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“Oh my gosh, it’s beautiful!” I whisper, tears popping to my eyes.
“They are,” Mama Louise agrees with me. “I love my life, but you captured my family in a way I don’t think anyone else could have. Because you’re part of it. Just one thing’s missing.”
I look to her in confusion.
Her smile is sweet, but her tone leaves no room for arguing. “I need that picture of you and me making fried chicken. Got a spot for it right here.” She pats an empty space on the wall. “Gotta have the whole family up here.”
A crash sounds out from the kitchen and she clucks her tongue. “How they can manage a whole herd of cattle, gently break a horse, and plant and harvest acres of land . . . but not load the dishwasher without breaking something? I’ll simply never understand it.”
Mama Louise darts around the corner, calling out, “You break it, you buy me a new one.”
Allyson, Katelyn, Sophie, and I giggle quietly. They followed Mama Louise and me into the front room to see the pictures too.
“These are so good,” Katelyn sighs. “If you ever want to do wedding photography, let me know. To be clear, I highly suggest you don’t because brides are . . .” She rolls her eyes, and I wonder if she’s working with a bridezilla these days. She plasters her professional work smile back on her face and continues. “Most are lovely and would be appreciative of work like this if you want it.”
“Thanks,” I tell her. “That’s not really my thing, though. The blog’s going well and is supporting me, so I’m good. Thank you, though.”
She nods, and Allyson leans over to whisper, “Thank you for the other pictures too. We had to hang ours in our walk-in closet. Cooper knows not to go in there because that’s where I hide the birthday and Christmas presents, so he’ll never see me naked except for a sheer curtain, lying in the grass like a goddess.” She smiles, obviously pleased with how her picture turned out.
“Uh, Allyson?” Sophie interrupts, her brows dropped together, “that’s probably the first place he goes then. No kid can resist peeking at presents.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t . . .” Allyson stops at the looks on our faces because Sophie is right. “Shit,” she spits out and then beelines around the corner toward Brutal.
We giggle, shaking our heads.
“Guess I’m glad Cindy Lou doesn’t care about her mom in a bra yet.”
Katelyn snorts. “Ours is over the tub in our bathroom. No worries about anyone seeing it. Mark wouldn’t let anyone in there, anyway. Even if they needed to pee, he’d send ’em outside, not into our room.”
“What about Shay and Rix?” I muse aloud, curious.
“Shay’s is probably up in the barn for everyone and God to see. Or maybe in Luke’s office?” Sophie suggests.
“Hmm, I’m betting Rix’s is hanging in Brody’s bedroom. She would definitely not want it where any of the guys who work at her shop could catch a glimpse. She works too hard for them to forget she’s female and a better mechanic than they are.”
“What about yours?” Sophie asks.
I can feel my cheeks blush, the heat burning high and bright. “I, uh . . . I hung it in my bedroom. Bobby . . . liked it.” That’s putting it mildly. When he saw the dark silhouette of my curves kneeling on my bed, he’d gently traced the lines, his breath coming faster and faster with every inch. Then he’d flashed me a heated grin and asked me to sign it for him. Artist, model, and his. I’d done it with a giggly laugh, having never imagined that anyone would appreciate my photography the way he does.
I look at the wall of photos again. Somehow, that crazy night had turned out some beautiful work.
Of course, it’s not hard when the subject I’m photographing is beautiful inside and out, like this family.
“I’m feeling like it’s a Special Sweet Tea night,” Mama Louise says from the kitchen.
“Oh, God, don’t make a rookie mistake,” Sophie warns me. “It’s stronger than it seems. Pretty sure that’s how I got Cindy Lou.” Her grin says she doesn’t mind that at all.
I think I’ll take it easy on whatever this magical concoction is, though. Maybe have some water like Sophie does, though she claims it’s because she’s gonna have to drive drunk James home.
That night, after a long shower to wash the day away, Bobby pulls the covers back for me to climb into his bed. It’s late, and work will start dark and early for him, but he seems on edge as I snuggle into his side.
My head rests on his chest, and his fingers dance along my shoulder in those patterns that have come to bring me joy, a sign that he’s thinking, singing, playing in his mind.
