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“I started helping out while he was in the hospital. Simple tasks, like managing the finances and scheduling all the employees every week. Sometimes I filled in behind the bar. I knew nothing about mixing drinks, so I had to learn. I was very bad, at first. Eventually, I got better.”
“Based on the drinks you made us the other night, you’re an expert.”
He shrugged. “When my uncle got healthy, he decided he didn’t want to work in such a business anymore. He sold the restaurant to me and moved to New York. He lives in the Bronx, three blocks from Yankees Stadium. I still fill in behind the bar a few times per week. When my schedule at the fire station allows for it. I like staying busy.”
“That’s nice,” I said. “I sort of inherited a business from my mother, although it’s in terrible shape.”
We paused at a crosswalk, then crossed the street, heading inland. “How so?”
“It’s a long story. The business is in a lot of debt, and my mother decided that bookkeeping was optional. She had dementia. My sister and I are trying to sell off all the inventory so we can shut it down for good.”
Mateo glanced at me as we walked. “You do not wish to keep the business?”
“God, no,” I replied with a laugh. “I just want to get all of her affairs settled and return to my life. I already have a career that I love.” I held up my camera bag.
“It is a wonderful thing, to know what one wishes to do in life,” he said.
“Well said,” I replied. “I love moments. That’s all life is: a series of moments. Moment after moment after moment. As a photographer, my job is to capture those moments, frozen in time. And when I photograph individuals, I’m capturing the essence of who they are as a person. Surfer, bartender, fireman. And when you make a photo album, or frame a photo and put it on the wall, you’re saving your memories externally. Making them permanent. That’s why I’m a photographer.”
Mateo was examining me out of the corner of his eye. “That is beautiful.” He seemed genuinely moved. “That is my apartment there, on the right.”
Mateo explained that the surfboard didn’t fit in the elevator, so we climbed three flights of stairs to his apartment. There was a long entrance hallway just inside the door, with hooks on the wall where he mounted his surfboard. Beyond that was the living room and kitchen. It was definitely a male living space, slightly messy and decorated sparsely, but it was nice.
“I must apologize for the mess,” he said, picking up clothes from his room and tossing them into a hamper.
“I’ve seen worse. Much worse.” I thought about the condition my mother’s bedroom and office were in. The fire had saved me from having to go through all of that, which was a blessing in disguise.
Mateo showed me his dresser and closet, and I got to work finding clothes for him to wear. It was not my first time—I’d booked a lot of Tinder shoots in New York, and most guys needed some guidance on how to look their best. Most guys also flirted with me while I was in their apartment, but Mateo was polite and respectful.
Jack has good taste in friends, I thought, thinking of Liam. Better than the clique he hung out with when we were kids.
I picked out some athletic clothes for the rock climbing gym, and another outfit for him to wear at the bar. He took a quick shower while I examined more of the beach photos, bookmarking the best ones on my camera. I found myself lingering on the shirtless photos, admiring the way the sun played off his exposed muscle. If these were going to be Tinder bait, then I needed to think like a potential date, after all.
Mateo drove me to the rock climbing gym in his Subaru, which had a rack on the top—presumably for his surfboard. At the gym, the harness he wore dug into his shorts and made his chiseled butt really stand out in an attractive way. I got some great photos of him clinging to the rocks, reaching for the next handhold, triceps bulging with effort. Then I had him take off the harness and climb without it, only ten feet off the ground so it was safe.
Next, we drove to his beachside restaurant. He looked casual, yet alluring in a blue linen shirt with tiny yellow lemons sewn across the sleeves.
Finally, we went to the fire station. I wondered if we would see Jack and Liam there, but they were nowhere to be found while Mateo put on a pair of tan fire-resistant pants and suspenders. The other firefighters weren’t shy about teasing Mateo while he posed for photographs in the engine room. They hooted while he held a red ax across his chest, and whistled suggestively while posing with one foot inside the fire engine, stretching up like he was hurrying to respond to a call.
“Sorry to subject you to all that abuse from your colleagues,” I said when we were done and walking out to his car.
“They are more than colleagues. They are my friends,” he said with a chuckle. “I trust them with my life. Their teasing is good natured.”
Another car pulled up, one I recognized. Liam climbed out, a huge smile on his face when he saw us.
“What’s all this then? Taking some hot fireman photos for your Tinder?”
My stomach fluttered with excitement at his smile, and at hearing his New Zealand accent. “Actually, that’s exactly what we’re doing.”
Liam clapped Mateo on the shoulder. “My mate here is a handsome devil. With your photos, it won’t be fair. He’ll have to beat the ladies off with a cricket bat.”
“Hope so!” I said, turning to Mateo. “I’ll send you the best photos in a day or two. But I already had a peek while you were changing earlier, and the results are great.”
Mateo smiled. “Thank you very much for the help.”
“Don’t thank me until you try teaching me to surf,” I replied. “You might regret it once you see how uncoordinated I am.”
“We will see. I will take you back to your car now. Let me tell my Lieutenant I will be back. One moment.”
