Page 107 of When in December

twenty-five

. . .

Poppy

“This place?”The photographer breathed out heavily as he looked around, stretching after he finished up his final shots in the living room with his camera that nearly took up a good section of the room.

Peeking over his shoulder, I watched the images come through. The place looked even better than I could’ve imagined with the lighting.

The fireplace was working and roaring with a quiet hum. Outside of the French doors, I couldn’t have choreographed the snow falling any better myself. The flakes glowed from the outdoor lights. The tree somehow was the ideal amount of muchness without being overwhelming.

I didn’t know how it’d happened, but I’d pulled it off. The renovation. The decoration. Every piece. It was everything.

And if possible, it was more.

Would it be ridiculous if I cried right now? Because I felt a little choked up.

“If I had to choose a place to live outside of the city?” the photographer went on as he started to pack up. “This would be it. It reminds me a bit of the area where I grew up. More trees,fewer farms, of course, but I’d certainly not mind a winter if I could stay here.”

Pride swelled in my chest.

I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”

“One of the better places I’ve shot,” he commented.

“For Home Haven?”

He agreed. “You could probably keep the place and rent it out for the holidays every year and have a wait list.”

I breathed out a small laugh. “Not a terrible idea.”

I hadn’t heard anything from Aaron about not selling the place. However, I hadn’t heard him mention anything about selling the place either since I’d started to spend more time here. So, who knew? Maybe the next people who took over this place would have the same idea.

“The owners are lucky they had this kind of land and were able to fix it up.”

“They are.”

“Especially with you at the helm,” he said. “You’re good.”

“I appreciate that,” I said. “What’s your name again?”

He swiped his hands together, a simple wedding band on his one finger catching the light before he extended the other hand to me. “I apologize. I’m not sure I introduced myself. I’m Jack. I should have a business card in this bag somewhere.”

His cropped dark hair fell to one side of his head, and his striking blue eyes managed to seem casual and unruffled as the rest of him. He didn’t seem like the normal preppy photographer I’d seen from Home Haven, trying to sneak in as many bylines as possible. A last-minute freelancer, likely.

“Thank you.”

“I wish you the best of luck. They’d be crazy if they didn’t keep ya around,” he said, catching my surprise. “The other designer let me in on the secret competition between the two ofyou, though I was curious why only one set of my photographs were contracted to the magazine specifically.”

I corrected him. “I won’t be fired or anything. It’s a promotion.”

“My mistake.”

“Sometimes, things just don’t work out.”

He shrugged. “Eh, sometimes, I learned you have to go after the things you want.”

Pausing, I nodded. “Do you need help with anything?”

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