Page 53 of Bailey Bangs Her Brother's Best Friend
“Thanks.”I set down another photo.“Most of my work is commercial.Headshots, real estate listings, family portraits.But this...”I gesture at the prints spreading across my desk.“This is what I actually care about.”
She picks up the photo of Jared and his daughter, examining it closely.“This is why you stay.”
It’s not a question.
“Yeah.”I pull out more photos.The Tran family outside Kinnara, three generations together.Miss Mullins at the Pride parade, rainbow face paint streaked across her cheeks, grinning like she’s never been happier.The book club gathered at Chapter & Song, their monthly pick in various stages of being read.
“It’s a love letter,” Bailey says quietly.“To Here.”
My throat goes tight.“I guess it is.”
I lay out the final series—the four seasons from the same vantage point at the summit.Winter, spring, summer, fall.The same view, completely transformed each time.
Bailey studies them for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
“What are you going to do with them?”she finally asks.
“I don’t know.”I lean against my desk, watching her face.“I’ve thought about trying to publish them.Or maybe exhibit them somewhere.Or...”I shrug.“Maybe they’re just for me.”
“They shouldn’t be just for you.”She looks up, her eyes bright.“Silas, these are really good.Like, gallery-quality good.”
“You think?”
“I know.”She turns back to the photos, picking up the spring dogwoods again.“The composition, the lighting—you’re not just documenting.You’re telling stories.”
Pride warms my chest.“That’s what I was hoping to do.”
She sets the photo down carefully.“There’s a gallery in the city.My coworker’s friend runs it.They do a lot of regional work—photographers from upstate, the Catskills, the Hudson Valley.This would fit perfectly.”
My heart stutters.“You think they’d be interested?”
“I think you should send them your portfolio.”She meets my eyes.“This is too good to keep hidden in a drawer.”
For a moment, we just look at each other.Then she glances back down at the photos, and I see something shift in her expression.
“What is it?”I ask.
“Nothing.Just...”She picks up the winter Main Street shot, the one with the holiday lights.“I didn’t think Here could look like this.”
“Like what?”
“Beautiful.”Her voice is almost a whisper.“I spent so long hating this place.Hating the memories.Hating how small it felt.”She looks up at me.“But you see something completely different.”
I step closer.“I see home.Community.People building lives together.”
“I see the place I ran away from.”She sets the photo down, her fingers tracing the edge of the print.“But maybe...maybe I’ve been seeing it wrong all this time.”
My breath catches.“What do you mean?”
“I mean...”She gestures at the photos spread across my desk.“I left because I thought Here was small and limiting and full of bad memories.But you’ve been here the whole time, seeing all of this.”She picks up the photo of Miss Mullins with her rainbow face paint.“The community that’s grown.The changes.The people who chose to build something here.”
“You could visit more,” I say carefully.“See for yourself how much has changed.”
“Maybe.”She meets my eyes, and there’s something tentative there, something fragile.“If I had a reason to.”
“You have a reason.”I step closer, my hand finding hers.“Me.”
Her breath catches.“Silas?—”
