Page 73 of Sunrise & Serenity

I’m not sure what I expected after what Taryn and Holden told me and the obvious tension between the two families at the auction, but they don’t seem particularly villainous.

After breakfast, Mia drops me off at my cabin before heading back to Silverford to pick up Ruby and Greta from the library. I pretend the disappointment that stabs through me when I notice Holden’s truck is gone doesn’t mean anything. But with no one else around, my thoughts soon return, loud enough to drown out the common sense I’ve been dosing myself with all morning.

Holden kissed me, then pulled away like he regretted it. Even though it was the right thing to do, both parts of that moment seem to have lodged themselves equally deep beneath my skin.

Which is why I need to stop thinking about him and focus on the reason I came here in the first place.

I pull out my laptop and set it up at the kitchen table. If I’m going to stay on track, I need to know where I’m at. What I already have and what I’m still missing before I shoot anything else. The expansion isn’t just a few extra buildings. It’s a full experience. That’s what the images need to sell. Sterling will need a first selection soon, and I still have hundreds of photos to review before I can decide which are strong enough to include.

After opening my project folder, I scroll through the photos, checking off items from my mental catalog of shots: finished cabin exteriors, landscapes, livestock.

When I get to the end, I hesitate, tapping my nails on the wooden tabletop. Something’s nagging at me, and I’m not sure what it is. I go back through all the photos, slower this time, studying each one.

They’re good. Professional, clean, exactly what a client would expect from this kind of marketing work. Graham would call this set strong and commercially smart—not that he’d ever be interested in this kind of work. They’re the kind of images that sell a lifestyle without letting any of the messy parts get in the way.

I bite the tip of my thumb. They’re too clean. Too sanitized. Is this why my portfolio work started feeling hollow? Beautiful compositions, carefully observed moments, but never close enough to actually touch what’s real.

I lean back in my chair, eyes still on the screen. Prospective guests need to feel this place. Perfectly composed photos won’t make Wild Ember stand out. I don’t want to just show people what it looks like—I want to make them yearn to be part of it.

I tip my head back with a sigh, then close the folder. As I do, another catches my eye. The one where I’ve been saving all the shots I rejected for one technical reason or another but couldn’t quite bring myself to delete. I click it open. Instead of focusing on composition or light, I search for something different.

The moments that feel real.

They’re not the polished ones. They’re the imperfect ones. The shots where something real happened before I could control it.

I find one, then another, then another. An image I caught early one morning as the horses were being turned out. Dust hanging in the soft golden light, Chance leaning against the fence, watching them.

I rejected it because it has too much blur to be perfect.

There’s one I snapped of Taryn riding alone at dusk, a small figure in the distance, almost swallowed by the landscape. I took one look at all that negative space around her and filed it away.

A shot of Chance, Sterling, and Quinn on horseback, from behind as they ride away from my camera. It’s not clean. The framing’s off. The focus is softer than ideal. Like the others, it shouldn’t work. But it does. These photos feel less like observation and more like an invitation.

So far, I’ve been standing on the outside, looking in. But walking the property isn’t enough. I need to get closer.

Exhaling, I close the laptop before I can second-guess myself.

My phone vibrates against the tabletop. Graham. Again. Like always, I silence the call without answering. If it’s about my gallery photos, he can leave a voicemail.

My gaze drifts to the window, to Holden’s cabin, visible through the trees.

Unfortunately, I know just how to fix it.

It’s going to be awkward after last night. He probably won’t make it easy. That’s fine. I’m sick of easy, anyway.

I might have to pick my moment, but when I see my chance, I’ll ask him.

CHAPTER 19

HOLDEN

Ibrace myself against the gate and lift, taking the weight while Sterling lines the hinge back up. The metal drags before it shifts, heavier than it should be.

“Higher,” my brother says, not looking at me.

I adjust my grip, sweat trickling down my temple, then lift again. The strain pulls across my injured shoulder, the pain sharp and familiar now. But I push through it, boots digging into the dirt for leverage. “It’s as high as it’s going.”

“Try again.”