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Hi Dad. It’s been a day. I got a little inspiration and fell a little harder for a woman I met. But that’s complicated. Anyway, I did my thing tonight. Wishing you were around for the process. Love you, Dad. Miss you.
I set that phone aside and picked up the other one. I checked the time again and decided instead of texting everyone at oh-dark-thirty, I would just set an alarm and try to get a bit of sleep. James was coming by around six, so I could catch a two-hour power nap.
I stripped off my T-shirt, set my phones on the nightstand and crawled between the sheets.
Once comfortable, I closed my eyes and let my thoughts wander toward my time with Catie. Her laugh, the conversation…that kiss.
My dreams were sure to be sweet this morning.
9
CATIE
Ihadn’t slept much last night and when I did nod off, my dreams were of the X-rated variety.
How could one man’s kiss stir that much desire after only knowing him a short time? I couldn’t lie and say I didn’t like him. That would be silly because my tingling body betrayed me and clearly knew better than me. Even though I’d told Naomi something different, I’d liked him the first time I’d seen him. And the second time, when he’d given Sheila a pass for messing up the art sheet. He was the kind of man who wanted everyone to be comfortable and okay with everything. I really liked that about him.
Last night at the park had been amazing. Spending time with him, taking pictures and trying to set the right scene. Then sharing a meal with him at Pour It On. I would probably forever redefine Heaven by the scale of last night’s time with him.
When I’d gotten home, I changed into boy shorts and tank top, filled a large glass with water, then took my camera into my office. But the second I parked behind my computer I’d known I wouldn’t accomplish a damn thing without sleeping on it first. It was like my butt just didn’t fit right in my chair. I couldn’t get comfortable. And when that happens, I’ve learned it’s best to walk away from whatever I’m doing. There was something creative going on inside me, and I needed to give myself a pass to allow the seed to grow.
I’d put my computer back to sleep and strode from the office. Halfway down the hall toward my bedroom, I pivoted sharply and returned to the office. The cord popped in my fingers when I disconnected the camera from the charger. I cradled the Nikon like a baby in my arms on the way to my room. I could at least study the pictures to be sure my gut-reaction pick was indeed the best option.
Plus, falling asleep while studying pictures of Callan presented a fairly solid guarantee about how my dreams would evolve.
I hadn’t been wrong.
This morning, Frank gently pawed my cheek, his motor running in a lazy, steady cadence.
“What’s up, Frank? You ready for me to get up?” I ruffled my fingers under his chin. He yawned, which made me follow suit.
Still sleepy, I stretched now. The camera was sitting on the pillow next to mine, as if I’d nodded off pretending that Callan was actually in the bed next to me. Yeah, I knew it didn’t work that way. But judging by the sensation between my legs, my body refused to recognize common logic.
On Saturdays I always put in at least four hours of work to offset any time off I’d taken during the week for hikes, or errands or whatnot. The difference today was the level of my excitement about my top project.
I set up the coffeemaker, and then hurried through my shower, almost afraid that if I lingered too long, I’d start using my own hands as a stand-in for Callan’s. The only thing that could come of that was for my frustration level to reach DEFCON 5.
By the time I finished in the bathroom, the aroma of coffee filled my small house. I pulled on a pair of leggings, my rattiest hoodie, and a pair of socks with a sentiment emblazoned on them:If you can read this, bring wine. A divorce present from Naomi after I’d moved temporarily into her house when I first arrived in Pineridge.
I filled my thermal mug, grabbed a cold toaster pastry from the box, and hurried back to my room to grab my camera before heading to my office.
I’d inhaled the frosted strawberry pastry while my system woke up. As I chewed that last bite, I connected the appropriate cables. As soon I typed in my password, a picture of Callan lit up my screen.
I sighed.
Just perfect.
It was the picture I’d thought last night would be ideal. And judging by the surge of adrenaline coursing through me, I hadn’t missed the mark. The lighting, the tone…the attitude. The entire atmosphere of the picture was spot on. I reached for the mouse and shook it, then aimed at the icon for my graphics program.
While I was setting up the document measurements, the sound of ringing came from down the hall. I’d left my phone in the bedroom. But the chair hugged my butt just right, and I wasn’t moving until I’d laid out the basics I wanted for the graphic.
I imported the image I wanted to use, resized that sucker to fit perfectly in the frame I’d created. Before I was done, I’d have to resize it for a couple other graphics and social media platforms, but I always started here.
I had just added a new layer, planning to drop a lens flare on top of the picture to soften it up, make it more dreamy, when my phone rang again. I hovered my hand over the mouse until the ringing stopped, then clicked a couple commands.
And the phone rang again. Whoever wanted to reach me had zero respect for the creative process. I could always shout out for my Google home assistant to silence the phone’s ringer, but I doubted that could be done.
After striking Command-S on my keyboard, I rose and strolled down the hall to my room to grab my cell.
