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“Agreed.” Allie took a bite of her bagel. “How did those pictures turn out? The ones you took of the demolition?”
To her surprise, Roger reached into a satchel to produce a bundle of real life photos. “Thought you were going to see them on some digital device, huh?” he said, seeing her reaction. “I developed these myself.”
Allie flipped through the pictures. There was a sadness about them. An ethereal quality that could only be captured by an artist. And that’s what Roger was, she concluded. A real honest to goodness artist. She remembered the pictures Betty Jean had shown her the day she’d visited the Whispering Bay Gazette. She’d been drawn to those pictures and she was certain other people would be, too. The pictures were in her satchel, along with all the notes she’d taken about the senior center and the ghost story that never was.
An idea suddenly occurred to her. “Roger? Do you think you might be willing to sell these? To the right medium, of course.”
“And that would be?”
“Florida! magazine. I was thinking…maybe the article I’m supposed to write isn’t about a ghost haunting the old senior center, but about the building itself. You know, how it started off as this regular house for a regular family, and then how it was donated to the city and…” She could hear the excitement in her own voice, “What it meant to the people who spent time there and the friendships that developed and those special friendships that became something more.”
He nodded. “Gus and Viola.”
Her heart began to race, the same way it did whenever she got an idea for a story.
“I’ve got more pictures. Photos of the place in its heyday. I showed you them when you were at the house. Remember? You could use those, as well. And I could help you with the article. We could interview old Earl, he’s living out in Mexico Beach. We could get some good stories from him. Hell, we could get lots of good stories and I know just who to interview, too.”
“You mean it? You’d help me? I could give you a byline,” she said.
“Nah. Just credits with the photos is what I’d want.”
“Oh my God,” Allie said, “this could so work. But…dang it, I already said goodbye to Mimi and Zeke and I promised my manager at The Blue Monkey I’d swing by today to fill out my schedule for next week.”
“The Blue Monkey?”
“It’s a restaurant in Tampa. I waitress there for extra money,” she admitted.
“You a journalist or a waitress?”
“A journalist who clearly likes to eat,” Allie said, motioning to her empty plate.
He nodded like he understood, then glanced meaningfully toward the busy counter. “Seems to me you could waitress anywhere, though.”
He had a point. But she was reluctant to stay in town longer. For one thing, Mimi and Zeke needed some family privacy. It was like Roger could read her mind.
“Since we’re going to work real intensive-like on this piece, it might be easier if you just stayed at my place. I got a big old guest room that only Phoebe uses from time to time, but it’s empty now and yours if you want it.” He looked away, as if suddenly shy.
Allie glanced down at her coffee. She was touched by Roger’s gesture but it was too much. She hated inconveniencing him. He was a photo journalist. And a highly experienced one, at that. He was more than likely out of Allie’s league. But at the same time she didn’t think he was offering strictly out of charity. Tom thought Roger was a lonely old man looking for a cause. Well, she was certainly a cause, all right. Maybe he needed her just as much as she needed him.
“I accept.” She leaped from her chair to give Roger a hug. “You’re wonderful, do you know that?”
“On one condition,” he added gruffly, disentangling himself from her arms.
“Anything.”
“You can’t fall in love with me.” He shrugged. “Because that’s what usually happens when two people work together under these kinds of intense circumstances.”
“Too late,” Allie said with a grin. “I already have.”
*~*~*
Roger finished his breakfast then gave her a spare key to the house and told her he’d meet her back at his place. “Be ready to work harder than you’ve ever worked before,” he warned.
“Absolutely,” she said, saluting him.
She waited a few minutes after he left, then texted Emma with an update on the article.
A piece on the senior center itself? She texted back.
