I Speak...Love (A Different Road #3) (12 page)

She leans in toward me and removes the lens cap from the front of the camera, and I feel like an idiot. I look through the lens again, and now I clearly see the beautiful woman sitting in front of me. I push the button that she pointed to, but it still doesn’t seem to work.

“It needs a memory card,” she says.

“Ah yes. I did get one of those too,” I tell her. Her delighted face immediately falls. “It’s just little, it doesn’t count,” I tell her showing her a fraction of an inch with my thumb and forefinger. She looks at my fingers, then bursts into giggles again and turns the cutest shade of pink. “Wait, I’m talking about the memory card . . . not my . . .” I say, then she erupts in uncontrollable laughter.

She continues to laugh as I get up and walk to the bags sitting on my chair. I remove the memory card and quickly take it out of the package. Thankfully, I quickly figure out where it goes and slide it in. I aim the camera at her and snap a few photos of her laughing. She’s completely let her guard down, and she’s living in the moment. She still hasn’t stopped laughing, and she laughs so hard, she lets out the cutest snort. She immediately stops laughing, and her hand quickly comes up to her mouth. She slaps her palm over her lips, and her eyes go wide with embarrassment. I set the camera down, then sit in the chair next to her. I reach for her hand and remove it from her mouth, then I kiss her lips.

Sensing her slightest unease I back away, then gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. I hand her the camera, then gently smile at her.

“I took the first photo. So, technically now it’s used.”

For the first time, instead of her eyes darkening they lighten and turn a brilliant, radiant shade of green. She looks at her watch, then she gasps.

“I have to get going. I have a client at one,” she says.

I help her pack up the lunch containers, then she places them in her catering bag. While she packs everything up, I pick up the camera and walk back around my desk. I remove the backpack from the bag and unzip it. Maddy immediately freezes, and her eyes slice across the room and go to the backpack. She watches my hands as I place the camera inside. With her eyes still on the backpack, she gathers her hair in her hand and twists it back up into a bun, then she secures it with the pins. I zip up the backpack, then take it with me and walk back to her. She hoists her catering bag over her shoulder, then I hold out the backpack to her.

“It’s for safety,” I tell her. For the first time, her eyes leave the backpack and come up to mine. “Can I walk you down to your van?” I offer, slinging the backpack over my shoulder.

“You don’t have to do that,” she replies.

“I know I don’t have to, but I would like to.”

“Mr. Mason, I’m sorry to interrupt. River would like to see you in his office immediately,” Caleigh’s urgent voice calls through the intercom on my phone.

I exhale an irritated sign, then walk Maddy to the door. I shrug off the backpack and hold it up between us, but now she’s back to just looking at it.

I slip one of the straps over her other shoulder, then I lean in and kiss her lips. She’s so soft and so damn sweet. Before I can back away, she leans in and kisses me.

“Thank you,” she whispers on my lips.

“You’re welcome, Sweetness,” I reply.

I open the door for her, then she walks out of my office.

“Have a nice day, Ms. Malone,” Caleigh calls with a smile as Maddy walks past her.

“You too,” Maddy replies.

I open the back of my van and securely place the catering bag inside. I close the door, then walk around to the driver’s door. I unlock the door, remove the camera backpack from my shoulder, and climb in. I place it on the floor between the seats and stare at it. It’s still too much and there’s this huge war raging inside my head over it. A very small portion of me is relieved because now I don’t have to call Courtney and disappoint her. I have serious issues with disappointing people. The rest of me is fearful of the imminent fallout. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. There will be a fallout. It will happen. I’m trying so hard to fool myself by saying this doesn’t make me happy. Maybe if I keep saying it doesn’t make me happy, the happiness gods won’t hear just how amazing it is, and they won’t come to collect their payment. I’m afraid of what the payment will be on something that I’ve dreamt about since I was a teenager.

I start the van, back out my space, and head to my next client. The black backpack sitting on the floor next to me is never out of my peripheral vision. It literally makes me sweat. I open the window to get some fresh air flowing through the van. As I pull up to the curb at my client’s house, my cell phone starts ringing in my purse. I dig it out from behind my seat, then swipe my finger across the screen.

It’s Joss. Uh oh, did I do something wrong?

“Hello,” I answer nervously, she usually doesn’t call me between clients.

“Hey, Maddy, It’s Joss,” she starts cheerfully. “I’d like to get a head count for dinner Saturday. Can you make it?” she asks.

Before I can think about not letting anything good fly out of my mouth for the entire universe to hear, it just comes out.

“I have a photo shoot at noon, but I should still be done in time to make it to dinner,” I say, then clamp my mouth shut and bite the inside of my lips closed.

“Oh, that’s right! Nina mentioned it to me this morning. She’s really excited to be your assistant. Congratulations! I’m so proud of you,” she says, excited for me.

I slam my palm on my forehead and silently curse at myself for being so stupid. I totally know better than to say this stuff out loud.

“Thank you, but wait? What? Nina’s going to be my assistant?” I reply.

“That’s what she said,” she confirms.

I quickly think back to the conversation in the shop. I was in some serious shock and if it weren’t for Nina coming to my rescue, Courtney probably would have walked out knowing just how crazy I really am. Now that I think about it, she sort of did say
we’d
see her and her daughters on Saturday.

“Did you want me to bring anything Saturday?” I ask, steering clear of the subject, then I roll up the window and shut off the engine.

“No, just your cute self,” she replies. “Or, maybe . . .” she sings. “There is something you can bring,” she finishes.

“Sure, name it.”

“Stephen,” she quickly replies, then the line goes silent. I pull the phone away from my ear to see if the seconds are still ticking by or if the call got dropped. The seconds are still counting away, so she’s still there. My eyes immediately go to the camera bag sitting next to my feet. “Maddy?” she questions. “Are you still there?” she asks.

“I’m here,” I reply.

“Do you have his cell phone number? Never mind, I’ll text it to you. I’ll see you both Saturday,” she says in two seconds flat, then the line goes dead again.

I look at the phone again, but this time, the seconds have stopped counting. She hung up on me. It then vibrates in my hand, indicating I have a text. Sure enough, it’s from Joss and its Stephen’s cell phone number.

Knock knock.

I jump out of my skin, throwing my cell phone in the air. It bounces off my leg and falls to the floor between my feet. I look out the driver’s side window, it’s my client. Shit, how long have I been sitting here staring at Stephen’s cell phone number?

I quickly bend over, grab my cell phone off the floor, then open the door and immediately apologize to my client.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I start.

“Oh, you’re not late, honey. I was just heading out, and I saw you sitting here. I just wanted to pop over and say hi. So, hi, and I’ll see you later. I left the front door open for you,” Annmarie calls, cheerfully.

She gives a little wave, then she turns around and heads to her Jag sitting in the driveway. She must be headed to the gym because she’s wearing a cute little workout outfit much like the ones Kate wears. I shake my head and remind myself what I’m supposed to be doing. I shove my cell phone in my purse behind the seat, then get out of my van and open the back doors. I remove the correct bags, then close the door and open the unlocked front door. I walk inside her gorgeous, professional, state of the art kitchen and set the bags on the counter. I unzip the bags and get to work. I get out the pots and pans that I’ll need to use, then I take out the raw chicken breasts from the refrigerated catering bag. I then take out the rest of the ingredients to make pecan breaded chicken. The second I pick up an egg to crack it over the side of the bowl, a very large, black backpack sitting unattended between the seats of my van in plain sight bulldozes through my thoughts. I drop the egg on the marble countertop, it cracks open with a splat, then I run back outside like a lunatic.

Quickly unlocking the door, I grab the backpack and take it inside the house with me. Seriously, the chances of it being stolen before I even get to use it is completely one hundred percent plausible.

I finish cooking, but before I put the food in individual containers, I bite my lip and look at the backpack. I can’t help the happy smile the creeps up between my teeth. I unzip the backpack and remove the camera. The crack in the case immediately makes me smile bigger. Honestly, before Stephen said it was cracked, there was no way in hell I could accept it. When he said it was me, I melted. Then he used it before me, knowing what a hard time I was having accepting something so monumental.

The weight of this camera is so different than my other one. Just like I’m sure Stephen’s soft Converse shoes feel different than my rigid, knock off, lame excuse for shoes, this camera feels like more than I’m worth. I remove the lens cap and snap several photos of the food. The natural lighting in this kitchen is phenomenal. I replace the lens cap and gently place it back inside the bag. I pack up all the containers, then stock the client’s refrigerator. I clean up my mess, then pack up my catering bags. I grab the backpack, and head back out to my van.

I load the catering bags in the back, then climb up in my seat, setting the backpack on my lap. I run my finger over the surface and by impulse, I lean down, press my nose to the surface, and take a deep sniff. As incredible as it smells, it reeks of the pain that will surely come. Then something Stephen said plays in my head.
It’s for safety.
No one has ever cared about my safety. All of these new feelings directed at me are foreign and seriously conflict with how I raised myself. Growing up like I did, you learn to adjust yourself until you’re numb and don’t feel anything anymore. This . . . these feelings . . . these cares . . . you can’t see them, but they’re there, and they physically hurt. They hurt my heart like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

My client’s Jag pulls into the driveway, and she gets out. She looks at me with a smile and gives me a cheery wave, then she goes into her house. She was my last client for the day, so I drive back to
California chef
to unload my supplies.

Nina joins me in the back room and starts to help me put away my extra supplies.

“Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to do a prenatal shoot,” she says in passing like it’s not something that will knock my socks off.

My eyes go big, then I look at her in utter shock, and say, “Umm . . . absolutely!”

“Awesome!” she replies. “I’d like to do it maybe in four weeks. You know, while I’m still cute, and I’m not totally uncomfortable.”

“Sounds great,” I reply.

“Hey, I’ll pick you up Saturday, say around eleven? Then we can go to the park, get set up for the shoot, and you can give me a little guidance since I’ve never done anything like this before,” she says, walking to the door.

“Sounds great,” I say again, then she’s gone.

These past few months, and especially the past few weeks, have been like living in an episode of The Twilight Zone. I get back in my van and drive home. I do my pausing on the porch with my key thing, then I go inside and sit on the couch with my fresh from the showroom floor smelling camera backpack. I can’t help it. I smell it again. I take it out, then I reach for my laptop and remove the memory card from the camera, excited to see on a bigger screen how the pictures of the food from my client’s house turned out.

My heart jumps in my chest when I get a look at the size of the memory card. Holy shit! It’s the largest card I think they make. I’ll never have to come home early from taking photographs because I’ve filled the memory card ever again.

I slip it into the slot on the side of my laptop, then I freeze. The picture that fills the screen isn’t one of food. It’s of me and there’s a big, happy, completely unrecognizable smile plastered on my face. I have to do a double take because I hardly recognize myself or even believe that it’s me. Is this what happiness looks like on my face?

I play around with the camera getting myself acquainted with all the exciting features for a few hours, then I think about Stephen again for the millionth time. I look at my purse and bite my lip, remembering Joss asked me to invite him to dinner tomorrow.