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“Good to know.” I laugh. “But not this time. Can I take a rain check?”
“Sure.” He steps in closer. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, I’m not staying long. I have a flight to catch.” I pull the frames out from between my arm and body, holding them outward in his direction. “I wanted to give you these.”
He cocks his head. “Did we say we were giving each other gifts?”
“No, we didn’t.” I push the items in question closer to him.
Transferring the gifts into his hands, he says, “I didn’t get you anything.”
“That’s okay. It doesn’t need to be reciprocal.”
He stares at the paper-covered squares and then peeks at me a few times, shifting his gaze between the items in his hand and me.
“Go on,” I urge. “Open them.”
Foster carries the gifts to the granite island in the center of the kitchen and begins to tear the wrapping from the top frame, revealing an image from the first shoot I did in his presence at the fountain a few months ago. Without him, the project would have been a catastrophe and I never would have received the high mark.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” I stagger, “for helping me. And I thought maybe your walls could use a little color.”
“Thank me? For what?” He taps his fingers on the glass. “All the sex?”
I lean my hip on the counter. “Do you usually have girls thanking you for that?”
“No, but there’s a first for everything.”
“Well, today isn’t it.”
“Damn,” he whispers. “So close.”
He stares at the image matted behind the glass, one of my favorite shots from the series—a silhouette of fountain water rising from the pool below. The lighting catches the spray in such a way that, in contrast to the surrounding darkness, it appears almost angelic. It’s a moment caught in time, humanizing the flowing substance in a spiritual way.
“It’s more than water,” he utters quietly after staring at the image for some time.
“What?”
“More than water. That’s what you said when you were taking these that night, that there was a story beyond the simple elements of hydrogen and oxygen, and I just needed to look deeper.”
“You were listening,” I say, surprised he recalled the details of our conversation.
“Yeah.” He turns his attention to me, a smirk playing along the edges of his mouth. “Plus, this big brain of mine remembers everything.”
“Shit, I’d better start watching what I say around you.”
“It’s a little too late for that. Your mouth is a ticking time bomb.” He sets the frame on the counter. “Thank you, but you really didn’t need to give me anything. I was happy to help.”
“Well,” I say mischievously, “I didn’t want you to think all the sex we’ve been having was payment for the assistance.”
He lifts a brow. “Well, if it were, you’ve overpaid.”
“True.” I edge the other frame closer to him. “Don’t forget this one.”
Like with the first gift, his hands pull at the brown covering to reveal the next picture—an image of vibrant color, bubbles, and illumination surrounded by mystery and temptation. It’s warm and striking, and it displays a life of its own.
Fire in water. Fire with water. Together.
“It’s my favorite,” I say quietly over his shoulder. “The way the fire overpowers the water, but at the same time, allows it to have its own way. It’s like they aren’t fighting. They’re dancing.”
