Page 10 of Seeking Stars
There. No period this time.
Liam: Does 10am work? Where are you staying? Send me your address and I'll send someone to pick you up. When you get there, ask for the tropical garden. I'll be at the center fountain.
Ana: Sounds good! I look forward to it
After some deliberation, Ana saved his number simply as Liam.
Chapter 3 - At the Garden
The Tropical area of the Botanical Gardens was smaller than she’d imagined. Surrounded by the greenery of the conservatory at large, the greenhouse, inhabited by a tropical ecosystem, was a beautiful structure of wrought green iron and glass, not bigger than a medium, one-story house. Inside, the air hit her like a blanket had wrapped around her, warm and dense with humidity. Lush plants filled the place and flowers of intense colors popped among the deep green.
Ana found Liam standing with his back to her by the central fountain. Her eyes roamed his wide shoulders and narrow hips, her attention glued to the beautiful proportions of his body. Her steps slowed down, conflicting thoughts threatening to trip her up.
This is a standard consult meeting. Don't mention or think about the pictures you deleted from your phone last night. He's an equal, someone you're curious about. He's not a broody, unreachable famous person, nor a hot, dreamy actor.
She took a deep breath full of petrichor and tore her eyes away. In her line of work, professional behavior looked like this.
He turned when she approached, likely hearing the crunch of gravel under her feet.
"Hi," he said, his million-dollar smile holding more warmth than she'd expected. He was clean shaven today. "Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I know I wasn't very friendly yesterday."
His eyes held a sheepish look. His hands were casually tucked in his jeans' front pockets, a simple white t-shirt stretching across his broad chest.
She kept her eyes above his neck and dismissed his apparent self-consciousness with a casual shrug. "I think we both know this benefits me more than you, so I should be thanking you."
He responded by lifting a corner of his mouth. He took a quick perusal of her. "Do you always carry all that equipment?"
"No, but you said you'd like to learn how this would work, so I came prepared."
"Right." He motioned to a point behind her with his chin, hands still in his pockets. "Do you want to sit? There's a bench overlooking the fountain."
"Sounds good."
He sat in the corner of the bench, at a three-quarters angle to her. One of his arms looped around the back of the bench, the other resting on his thigh. She folded a leg under her and sat with her back to the arm rest, facing him fully, and put her bag and the equipment she carried between them.
"Do you know where you'd like to start?" Ana asked to break the silence.
"Did you bring your camera?"
"Yep." She fished for it in her bag and held it in her hand, hesitant.
"Don't worry. I won't break it."
She stared at him; he studied her back. Forcing rich, humid air into her lungs, she gave the camera to him with a small smile. "I know. Sorry."
He took it in his big hand. "It's smaller than I imagined. Different from what I'm used to."
She looked at it in his palm, trying to see it through his eyes: a small device, a lot like an old photograph camera from the 90s, with a puff on top for the microphone and a preview screen. It looked nothing like the powerful devices filming him, on the high-budget sets common for him.
"It has to be unobtrusive," she explained. "I want it to be the least relevant thing in the room."
"That makes sense." He shifted the camera from hand to hand. "If you were recording this conversation for the documentary, what would you do?"
She extended her hand, asking for the camera back. She turned it on and placed it on her lap, angling the preview screen to check the frame. Her stomach settled as her hands moved assuredly over the camera, making small adjustments to the angle and focus.
"I'm not recording now," she said. "This one has that red dot here—" she showed him with a fingertip— "when it's filming. I either hold it with this strap in my hand or put it somewhere high and nearby, depending on how I'm trying to frame the person I'm working with. I tend to check the frame only a few times, or it takes spontaneity and, you know, that natural feeling out of it."
"Yeah." His quick grin shone with what she imagined amounted to half its potency. God, he was handsome. She refused to allow the unwelcome thought to show through.
