Page 93 of Matchmaking On The Menu

“Yeah.” He glances down at the camera hanging at his chest. “Photography used to feel…” He pauses, searching. “Hungry. I wanted to chase moments. Capture people honestly. Show them something they couldn’t see themselves.”

“And now?”

“Now half the time it feels like pressure.” His jaw tightens slightly. “I’m bogged down by deadlines and expectations to impress people.”

I study him for a second.

“That’s sad.”

He laughs softly. “Yeah. It is.”

“But you still love it.”

His eyes meet mine. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”

The way he says it does something strange to me. Not the words themselves, but the certainty behind them. Underneath all the frustration and doubt and pressure, he really still loves photography. The chase of it. The seeing part.

Suddenly, I can’t stop wondering if that’s what’s been bothering me so much lately. Not that I stayed or even that I’m scared. But that somewhere along the line, I convinced myself that wanting more made me selfish. Because hearing him talk about photography, about that hunger, that pull that becomes part of you until you don’t really know how to separate yourself from it anymore is painfully familiar.

Maybe that’s why this conversation feels so… big. Because for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel ridiculous for wanting something outside the diner walls. We keep walking after that, neither of us saying much. But the silence feels different now. Closer.

A few minutes later, we reach a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley. The trees thin just enough to reveal rolling hills stretching into the distance, washed in late-afternoon light. I stop and slip my backpack off my shoulders. “I thought this looked like a good spot.”

Teddy glances around before looking back at me. “For what?”

“Lunch.”

A smile tugs at his mouth. “You actually brought lunch?”

“I told you there was food.”

“I assumed you meant a protein bar and a bottle of water.”

I gasp. “Who do you think I am?”

He laughs as I crouch beside the rock and unzip the cooler section of my backpack.

I spread out a small picnic blanket I’d tucked into the bottom of the bag before taking out two wrapped sandwiches, a container of fruit, a packet of chips, and two brownies.

He watches the pile grow with raised eyebrows. “How long were you planning on keeping me out here?”

“I wasn’t sure how hungry you’d be.”

“I could feed a family of four with that.”

“This is a normal packed lunch.”

He laughs and sits down beside me. “I think your town has a very different definition of normal.”

“It probably does.”

I hand him one of the sandwiches.

He studies it before taking a bite. “Okay. I’m no foodie, but I can tell this bread was made fresh this morning.”

I smile. “You like it?”

“It’s incredible.”