Page 2 of The Pact

My phone dings.

Cassie: Here. Oyw??

Me: Yes, 2 min

Cassie Isidro and I are polar opposites. She’s punctual. I’m late. She’s organized. I’m not. She’s always planning her next move. I go where the wind takes me.

I chalk a lot of that up to our very different upbringings. Cass comes from a close-knit Mexican-American family who supports her dreams and genuinely cares about her well-being. She’s one of four, while I’m an only child. My parents typically have an interest in what I’m doing if it means they can brag about it to their friends.

That doesn’t happen often these days—photographer isn’t on their list of approved career choices.

Growing up relatively isolated, with no extended family to speak of, I learned to keep myself entertained. That often meant making up games I could play alone, watching TV for hours, and daydreaming. I’m still that way now—keeping to myself, absorbed in my own world.

Cassie’s house was always bustling with activity, whether it was her siblings teasing one another, her mom cooking for a big family get together, or her dad cheering on his favorite sports team. Cassie always had someone around to keep busy with. It’s why she’s always full of energy, speaks her mind confidently, and takes what she wants.

I met Cassie while interning for an event company when I was twenty-three and she was twenty-five. So many times, I wished that we’d met sooner. My life might have looked a lot different if I grew up around her family.

Smiling at an older woman passing by, I see my destination up ahead.

The building is off white with sage awnings. A few chairs and tables sit below the canopy—perfect for days like this, warm but breezy. Above the large double doors are the words, Wolfe Creek Bakery.

I can almost taste the coffee now.

When I left home, I assured my parents that I wouldn’t be far. Willow Hill is only two hours from Atlanta. I promised they could visit as soon as I settled into my apartment. As far as they know, I’m still settling.

I’m not eager to have them invade my perfect little bubble, although I know I can’t keep them away forever. I can hear the criticisms coming from my mother already—that eases some of the guilt for keeping them at a distance.

It’s not completely untrue. I’m still settling into my new life, despite how simple Cass made my transition. There’s a box or two that needs unpacking and I keep putting off changing the address on my license.

As soon as I arrived, she had me signing the paperwork to lease the building, an appointment to open up the business bank account, and the business card proofs ready to be ordered.

Everything fell into place because of her.

At least, that’s how I felt before we opened our doors. When renovations finished last month, we started taking clients. Cassie and I both worked hard to get the word out. Her books filled faster than mine, although we knew that was a risk—one I hoped to avoid.

Cassie’s passion is in maternity and newborn photography. My passion lay somewhere a little more risqué. Boudoir photography piqued my interest a few years prior. It’s become an obsessive art I’ve been studying ever since.

The issue with offering a style of photography where you ask women to wear nearly nothing or nothing at all is that you chance it not being well received in a traditional small town. That’s the problem I face now, overcoming the stereotype that I’m trying to corrupt the women of Willow Hill with lingerie and lust.

I see Cassie through the glass window as I open the door to the bakery. Her face is pulled tight in concentration as she chews on the end of her pen. She looks up, sees me, and gives me her signature self-assured smile.

It’s all I need to know that no matter what, we’ll make this work.

“Here is everything we still have to do around the studio. Minor things, but eventually we need to get to them.” Cassie takes a sip of her coffee and points to the list she’s written out on her personalized stationery. Her name scrolling in delicate letters across the top.

I scan the long list she’s written out. God, she’s so organized. I wouldn’t have thought of half of these things. She reminds me often that our brains work differently, although I worry about how that will affect our friendship now that we’re in business together.

Paint lobby baseboards. Hang art in bathroom. Buy mail organizer.

“I can start working on this tomorrow. We’ll get it all done,” I say optimistically. With my schedule not as full as hers, I don’t mind taking on this list. It’s the least I can do considering how much work she’s put in already.

Cassie’s eyes dart away. I know her too well. Something’s on her mind, yet she isn’t sure if she should say anything. I immediately think she’s going to bring up Gavin. It’s been a topic of conversation often this past year. I wonder if she’s worried I’ll go back to him eventually, leaving her high and dry here with the business.

“Thea… I know we’ve just opened the studio, but…” Well, at least it isn’t about my ex. I give her space to continue. “Do you think we can start working towards that other idea? I know it might be overwhelming with so many changes. I just…I need to make sure that all of this goes well.” There’s worry straining her brows.

Is she concerned that I won’t be able to handle what we have in mind next? I thought we’d have more time, but she’s a planner and needs to do research. I can respect that.

Giving her a confident smile, I nod. “Of course. I trust your judgment.” A wave of relief softens her deep brown eyes as she beams at me. “Is everything okay, though? Is something on your mind?”

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