Page 20 of Safe With You

I’d photographed them three years in a row. Every fall, they booked the same weekend, and every year the kids seemed taller than the last time I’d seen them.

I replied, confirmed the date, and added it to my calendar before moving on with the rest of my afternoon.

By the time evening arrived, the event wasn’t taking up much space in my mind.

I loaded my equipment into the back of my SUV and checked the time.

Six thirty-two.

Perfect.

Traffic was light heading downtown. The bookstore sat halfway down the block between a boutique and a floral shop, warm light spilling through the front windows despite the late hour. The place looked welcoming before I even stepped inside.

I grabbed my camera bags and headed toward the entrance. The smell hit me immediately—coffee, books, and vanilla. The combination felt oddly familiar, comforting in a way I couldn’t quite explain. A small bell chimed overhead as I opened the door.

The bookstore buzzed with activity as people moved between shelves carrying boxes and folding chairs. Near the front, a vendor arranged candles on a display table while someone toward the back tested a microphone. The entire space felt lived in and loved, the kind of place people returned to because it made them feel something.

I slowed my pace and took it all in. Observing had become second nature over the years. Photographers noticed details—the young couple standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the romance section, the older woman reading the back of a book while holding a latte, the handwritten recommendation card tucked beneath a display. They were little moments, tiny stories unfolding all at once.

Then my attention landed on the woman moving through the center of it all. A few loose curls framed her face, escaping whatever style she’d started the morning with. A pen rested behind one ear, and she moved with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what needed to happen next. She carried a clipboard in one hand and a phone in the other, answering questions almost as quickly as they were thrown her way. Someone stopped her. Another person called her name from across the room. A vendor flagged her down before she’d taken three steps. She adjusted something on a table, checked a list on her clipboard, and kept moving.

As if sensing my gaze, she looked up. Our eyes met across the room, and a flicker of recognition crossed her face before she made her way toward me.

“Ellis?”

Her voice sounded exactly like it had over the phone.

I shifted my camera bag higher on my shoulder.

“That’s me.”

She smiled.

Not the polite customer-service smile people gave out automatically.

A real one.

The kind that reached her eyes.

“I’m Luna. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

For a second, I almost laughed.

After spending the last ten minutes watching her coordinate half the room, thanking me felt backwards.

“Happy to help.”

Something in her expression softened.

“Trust me,” she said. “You have no idea how much I appreciate that.”

I found myself watching her as she headed toward the next problem waiting for her attention.

I hated to admit it, but Naomi had been right.

That man was fine.

He was taller than I’d expected from his picture, broad through the shoulders in a way the headshot hadn’t shown.