Resolution (Mason Family 5)

I hold up two fingers. “This will take two minutes.”

He squares his body to mine. “Two minutes we don’t have.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Well, I say this—I have the keys to the car, and I’m not taking you back to the office until you answer me.”

He almost grins. “I’ll call an Uber.”

I sigh dramatically. “Just answer the question, Wade.”

He rolls his neck, his eyes glued to mine. I’m not sure what his reaction is going to be but, dammit, I think I might win this round.

We step to the side to let a woman out of Judy’s. She’s carrying a box. She nods politely at me but stutter steps when she sees Wade.

“Oh!” she says, her face breaking out into a full smile. “Excuse me.”

I roll my eyes at Wade’s total obliviousness to her attempted come-on.

When the woman is down the sidewalk, Wade turns to me.

I have to catch my breath.

His face is lit up. The lines around his mouth are invisible. His brow isn’t furrowed in agitation. He almost looks like a different man—still gorgeous and striking. Just … different.

“When I show someone a design I’ve created for them, I’m energized,” he says, his voice low. “It’s a hit of dopamine. I … I feel a connection to them.” He shifts his weight. “I’ve hopefully transferred their dreams and wishes into a tangible item, and that’s … there’s nothing better than that.”

A softness settles in his words. It washes over my heart. I don’t move, don’t speak as he nibbles on his bottom lip.

I’m not sure that he’s ever verbalized this to someone. I’m not positive that he’s ever thought it through to himself. But as the realization hits him that he’s just said this out loud, to me, he clears his throat, and—poof!—the vulnerability is gone.

I spring into action before the moment is lost.

“That is how I feel when I look at someone through my camera,” I say. “I crave that hit of dopamine. To think that someone trusts me enough to capture their emotions—to see them without any distractions …” I suck in a breath. “I get to peek into someone’s soul and that’s such a beautiful thing.”

I don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t even dare to blink while Wade contemplates what I said.

His body stills and then, ever-so-slowly, his shoulders relax.

“Will you at least look at them?” I ask, extending my camera toward him. “Just see you like I just saw you?”

He starts to speak but stops.

“Fine,” I say, resolved. “If you really want me to delete them—”

“I’ll make a deal with you.”

Really? “Okay.”

He shifts his weight again. “I’ll let you keep the pictures if you let me take a photograph of you.”

What?

He reaches for the camera. I’m not certain what’s going on, but I hand it to him.

“Do you want me to pose?” I joke, trying to lighten him up. “Like this?” I lay my palm up on my forehead like a dramatic pin-up girl.

He tries so hard not to be entertained.

“Stand in the middle of the sidewalk,” he says. “With your back to Paddy’s.”

I walk around him in order to stand where indicated. As I do, his hand brushes my side.

My body registers the contact before my brain has time to prepare. I exhale an inaudible moan at the circus that takes up shop in my stomach.

I ignore the chaos rippling along my skin and get into position.

One foot slightly in front of the other. Stand tall. Create distance between my body and my arm.

I lean slightly forward and look toward the street.

“Look at me,” Wade says.

“Oh, you’re going for a portrait?”

His face stays blank.

“Fine, fine.” I adjust my position and look into the camera.

A car blasts its horn on the street. The scents of food from Paddy’s grows, swirling through the air like a kite. A group of people laughs as they walk down the other side of the street, but all of that fades away.

I haven’t been on this side of the camera much. Being the subject when Wade Mason is the photographer is different than the handful of times I’ve allowed someone this much access to me.

Because that’s how it feels—like he has access to me.

I can feel him watching me. The heat of his gaze blazes across my body. My chest rises and falls at a quick, anxious pace, and I know he can see it if he looks.

Not knowing what he’s looking at, what he’s thinking, what he’s capturing amplifies my anxiety, and I’m the one who breaks.

I stick my tongue out at him and walk his way.

He lowers the camera and smiles. I wish I would’ve captured that on film.

“Get what you were after?” I ask, taking the camera back from him.

“Did you?”

His question feels loaded but I’m not in a place to start trying to piece through it. So, I ignore it. Wade is too … complicated. Insightful. And he’s seen enough—taken enough—from me today.