Page 50 of A Lucky Shot

Pls don’t tell Libby I said that

Here’s the address

He sniggered. Only Cass would name her sex toys like an elderly duke. Maybe he should get her his preferred model. Then watch to make sure she was using it properly. Hell, he could even step in if she needed help finding the right angle …

Down, boy. You’re taking a couple of innocent photos for someone on your crew. Focus.

The dance studio Cass had sent revealed few interior photos in his online search. Hard to tell what he’d be walking into. He skipped over the macro and telephoto lenses, settling on a couple prime lenses that could handle almost any environment he. He probably wouldn’t even need the second lens, honestly. They’d wrap up in no time. He returned the second lens to its foam slot and slung his camera bag across his body, but paused in the doorway.

Digital had its pluses, to be sure. Convenience. Instant gratification. But his high school drama teacher had waxed poetic about the warmth and personality of film, and Josh had bought his first film camera two years later, a vintage Pentax K1000 almost his father’s age. It didn’t take long to teach himself how to develop his own photos. His mother had grudgingly permitted him to transform his ensuite into a dark room. When he was in his own place, Stephen was out enough that he didn’t care if Josh had converted the second bathroom into a dark room, leaving one bathroom for two men. And one more reason not to bring women back to their shared space.

The Pentax sat on the dresser of his rental’s bedroom. The roll of film had only a handful of shots used. A couple of Brynne draped over a chair, staring into the middle distance as she waited for a scene to be set up. Another of the sun dipping behind the Rockies from his apartment window, a silhouette that would make a perfect outline for the mural he’d probably never paint.

Cass would look great on film. It wouldn’t hurt to bring it. And then he could see the light and choose what camera would be best. Maybe a few shots. Just for fun. He didn’t have any of his developing equipment here, but he could do that the next time he was home.

Whoever had taken Cass’s profile photo had no idea how to play to her strengths. It was even taken at a tilted angle, making the world look drunk around her. She was right: her hair looked amazing, curls bouncing around her ears from the ocean wind. Or maybe the photographer—if he could call them that—had called her name, and she’d turned to look. Whatever they’d said to get her attention had made her laugh. Her sweet smile showed through, even with the blurred image. Everything about her was kinetic colour.

The dance studio was a handful of blocks from his rental, but far enough from set he drove his rental car, if not just for the air conditioning to escape the unseasonable heat of late September. He plugged the address into the car’s navigation system, shifting against the unfamiliar seat, and pulled into the parking lot minutes later.

Cass was perched on the concrete benches outside the front doors, wearing the crop top and a self-conscious smile. The short-sleeved top looked brighter in person, a deep cobalt blue, and contrasted beautifully against her alabaster skin.

He couldn’t wait to get her in front of his lens.

The early evening breeze blew a curl over her eye as she stood, sliding her hands down the light denim covering her thighs, and she met him at the curb.

“I feel really silly right now,” she said.

“Don’t be.”

“Oh, well, in that case.” She awkwardly tilted her head to the entrance. “Think I can give you what you need in there?”

His lip half-curled. “Oh, I think you’ll give me what I need.”

“Oh god, I didn’t mean it like that,” she moaned, mortified. “I just meant maybe you can get a lucky shot, and this won’t be a waste of your time?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He stood aside, extending his arm to indicate she should lead the way. “Come on. Might not be as wild as an evening of crochet, but it’ll be fun.”

She huffed a laugh, guiding him through the lobby, into an expansive studio where the lingering scent of well-worn unitards and cleaning solution permeated the air. The ceilings soared overhead with exposed lights dotting the perimeter of the room, dimmed low. The entire far wall was glass, letting in both the cityscape and the last of the evening light. Glossy black Marley floors reflected her image in distorted ripples as she glided across the room. She looked so comfortable, so at home here, already more relaxed.

He had to hand it to her: she’d picked the perfect backdrop.

“I’m going to feel super weird just posing,” she said. “Do you mind if I move around?”

“Perfect.”

She plugged her phone into the audio cabinet as he flicked on the studio lights and adjusted the warmth until the soft yellow of a late summer’s day surrounded her. He pulled out his Pentax.

“What do you want to listen to?” she asked, scrolling on her phone and biting the bright crimson of her lower lip in thought.

Click, click, click, and her head lifted at the sound.

“Whatever you want.”

Her eyes flicked to the lens. “I wasn’t ready.”

---