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“I don’t photograph weddings and ever wish it were me in the white dress with flowers in my hair. I’m fully absorbed in their moment. Their joy.”
As we ventured toward the waterline, Reed stopped, releasing my hand and digging into his pocket. My eyes followed the movement, waiting, wondering.
Then he pulled out a little stem of vibrant blue flowers.
Morning glories.
My breath shook as he lifted the blossoms in the air and tucked them behind my ear, pushing my hair to the side and adjusting the stem into place.
A grin crested on his mouth. So bright it outshined the backdrop behind us that glittered with golden sunlight on water. “You look pretty with flowers in your hair.”
I didn’t know much, but I knew for certain that my heart wouldn’t make it through the night without imminent implosion.
I was toast.
Fiddling with the fragile blooms, I forced back tears. “Flowers. Hand-holding. A long walk on the beach.” I bit down on my lip. “This feels like a date, Reed.”
He took my hand again and ushered me forward. “It’s just a day.” Our arms swung with levity, the dark clouds fading into clearer skies. “A really good day.”
Food trucks and charming shacks crooning with live music lined the shore, the scent of deep-fried treats and savory snacks infusing the air. I stared out at the rippling water, foolishly imagining more days just like this. More really good days.
Reed guided me toward the row of food trucks as people shoveled barbecue and overstuffed tacos into their mouths from paper trays.
My stomach tightened with hunger pangs. “Should we eat?”
“You cooking?” He sent me a sparkling sidelong glance that put the ocean to shame. “I miss that.”
“Ah. Maybe my grandmother was right.”
“How’s that?”
“The best way to a person’s heart is through their stomach.”
He nodded slowly, tugging me into one of the food lines. “Maybe. But you found a way in before I ever tasted your food.”
Warm flush soaked into my skin.
Yep.
I was absolutely toast.
My smile was now plastered to my face with superglue as we dallied at the end of the line, our shoulders brushing. “Tell me about the studio,” I said, changing the subject before I disintegrated and became one with the sand. “Do you have a lot of clients?”
He nodded again. “Business is booming. Keeps me busy. Distracted.”
“Have you made friends?”
“I have.”
“Good. You were always such a recluse.”
“I’d left most of my friends in Charleston, so it was hard starting over once I moved back to Illinois. My daughter certainly didn’t get her social butterfly persona from me.”
I tried not to flinch at the mention of Tara. “I’m glad you’re not alone,” I mused before an insidious, clawing feeling inched its way between my ribs. “Are you, um…seeing anybody?”
A lump formed in my throat, and my chest thundered with anxious black heat.
He swallowed, glancing away. “Nothing’s worked out.”