AllFreeNovel
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He’s holding a coffee to go.
Why isn’t he going?
Why is he sitting?
“It’s in the eyes,” he says.
He’s right. I caught sight of my reflection on my way here, and I looked like I just woke up.
“Fine, but you should know, I didn’t mean to get stoned.”
“No?”
“No. My sister baked brownies and never told me they werespecialbrownies. I’m sorry I laughed. Just know I wasn’t laughing at you.” I search for words that won’t come and finally settle with the only explanation I have. “The brownie.”
He spins his cup between his large hands and shrugs broad shoulders. “What were you doing there?”
Isn’t it obvious?
“I like art. I’m not much good at drawing, but I’m a tryer.”
He tilts his head like I’m an abstract painting he’s trying to figure out. “You like art, but you just admitted you can’t draw?”
“Uh, huh.”
“Do you paint? Sculpt?”
“Nope. I’m an observer who would very much like to be good at art, so I keep trying new things, but I’m not. I’m shit. I take photographs because, to me, art is everywhere.”
That inherent curiosity I was born with burns in my stomach, so I reach into my backpack and hand over the photo album. If anything, it will stop him from studying me so intently.
Interest twinkles in those emerald eyes.
I push it toward him. “Go ahead.”
I never show this to anyone. I’m always too nervous of what they’ll think.
It must be the brownie.
Without saying a word, he opens to the first page. His eyes linger there for an endless minute before he flips to the next picture. Then another. And another.
His eyes roam from the pages to me and back again.
“Never mind,” I breathe, suddenly regretting ever showing him the damn thing. I reach out to grab it. “It’s ridiculous. You don’t have to look at those.”
He backs away, taking the photo album with him. “I’m looking.” His fingers gently trace the images. “These are good. Really good.”
A sense of pride swells in my chest. “Thank you.”
“This one.” He spins the photo album around, showing me a bride on her wedding day. It’s the typical shot from behind, her chin to her shoulder. Her smile is beautiful, but it’s not the focus of the shot. Her dress is backless and there’s a scar between her shoulder blades and running the length of her spine. “She’s beautiful, but her face, or even her dress isn’t your focus. You caught the light just right. My eyes are immediately drawn to her scar. What’s the story?”
Because there’s always a story.
“I shot this wedding last year. It’s a side hustle. Pays the bills.” And I happen to love it. “Anyway, the bride had surgery for scoliosis when she was a teenager. Her dress was a statement. She wasn’t ashamed of the scar or what she’d been through. I thought her attitude was inspiring. Some people hide their scars for whatever reason, some embrace them.” I glance up at him. “Some tattoo over them. There’s no right or wrong answer, but each tell a story. That’s what I love about photography. An entire story is told in one snapshot of time.”
“So, people are your thing?”
“My thing?”
