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Dark brows disappearing into the mess of inky curls falling around his face, turquoise eyes lift to mine, glittering with amusement. “What? Are there nudes in here? Because if it’s of this guy…”
His voice trails off pointedly as I hop down and reach for the photo pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
All it takes is a glance to see what he grabbed, and I feel my face ignite.
“Look at those eyes! We’d make such pretty babies.”
“Shut up,” I grumble, chasing him across the room. He’s taller than me by several inches, because of course he is, with long, lean arms and a long, lean torso, that he takes full advantage of now, holding the photo out of reach.
“Wait, is that you in the background? Why do you look like a homeless person?”
“Gabe, give it.”
At my tone, he narrows his eyes. But thankfully listens this time.
All but ripping it out of his hand, I turn away, unable to help myself from staring down at the smiling face frozen in time looking back at me, pale blue eyes crinkled. Ash brown hair falling messily around his head. Straight white teeth gleaming.
My heart gives a mighty thump.
I’d set the box on my desk with the intent to finally muster the courage and open it. Maybe even hang some pictures on my wall, if I could stomach it.
He was so happy…
I remember this day like it was yesterday.
It was summer—our last summer before everything went to shit. Izzy had found an old disposable camera in her closet, and wanted to use up the film. Get them printed.
We were over at the old abandoned truss bridge on the edge of town, evidenced in the photo, silhouetted black behind Mason’s head.
He’s clearly shirtless, the photo coming to a stop just under his broad, flat chest.
It hurts to look at him like this. Tan and healthy. Clear-eyed. Smiling.
My finger traces over his Adam’s apple as my own bobs with a swallow.
And then I’m reminded of Gabe’s other words, and my gaze drifts to the corner, just above the slope of Mason’s shoulder.
Homeless.
My mouth kicks up in a rueful grin at that.
I can see it. Compared to the gloriously half-naked god taking up most of the picture, I look ridiculous sitting on the rocks, bundled up in black hoodie and baggy jeans. My blond hair looks almost white thanks to the glare of the sun, and the crappy quality. And I’m twisted just enough that my face is aimed toward the camera.
It’s only if you look close enough, that you see it’s not the camera at all I’m staring at.
Did Izzy notice?
She’s the one behind the camera…the one Mason is grinning at, love and happiness bursting out of his glacier blue eyes.
“Aw, is this baby J?”
Snapping back to the present, I turn my head to find Gabe now homed in on an old Polaroid. He holds it up, flashing it to me, and something squeezes in my chest.
“Yeah,” I murmur, walking over to him.
The quality is even worse with this one—faded and blurry. But there’s no mistaking the little blond boy dressed as Spiderman, sans mask. Or the girl next to him in a yellow, billowy princess dress, with her hands planted on her hips like she’s heading into battle.
Belle.
