Sally’s store was quieter.
Bayview General was cool inside and faintly sweet, lavender sachets and honey and old wood. Sally was crouched on the floor when Melissa came in, arranging a new shipment of jam jars on the lowest shelf, muttering something about the supplier’s invoice.
“Bad morning?”
“Supplier shorted me on the strawberry again.”
Melissa leaned on the counter. “Sally. Can I ask you something?”
“Ask away.”
“I’m doing a portrait project. For the community. Real portraits in real places. I’d like to photograph you. Here, in the store. Doing whatever you’re normally doing.”
Sally stood up with a grunt. She dusted her palms on her apron and studied Melissa over the rim of her reading glasses. “Like what Winnie let you do?”
“Winnie told you.”
“Winnie tells me everything when she wants it known.”
“The rest of the town?”
“A few. Enough. You’ve been making yourself interesting, Melissa.”
She didn’t know what to do with that. She set the camera bag on the counter. “The photos won’t go anywhere you don’t approve. I’ll show you everything I take. Anything you don’t like, it’s gone.”
“You don’t need to go through all that. I trust Winnie’s judgment on people.”
“I’d rather go through all that.”
Sally looked at her a second longer, then gave a short nod. “All right. But you’ll catch me in whatever apron I’ve got on. I don’t do touch-ups.”
“No touch-ups.”
Sally turned back to the shelves. Melissa lifted the camera.
The store had looked disorganized for as long as Melissa had been coming in, but she’d learned it was disorganized on purpose. Every jar, every candle, and every hand-lettered sign had a place. The pencil behind Sally’s ear had a place. The clipboard on the counter with yesterday’s orders had a place.
Melissa caught her reaching up to the top shelf. Caught her writing on the clipboard with her glasses sliding down her nose. Caught her standing still for a second at the front window with the morning light falling across her cheek while she watched someone walk past. That was the frame Melissa knew she’d keep. Sally looking out, not performing. The store around her like a lived-in photograph already.
Two older women came in. Sally turned toward them, and the moment ended.
Melissa slipped the camera back in the bag. “Thank you.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s all I need.”
“Hmm.” Sally adjusted her glasses. “You work fast.”
“I work quiet.”
“Same thing, in the right hands.”
Melissa let herself smile on the way out the door.
Bryan was harder.
Not because of Bryan. Because the Sandpiper kitchen at ten in the morning was a small, busy, hot room with three people moving in choreographed circles around each other, and Melissa didn’t want to be the woman standing in the corner with a camera while somebody carried a hot pan around her.
