Page 62 of Familiar Things New

“Edwin . . .”

Guilt coiled in Andrew’s stomach. He tried one more step but was met with the same hurt.

“Edwin, I’m not sure if I can go out there right now. Drat, I think—”

“Do you want me to go instead?” Edwin asked, his brows upturned and eyes filled with unease.

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“You can. You should.”

“You’d really do that for me?” Andrew asked.

“Of course I would. I’d be nervous the whole time, but I would do it, even still.”

“I know you’re not fond of the idea of chatting with strangers, though.”

“I’m really not. But I am fond of you.”

Edwin gave him a warm smile, and Andrew’s chest swelled.

“Oh, that would be so helpful, Edwin,” he said. “Exposing the plate . . . The process is exactly the same as before.”

Edwin blew out a long, shaky breath. “I hope I can manage everything. Taking the photograph. Talking with the Fitzpatricks. I mean, those children are a bit . . . rambunctious. And Mr. or Mrs. Fitzpatrick might have questions. Not that there will be a lot of time for me to answer them since everything needs to happen so fast, especially once I decide to remove the lens cap, but—”

“Edwin.” Andrew reached out and found Edwin’s hand. “You are more than capable of this. I promise.”

Edwin only nodded. After Edwin left, Andrew shuffled over to the closed closet door so that he could listen to the scene unfold, knowing that Edwin would handle it fine but feeling a smidge worried for him all the same.

“Slight change of plans,” Edwin said. “I’ll be the one taking the photograph. And while my experience with tintypes is . . . limited, I promise this part is exactly the same between the tintype and the glass negative we create to make our prints.”

Andrew smiled to himself. Whether or not such a thing came naturally to Edwin, he could speak with a real sense of conviction. Hopefully he’d feel more confident once the session was over. Because his tintype would turn out perfectly. Andrew was certain of it.

“Now, I’ll need each of you to stay very still for fifteen seconds or thereabouts,” Edwin said. “Is everyone ready?”

“I believe so,” Mr. Fitzpatrick said. “Are you ready, boys? You heard Mr. Beasley. You have to stay very still.”

“Ready, Father,” the boys said in tandem, both sounding slightly exasperated by the whole endeavor.

“We’re ready, Mr. Beasley,” Mr. Fitzpatrick confirmed.

“Good,” Edwin said, followed by a series of the same word repeated several times in a more rushed and whispered tone. “Good, good, good, good.”

It was the only remaining evidence of Edwin’s nervousness that Andrew could hear. And even though Edwin might not have liked Andrew thinking so, he couldn’t help but find it charming.

One minute or so later, Edwin came back with the plateholder. He looked frazzled—his hair noticeably less neat, probably from raking his fingers through it one or fifteen times, his hazel eyes wide with worry—but even like this, even a bit unkempt and visibly out of sorts, he was still so unbelievably handsome, his stunning features positively striking in the lamp’s cranberry-colored light.

Edwin set the plateholder down on the table and began speaking in a hushed tone, his words tumbling out of his mouth so fast Andrew could barely make sense of them.

“Oh, God, I’m worried I made a mistake somehow. I counted to nineteen for the exposure because once I reached fifteen, I became convinced that I was counting too fast. And now, I’m thinking that maybe instead it was too long and—”

“Edwin!” Andrew said through a light laugh as fondness and sympathy bubbled in his chest. “You’re being silly! I heard everything from in here. It went well. I know it did.”

“I hope so.”

“It did,” Andrew countered warmly. “I’ll finish up in here myself. Would you mind entertaining the family for a bit in the meantime?”

Edwin wrinkled his nose. “Entertaining them?”