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Four months later, though, she was still waking up, gasping for air after another steamy dream about him. For goodness’ sake, the man had counted her freckles—why was she still hung up on him?
Annie, her new sister-in-law, had said they were happy to wait for the wedding photos until she was done, but she knew they had to be keen to see pictures of their big day. Today was going to be the day she’d do the editing and maybe then she’d be able to finally forget someone like Mitch Miller existed.
That was before she’d known what she’d done, though. Slowing down, she sat down in front of her computer again. Okay, she’d try again. There had to be some mistake, surely…
She’d imported the photos from her camera on to her laptop just after she’d arrived back from Marietta in August.
Again, she opened the imaging and graphic design software program on which she edited her photos. Maybe she hadn’t looked at the correct folder. Maybe she’d stored the original photos in more than one folder or something.
Quickly scanning through the folders on the computer’s desktop, she held her breath. She didn’t normally make mistakes when doing her job, but she’d still been so rattled by Mitch’s kiss when she and Dylan had arrived back in Portland, it was entirely possible she’d done something stupid when she’d saved the photos. Oh, damn, not the words of the freaking song again.
Minutes later, she sat back, staring at her laptop. She hadn’t made a mistake. There were photos of Craig and Annie, yes. Beautiful photos, in fact. And as she’d predicted, the one she’d taken as Craig had touched Annie’s face, was exactly as perfect as she’d hoped it would be.
What she hadn’t known until now, though, was that most of the photos she’d taken during the course of the day were of Mitch Miller. Mitch, smiling at his sisters, Mitch in front of Annie while she fastened his tie, Mitch coming down the aisle with Annie, Mitch dancing with Aunt Janice, Mitch with her son, Mitch talking with other guests, Mitch with his jacket, Mitch without his jacket—hundreds of photos of Mitch.
Dropping her hands back on her laptop, she scrolled through the rest of the pictures. At the next one, she froze. Another picture of Mitch filled the screen. Stunned, her heart beating at an alarming rate, she leaned back in her chair and stared.
She’d caught Mitch in a moment he’d been staring directly at the camera, at her. What was the expression in his eyes, though? It wasn’t one she’d ever seen before, or one she’d picked up in any of the other pictures of him. There was a message in those eyes, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what it was.
Her hands shaking, she continued scrolling. Minutes later, she dropped her head in her hands.
What was freaking her out more than anything else was the fact that these photos had all been taken before she’d danced with him, before he’d kissed her, before she’d become aware of him.
What did that mean? Did it mean anything? Or was it one of those strange things, as she’d told Mitch, that couldn’t be explained by relying on mere facts?
Staring at the photos of Mitch, she tilted her head, trying to look at it critically. These were all fabulous photos even if she’d taken them herself—she could see that. The camera settings, compositions, angles, lightning, backdrops—all had been perfect in the moments she’d caught Mitch unguarded. More importantly, though, she’d captured emotive portraits that would touch anyone looking at them in one way or another.
She was seeing a whole different Mitch to the one she’d seen over the last few months.
Look at this one… She clicked on the photo, enlarging it. This one she’d taken outside before they’d entered the hotel. Mitch had crouched down to talk to Dylan. Although she’d focused on them, the gorgeous cottonwood tree with bright yellow leaves behind them formed the perfect, blurry backdrop.
Mitch was relaxed, smiling—she’d never seen him looking like this. How could she have taken this photo and not have remembered it? How could she have taken hundreds of photos of him and not remembered?
As she looked at his face, she slowly became aware of other elements she should’ve noticed before. His eyebrows, for instance, pointed downward. According to physiognomy, this usually indicated the person was kind, generous, and always straightforward. His high forehead suggested intelligence, yes, but also confidence, maturity, practical and good financial management skills.
The end of his lips pointed upward, which suggested he was positive, cheerful, and friendly. Not that she’d seen much of that, but okay, he’d been worried about his sisters. She’d also seen how gentle he could be with her son, how caring.
Going back to the pictures, she clicked on the next one to enlarge it, as well. It had been taken just after Mitch had left Annie with Craig at the altar. Riley sat back, staring at the picture.
This moment she actually remembered. She’d been quite close to the front and had captured the moment Craig had taken Annie’s hand. Craig hadn’t waited for anyone to tell him what to do; he’d bent his head and kissed his bride under whistles and clapping. Seconds later, Mitch was walking back to take his place next to Aunt Janice. She’d caught him in the moment as he was turning away from his sister.
And look at that—Mitch actually had tears in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that when she’d taken the photo. He was smiling crookedly, but the brightness in his eyes, her camera had picked up, were unmistakably tears.
The zoo in her tummy was going ballistic; her heart was beating frantically, completely out of control. If a picture of Mitch could do this to her, what would happen if she were to see him again?
Nearly panicking, she inhaled deeply. These were all worthy to be shown in an exhibition, but she’d have to delete the lot. Nobody, but nobody, could ever know she’d taken these.
Quickly, she went back to the folder, but her finger hovered over the first picture of Mitch. Damn it, these were so good, she couldn’t delete them.
Within seconds, she’d created a new folder. Name? Normally, nobody else ever used her laptop, but her cousin and brother had on occasion opened her laptop to look at her work. She wouldn’t want either of them to open this and see what she was hiding in it, so she needed a name that wouldn’t interest them.
From nowhere, an idea popped into her head. Rolling her eyes at her own silliness, she quickly named the folder.Okay, done. Time to move on.
Minutes later, the imaging and graphic design software program was open again. She was ready to edit the wedding pictures. There were still a few pictures of Mitch; he was, after all, the bride’s brother, the one who had walked her down the aisle. Nobody would find it strange that she’d taken pictures of him. What everyone would find very strange, though, was the whole folder of pictures of Mitch.
As she worked, her heartbeat finally slowed down.
Her phone rang. It was Aunt Janice. Hesitating a moment, she rubbed her face. Their aunt had an uncanny way of knowing things they’d rather she didn’t know. Sighing, she answered. Aunt Janice had been there at a time Riley had needed her most; she’d walk over hot coals for her. She could never not answer a call from her aunt.
