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I yank at the strap, at the jacket, desperate now to get away, to end this, to put me out of my misery.
My peace is gone.
That beautiful moment is ruined.
And now my jacket is caught.
My breath hitches in my lungs but I grind my teeth together, don’t allow it to escape.
Breathe.
Relax.
But the tangle doesn’t magically undo itself, and when I yank harder, my camera strap breaks.
I gasp, lurch for the single most expensive belonging I own—aside from Steve.
Only, I’m not fast enough.
The strap slips through my fingers.
And my camera falls.
Twenty-Two
Lake
I dart my hand out,catch the camera before it hits the floor.
It’s instinct.
It’s also because I don’t know her, but I saw her bag of belongings, saw that they aren’t expensive. Her coat has a hole in it near the hem, the laces of her boots have clearly broken and been knotted back together in several places. The dog has a hundred toys, plenty of food and treats, and what looks to be a brand-new leash.
This camera is expensive.
She must have sacrificed a lot to buy it.
I tighten my fingers around the strap, lift it close enough to cradle carefully against my chest.
I catch a glimpse of the small screen on the back and—
Am utterly arrested.
The detail even on that little viewfinder is immense. It’s just a tree amongst a hundred, a thousand other trees, but…
It’s more.
Fingers wrap around mine, pulling the camera from my grip, snatching away that beauty, slamming me right back into reality.
I want to take it back, to hold it close and stare at it.
Ferret out every tiny detail.
She’s supremely talented. I’m not an artist, not even well-versed in the world of art, but Iamsuccessful in what I do because I have a natural ability, because I work hard, and…because I used to get lost in practice, in the love of the game, in the movement of my hands and feet and body. Kind of like Nova had been doing when I stormed up to her, interrupting her with her head back, face tilted up to the sky, eyes closed.
In the moment.
Damn.
