Page 23 of Nailed

The room wasn't close to being finished. In fact, it was arguably one of the least finished rooms in the entire firehouse. It was tight and glass-walled, with the old, waist-high wooden desk taking up the bulk of the space. The lighting was shot, with nothing but a large, milky-white orb suspended from the roof to provide diffused but too-soft illumination.

It felt like being in a fish bowl.

And yet, it was the most at-home I'd felt since I first moved in. There was very little conversation but it didn't feel awkward or stilted at all. Everyone just refueled, occasionally sharing a joke or recalling a funny memory that happened during the day. It felt easy, like all the stress of the renovation was melting away.

And once conversation started picking up, I caught a glimpse into what they were like with their guards lowered. Rafe and Brock were joking about some last job they'd finished, sounding almost like an argument but lacking the bite. And to my surprise, Rafe wasn't taking any opportunities to be an asshole.

It was like a heavy weight had been lifted, and if I didn't know any better, I could've sworn I saw the corner of Brock's mouth lift. Mon dieu!

“Where are you going?” Callum asked as I got up and dusted off the back of my jeans.

“For some water,” I shamelessly lied. “I'll be right back.”

“Okay,” he said, turning to fall into conversation with Rafe and Brock while he waited for me to get back.

I retrieved my camera from my makeshift bedroom and came back downstairs, fiddling with the lens.

Between the grease and carb overload and the day's labor, none of the guys noticed me taking photos at first.

The moment was just too perfect not to capture. When the shutter went off, Rafe was the first to snap his head back at me. My finger hovered over the button, my heart suddenly hammering at the thought of a repeat of the first day we met.

I wondered why he'd been so livid at the time, and I wondered if he'd be just as furious now. He watched me carefully, his eyes fixed on the camera in my hand.

But then he just raised an eyebrow in that vapid, snarky way of his. “You gonna start paying me for these?”

I heaved a sigh of relief and took another one. “I just paid you with food.”

“That was a tip for the manual labor I'm providing,” he said. “But if you must.”

I chuckled to myself. It was obvious that the prick was enjoying the attention this time. I caught him looking at the camera through the corner of his eye at times, sometimes stopping mid-sentence to affect a smolder that he tried to make look natural.

“You really take pictures all the time, don't you?” Callum asked, his cheeks dusted with a light blush. He looked so adorably uncomfortable that I couldn't help but take another shot to capture that expression.

“Only when I feel inspired,” I explained, setting my camera down temporarily. “You're very photogenic, by the way. Beautiful, really.”

His blush deepened.

When it came to Brock, he had no patience whatsoever, waving me away as though I were a bug. “Quit pointing that thing at me.”

“Aw, come on, boss-man. Just one?” I begged. He gave me an uncertain look but didn't protest.

I didn't take too many other photos, wanting to leave some of the magic for the present. But even despite their claims to the contrary, all three of them seemed to like being made the center of my attention. Even if Rafe was the only one really preening for the camera.

“How long have you been doing photography?“ Callum asked after I flopped back on the dust sheet and looked through some of the pics.

“I’ve always had an interest, since I was a kid. But I didn't take it seriously until I was like seventeen or something like that,” I said.

He came to sit at my feet, positioned with his knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them. He watched me as I spoke as though what I was saying was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Did you always know you wanted to pursue it as a career?” he said.

I bit my bottom lip. The camera in my hand suddenly felt heavier.

“Not exactly. It started out mainly as a hobby, then it became a means of survival,” I said.

A brief, comfortable silence lapsed between us as he considered something.

“Survival as in, just for the bills?” he asked.