Page 68 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
“Ideally this becomes a full-time thing, but right now, I can’t imagine letting go of my real job.”
His eyes go soft, full of understanding. I’m scared and he knows it. “You need to remember that photography is a real job too. You’re a professional. You’re incredibly skilled. You have two ‘real jobs,’ and that’s a lot. You can do it though, and eventually you’ll know what the best road forward is.” He rests his forehead against mine. It’s the closest we’ve been since ourkiss on Willow’s birthday ten days ago. “I’m incredibly proud of you.”
The praise lights me up inside, and I smile. I can’t stop it, and I don’t want to.
“Thank you,” I breathe, and it mingles with his in the inches between us. We can’t move any farther, but I’m content to share this tiny sliver of space with him.
“Let’s look at the calendar tonight after Willow goes to bed and we’ll figure out what elopements you can take on, especially if they’re while I’m here and can help. We can coordinate with Jamie for the rest, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay.” Some of the strain lifts on my inhale as I push away. If we continue to stand like this, I won’t be able to resist brushing my lips against his.
Willow’s asleep upstairs, my laptop sits on the table, and Jamie’s just arrived with his calendar so we can coordinate. Yeah, I called in reinforcements. Muffled voices carry from the foyer while I continue to focus on the screen in front of me.
“Hey, Roars,” Jamie says when he rounds the kitchen, a smirk hiding under his beard.
“Ugh, not you too.”
Breck joins us and chuckles. “Who needs a drink?”
“Wine?” I ask.
Jamie shakes his head, pulling a bottle of champagne from behind his back. The bright yellow-orange label tells me it’s myfavorite. One I never get to drink—because who’s going to spend that much on one bottle? “Jamie!”
“What? I figured we were celebrating. You’re finally doing this thing, and you deserve to be celebrated. Right, Breck?”
“Absolutely, I approve of this message.” He beams and goes to the cabinet to retrieve three champagne flutes. The pop of the cork and fizz of bubbles echoes the way my stomach feels.
Glasses in hand, Breck speaks first. “To Rory, making her dreams come true.”
“To Rory, I’m so proud of you,” Jamie says, lifting his.
I avert my eyes. That’s twice today I’ve heard those words and, damn, it feels good. A tear slips down my cheek with the clink of our glasses. “Thank you both. I wouldn’t be here without either of you.” The crisp liquid hits my tongue and I shimmy, its effervescence making me giddy.
“Alright,” Jamie says, a determined look in his moss-green eyes. “Let’s make our girl the most sought-after Tahoe elopement photographer.”
More tears. I set my glass down to pull him into a hug.
“I love you, Jamie. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me for this. You know I’d do anything for you,” he says against my hair.
We work our way through the inquiries, the schedules, the logistics. If I take on every client that’s requesting services, I’ll have an elopement almost every week through the rest of ski season, plus a couple in the summer. It’s a heavy mix of excitement and terror—it’s so much. How is this possible?
Jamie succinctly summarizes the plans for us. “Breck will take the two elopements between now and the end of February, which works well for me because I’m in the writing cave the rest of this month. Once he leaves,” he says, and I flinch internally at the thought, “I’ll take on the officiant role again. We will need to figure out a secondary officiant for a few of these, but if we startlooking now, I’m sure we’ll have someone by the time they come around.”
“Rory, are you comfortable taking off two days a month for mid-week sessions through the rest of the season?” Breck asks, pulling my hand away from my face.
I nod. “Yes, I’ll request these dates when I go in tomorrow and hope Logan doesn’t mind.”
“Other than Christmas, I don’t remember when you last took time off. Maybe when Wes was in the hospital? If your boss has an issue with it, that’s his problem.” Jamie’s green eyes burn into mine, daring me to argue.
“You’re right. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“Good.” He pauses, removing the glasses he typically reserves for evenings in front of his computer, and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Have you talked to your parents at all?”
“Nope. Unless you count Mom demanding I join them at dinner this past weekend. I didn’t respond though.” Jamie darts his eyes away from me. “What?”
“They called me.” Jamie’s auburn beard twitches with the clench of his jaw.
