Page 110 of Matchmaking On The Menu

He hesitates for half a second, then shrugs again. “Sure. Why not. I’m Paul, by the way.”

I hold out my hand and he shakes it. “I’m Teddy.”

And just like that I’m in it. Not chasing something. Not forcing it. I capture the way his hands move. The way the light hits the press. The quiet focus in his expression. It’s simple.

It’s everything.

I stop by Luke’s place next. The bell above the door rings as I step in, a small basket tucked under my arm. He looks up from behind the counter, one eyebrow lifting when he sees me. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite accidental attacker.”

I wince. “Yeah. About that.” I set the basket down in front of him. “Peace offering.”

He eyes it, then me, before letting out a short laugh. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“But you did anyway.”

“Felt right.”

He nods once, like that’s enough. “All right,” he says, pulling the basket toward him. “I’ll forgive you.”

“Generous.”

“I am.”

He reaches behind the counter and pulls out a container. “Muffin?”

I blink. “You just carry muffins around now?”

“A customer made them,” he says, as if that explains everything.

I take one, biting into it, and I say “Okay, yeah. How do we get her to keep coming back for more repairs?”

He grins. “Right?”

We talk for a while after that and at some point, I find myself asking the same thing. “Mind if I take a few shots of you working?”

He snorts. “What, like I’m some kind of model now?”

“Trust me,” I say, already pulling out my camera, “you’ve got the vibe.”

“Damn right I do.”

And again I’m in it, catching the way he moves around the space and interacts with customers. There’s a rhythm to it that’s real and unpolished. It’s perfect.

I end up taking the long way back to the Jeep, because for the first time in months, I don’t feel like I’m chasing something. I’m just looking. The park sits a few blocks from Main Street, tucked between a church and a row of oak trees that have probably been here longer than most of the town. Kids dart across the grass while a couple of retirees occupy a nearby bench, arguing about something that looks serious until one of them starts laughing. Ordinary life. The sort of thing I used to overlook.

My camera is already in my hands when I spot Shelly.

She’s sitting on a blanket beneath one of the trees with an older man. The resemblance between them is unmistakable. He must be her father. A golden retriever sprawls across the grass at their feet, tongue hanging out as if life has exceeded all expectations. I almost keep walking, but then the man says something, and Shelly throws her head back laughing. The sound carries across the park, and before I even think about it, I’m lifting the camera.

The dog tears after a tennis ball. Shelly points at something in the distance. Her father follows her gaze. Neither of them notices me, neither of them poses. They’re simply together, a daughter spending time with her father on a sunny afternoon. It’s the sort of moment most people would forget by the next morning.

Then he reaches over and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. I click the shutter even as my chest swells at the tenderness of it. I lower the camera and glance at the screen. The dog in the foreground. Shelly laughing. Her father’s hand resting lightly against her cheek. The whole thing wrapped in late-afternoon sunlight.

Real.

A few minutes later, Shelly finally notices me. “Teddy?”