Page 12 of You Met Me There

“Emma, there aren’t sides.” I check the side mirror as my car accelerates on the highway. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to feel like you have to pick a side. I understand where you’re coming from, and yes, it’s not the best look for me to leave Luke. I know it’s not right, in the general sense, but it’s complicated. And I still love him, I really do.” So much it hurts more with every mile put between us. “But this is what I think is best for us right now.”

She pauses a moment before saying, “Do you mind if I check on him? Just to make sure he’s not doing anything rash?”

I nod vigorously. “Of course I don’t mind. Please check on him. I think he’d be happy to see you. And Ceecee. He’s used to seeing her, and it might make him feel better.” If she checks on Luke, then maybe I can see how he’s handling my leaving without having to get in touch with him myself. I hate to put her in this position, but Emma can act as our middleman, just so I know he’s okay.

“Okay, thanks,” she breathes. “I just didn’t want to cross any lines by going over there.”

I trust Emma one hundred percent. She’s single and beautiful, but Luke is off-limits. A slimy individual might slide right in as soon as I left, knowing how attractive and wealthy my husband is.

But Emma is a good person. She would never pursue a married man or try to take my place. And besides, she’s like our sister—there’s nothing between them at all.

“I trust you, Emma. Definitely check on Luke.” I don’t add for me, because that would give her the ammunition to shoot back a You should call him yourself. “And thanks for checking on me. Love you.”

There’s a smile in her voice as she says, “Love you too. Drive safe.” And then she’s gone.

Chapter 7

Natalie

In the new hotel room, I fashion a list of professional photographers in the Miami area and email them out to the clients whose shoots I canceled today. I add a personal note to each one, apologizing again for putting them in this circumstance. With every email, I send back their down payments. I can only hope they don’t write a negative review about me for canceling. Social media influencers can be either the sweetest people on the planet or the harshest, specifically when it comes to their photo sessions. I’ve come to learn this the hard way as I’ve grown my business.

Lifting my camera from its brown leather bag, I turn it on, the weight of it in my hands bringing me back to my center. It’s grounding. The camera beeps as it awakens, and my mind floats back to the first time I held it.

I was with Luke, as I have been almost every day since I left my hometown. Luke and I were newly married, and he had taken me along on a trip to visit a rental property he recently acquired. It was a last-minute home he wanted to list as quickly as possible, and he hadn’t had time to find a real estate photographer. I suggested he could take the photos himself, and we could spruce up the lighting using a photo-editing software.

But Luke doesn’t do anything halfway. When Luke has an idea, he goes for it with full force, headfirst, no matter what. It’s all or nothing. So he purchased a fancy Sony Alpha 6700 camera, dropping over a grand without really knowing how to use it.

The funny thing is, it was that stupidly random purchase that began my journey into photography.

“While we drive to the house, maybe you can figure that thing out for me,” he said as we drove the highways of Texas after our plane landed and we’d bought the camera. “Can you figure out how to attach the lens and set it up for indoor lighting, or whatever it is we have to do?”

I hummed in response, my lips twitching at the thought of seeing the world through a metal piece of machinery. As heavy as it was in my lap, it was delicate. I thought that any wrong move would break it, like a massive egg ready to crack from any jostle against my fingers.

Once we made it to the house, I climbed out of the rental car with the camera strap slung around my neck, holding tightly to the camera itself as an extra precaution. Luke had bought everything it needed: a lens, battery, and carrying strap, but we’d forgotten a bag to hold it in. I was terrified I’d drop it, walking around the property with it clutched to my chest like a baby.

The home had been slightly upgraded, cleaned, and professionally staged, and as I looked at the home through the lens, I took in the way the natural light from the windows shone over the countertops and washed the plain white walls in a warm glow. I went from room to room, finding the beauty in a simple, empty house. It wasn’t until roughly an hour after our arrival that I pulled the camera away from my face to see Luke staring at me, his lips pulled up into a playful smile.

“You gonna let me have a turn with that?” he asked, his legs crossed at the ankles as he leaned against the doorframe of the empty master bedroom.

I loved when he did that—when he looked irresistibly handsome without ever even trying.

I let my eyes roam up his body before smirking at him. “Nope. This is mine now.”

Before I knew what was happening, he was striding across the newly laid carpet. He slid a hand under my hair, cupping the back of my neck where the camera strap lay, while the other grabbed my waist. He kissed me, and I noticed the way the light of the sun outside the window played behind my closed lids. I kissed him back, the camera dangling in my hand beside my chest, still attached to the strap.

And ever since that day, I’ve been hooked on photography. And Luke was unintentionally the one who sparked my interest.

The photos of the property came out well for my first time holding a camera of that quality, and I’ve worked to hone my love of light and colors and angles ever since.

Back in the hotel room, my phone rings, and I absentmindedly answer without looking at the screen, still lost in my memories, pulled between the sun of the past and the clouds of the life I’m creating now.

“Hello?” I say, pinching the phone between my cheek and my ear, realizing too late that the ringtone was Luke’s.

“Natalie,” his deep, gravelly voice answers.

Heart pounding, I lower the camera against my leg, rubbing my thumb along the woven strap.

I don’t reply.