interesting subject matter, but his lens had sought out the same smiling face time and time again. The number of candid pictures he had taken of Vicki were borderline stalkerish. Where before he would have taken a picture of a broken umbrella they had found abandoned on a park bench, this evening, he had multiple joyful images of her grabbing the umbrella and performing a few steps of the tap dance routine from Singin’ in the Rain.

Now he waited anxiously, keen to know she thought of his photography. He was a total amateur, of course, and nothing was particularly original. But it was a part of him that he had never shared with anyone before now.

“Can you email this one to me, please?” she asked, with a sweet smile, turning the camera toward him. He grinned when he saw the picture she was requesting. It was one of his favorites.

A solitary pigeon in Trafalgar Square. The proverbial early bird. Ty had watched him for a long time as he strutted around the square—cock of the walk—undeterred by the occasional drunken revelers. Ty had taken many pictures of the bird, but the one that had caught her eye was the best of the lot. A black and white, grainy image of the bird perched on top of one of the lion’s heads. Chest puffed out, head up, he looked almost majestic. Seconds later, he had crapped all over the lion’s mane and flown away to join a small flock of other pigeons that had just arrived. He had instantly disappeared, anonymous among the crowd.

“Yeah, I’ll send it in the morning.”

“These are all beautiful, Ty,” she said. He heaved a silent, shuddering sigh. Happy that she liked them. She handed the camera back to him, but her eyes slid away from his, and he wondered what that was about.

“But…?” he prompted.

“But nothing. You’re very talented. You should have these on your walls. Showcase a few of them.”

“They’re not that special.”

“I think they show a side of this city that people rarely see. I certainly have never seen so much…” Her voice faded and a frown flickered across her brow.

“So much what? You’re always unflinching in your honesty, Vicki. Don’t start withholding your opinions from me now.”

When she met his gaze the sadness in her eyes staggered him.

“They truly are beautiful, Ty. But so desolate. All these empty buildings, lost souls, solitary animals… Is that all you see? All you want to see?”

“There’s nothing else to see that time of night,” he muttered—defensive—even though he knew exactly what she meant. Most of his photographs were in black and white. Heavily shadowed, dark, moody. They showed a sullen, lonely side of an otherwise vibrant city.

“There are night blooming flowers. There are stars, city lights reflecting off the Thames. There are people—road repair crews, night shift staff coming and going. There’s life. And there’s always laughter.”

“But there’s also silence and shadows. These two things coexist. I just prefer to focus on one rather than the other.”