I snickered. “You just want visual inspiration for your next romance novel.”
“Semantics.”
Cherry’s day job was a registered nurse, but she wrote in her free time. Her name was officially Charlene, but the one time I called her that, I nearly lost my life. Once murder was offthe table, she became my closest friend. Myonlyfriend since I moved, really. Residency and a medical career didn’t provide much time for socializing. My coworkers became my friends and the best family I’d ever had. Then again, it didn’t take much to outshine what passed for my family back in Georgia.
As penance for letting her full name slip, I signed up to do this stranger photography session for a friend of Cherry’s. She’d been one model short for her session, and since it was last-minute and nearby, Cherry guilted me into accepting. Now, she sat on the phone with me, talking me down from the looming panic attack that threatened everything I’d promised.
I shoved a pile of clothes aside and dropped onto the bed, thoroughly questioning my life choices. After meeting Zach, the last thing I wanted to do was play couple with some stranger. Maybe if I imagined my partnerwasZach. Fuck, he justhadto be hot, didn’t he?
He’d captivated me instantly. Long black hair fell just the right way into bright, shining blue eyes. When he rose from his seat to fetch me that glass of water, my eyes skimmed down his long legs, admiring everything from his tattoos to his distressed jeans, right down to his heavy boots that thudded against the floor with each step.
He was one thousand percent my type.
Groaning, I dropped my head into my hands. “Cherry, I don’t know how to do this.”
“You don’t have todoanything. You show up, cuddle with a hot guy for a few hours, then we binge eat and watch the new season ofSecret Livesuntil we can’t stand it anymore. Now put on the dark green Henley that makes your eyes pop, spritz on some of that cologne I love, and go make me proud.”
My eyes fell to the shirt in question. It draped over my desk chair, near a pile of graphic tees and my favorite sweater that it was way too hot to wear. The Henley was the only semi-nice article of clothing I had, with everything else being either too big or so old that it was falling apart. I lived in scrubs. I didn’t have a need for other clothes. For a moment, I considered braving the sweater.
“Eli Hodge,” Cherry scolded, as if she could read my mind. “Don’t you dare put that sweater on.”
Damn it.“All right,” I relented, tugging the forest green shirt over my head. “But dessert is on you tonight.”
I could hear the smile in her voice. “Of course it is!”
“And dinner,” I added.
“I expect all the dirty details.”
Heaving a sigh, I ended the call and fetched the bottle of cologne Cherry mentioned from the shelf next to the sink in my bathroom. I’d had it for years. It was a bribe of a Christmas present from my uncle in the hopes that I’d reconcile with my parents. To my credit, I tried, but that was the year they asked me what I was doing with my life; as if slowly killing myself in med school wasn’t enough, I was expected to take on the family business instead.
There was no way in hell.
But the cologne was nice, and my uncle was a decent person. I couldn’t fault him for the pressure that my grandfather put on him, and on my dad too. It took a long time to undo fifty years of trauma. My uncle just didn’t take his out on his children.
I applied the cologne, the woodsy scent catapulting me back to my first shift at Woodland Park General. New job jitters had me reaching for the bottle, and it was Cherry who chased after me asking what it was and whether I was single. Unfortunately for her, she wasn’t my type, but that didn’t stop her from latching onto me like a spider monkey. She didn’t accept shy or quiet as acceptable qualities. From neon scrubs to hair the color of her namesake, Cherry was my polar opposite.
Things worked that way.
Nerves churned my gut, and I wondered for the hundredth time whether I could back out of this whole thing.
No, that wasn’t fair. The photographer was counting on me, and it would be a waste of everyone’s time if I didn’t show up. Well, that was one thing I inherited from my father: I hated wasting people’s time.
I stood over the sink, taking deep breaths until the nausea subsided. I could do this. I’d uprooted my entire life and started over in another state—twice. I could get through a damn photo shoot.
It was hot outside. Really hot. My friends in Vegas would have laughed at me, but at least their city had AC. The only air conditioning to be found in Woodland Park was in the car. As I drove to the meeting location, I blasted the cold air, already regretting not grabbing a bottle of water on my way out.
There was one—very creepy—upside to this photo shoot: the set was a local cemetery. This place was the stuff of legends, and I’d heard them all. I’d treated teenagers who trespassed in the graveyard in the middle of the night to explore the so-called Thirteen Steps to Hell. The only thing they ever found was Three Steps to a Concussion and a Broken Arm, considering they Thirteen Steps had been removed decades ago. The grounds, dark and uneven, were dangerous at night, leading to more injuries than ghost sightings.
The photographer, Sadie, was waiting for me at the gate, though I didn’t know it was her at first. Her car was black with tinted windows, and I couldn’t quite see who was inside, only a silhouette. When I pulled alongside her idling vehicle, she killed the engine and climbed out. A long brown ponytail fell over one exposed shoulder. She wore high-waisted cut-off shorts and a black crop top that showed off her bronzed skin. She waved and smiled, accenting the smattering of freckles across her sun-kissed cheeks.
Okay, she seemed nice. My nerves relaxed, just a little. Leaving my phone behind, I braced myself for the sweltering afternoon heat.
Sadie approached, gravel crunching under her sneakers. “You must be Eli,” she said cheerfully, extending a hand. “I’m Sadie.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I returned, already feeling the sun beating down on me. Hopefully this session wouldn’t take very long. At least the cemetery looked shaded.
“Thank you for doing this. I was close to canceling the session when I got your application.”
