Page 64 of Cook

“Good now?”

“Yes,” she answered, and I returned to pouring the chemicals.

“Put the other camera down and hand me the one you started with yesterday.” With my other hand, I reached for the bag. “You have to open the camera in complete darkness. That’s what this changing bag is for.”

I placed it inside and loaded the film onto the reel while explaining the process. Once I put the film into the developing tank and started agitating it, silence settled over us in the room. I set a small egg timer, so I didn’t overexpose the film.

Maddie leaned closer, watching me work over my shoulder. “What other classes did you take?”

“The same old stuff: English, math, science, gym.” I shrugged. “I don’t really remember. It was a long time ago.”

I tried to wrack my brain for memories of high school, something not bad I could share. The problem was that I’d put that all in my past long ago and thrown away the key.

The timer dinged and I moved the film to the stop bath to halt the process, then moved on to the fixer bath. “This makes the photos insensitive to light,” I explained. Afterward, I moved through washing and drying the film, then clipped it to the line.

As I’d developed them, I hadn’t paid much attention to the pictures themselves, but now I leaned forward to see what Maddie had taken. Some of Mom’s house and my room there. One of me in the bed. I gritted my teeth at that. Several of this house and the plants and a few more of me. I bypassed those, seeing enough of my own ugly mug.

I leaned up on my toes to get a better view, nearly pressing my nose to one photo of this old house.

“These are really good,” I said, admiring the angles that she had gotten.

Shadows had crawled up the house, and she had slanted the camera. It spoke to the life of the house and its story; how rundown it was with a terrible past. Like me. I could see my daddy’s blood splatter over the cabinets when I looked close enough.

It made me shudder.

Maddie shook her head, cringing. “They’re really not that good.”

“They are,” I said, meeting her gaze. “You have a very artistic eye.”

In the dim light, she tucked her hair behind one ear and ducked her head. I didn’t hold myself back now in the close space, pulling her gaze back up.

“Eyes on me,” I grumbled, and she followed the order.

My fingers lingered on her heated cheek, warmth spreading up my arm from where we touched. I craved more, but then I let my hand fall. We had come far, but it had only been days.

Maddie had further to go.

No matter what Mercer said, I wouldn’t push her into something she wasn’t comfortable with.

She cleared her throat. “You haven’t said anything about the pictures of you.”

I chuckled. “You shouldn’t waste the film on me.”

“Why not?”

“I’m no model.”

“You’re not ugly.”

“Never said I was.”

“The last photos of you your mom could find were from when you were fifteen,” she said.

“I have a few mug shots out there,” I said with a wry smile. “She just doesn’t want to put those up on the refrigerator. It might raise some questions she can’t answer.”

“Will you answer them for me?”

I shot her a look. She was pushing it—pushing me. This was more than just asking me questions. She had that challenging look in her eye, illuminating her pupils, and she smirked. I was torn between making her smile or frown. She leaned forward, reaching for a photo. Bou’s old tank top tightened against Maddie, revealing more skin on her midriff. Her shirt constricted over her breasts, and yeah, my cock twitched.

---