Page 58 of When Sparks Fly

Inside, my apartment feels vacant. Not like Nana’s house when I first arrived after she’d passed. That was emotional. This is void of purpose.

Suddenly, I don’t want to be here at all and I hate to admit that I’m already missing Sutton. Having extra time with my friends and family lately has also helped my heart. And probably my mental health.

Andi calls Wednesday afternoon to discuss the Fall Festival.

“Hi, Maci! How are you, honey?”

I’m thankful she can’t see my blushing cheeks. Her continued kindness is so comforting, even if part of me feels like I’m keeping a secret from her.

“I’m doing well. I’m looking forward to helping next weekend. What can you tell me about the event?”

“We have a small budget for a photographer. Anyone who wants photos would show up and provide contact information. They could work out packages with you. Our previous photographer was offering three edited images for forty-five dollars.”

“Don’t worry about a fee for me. Packages would normally cover a session fee, but I always discount minis like this anyway.”

Andi grunts a disagreement, but doesn’t argue. I’m not convinced she’s going to heed my request. “Will you have a backdrop? The photographer has an outside setup.”

“Sure, not a problem. Anything in particular?”

“Your choice. You can load in as early as seven, but once Main Street is closed, you won’t be able to get a vehicle in for load-out until four.”

“Sounds perfect.” I’m already dreaming up a fun backdrop. “Thank you, Andi.”

“No, thank you, sweetheart. I’m so glad you ran into Sutton.”

Heat rushes up my chest into my neck and face. “Me, too. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Over the next few days, I keep myself as busy as possible. Cleaning, laundry, and work. The latter part is easiest to do as a one-person business. I spend time preparing social media posts, responding to inquiries, scheduling sessions, and arranging printing and pickups.

Sutton and I text regularly. Easy things, like how our days are going. He always sends me a message in the morning. Otherwise, I don’t usually hear from him until late in the afternoon. They’re all short and sweet, which is fitting since he’s most often a man of few words. It doesn’t bother me. The silences with him have been comfortable without an insistent need to fill the quiet.

Saturday he sends me a sunrise picture, which is by far the most gorgeous sunrise I’ve ever seen and it’s only a photo. Monday afternoon, I sit in the courtyard of the complex, enjoying the breezy day. One of my favorite elements of the property are the many outdoor seating areas. A noise in the distance distracts me from my book.

A sliver of the highway in the distance peeks between two of the apartment buildings. A big ass truck drives by, pulling a large cattle trailer andI have a sudden epiphany. It’s crazy and I think he’s going to laugh at me, but I send Sutton a text anyway.

Me:

You have a spare livestock trailer hanging around?

Cowboy:

For all the livestock you need to move from your apartment?

I grin.

Me:

No. For a photo shoot.

An open one. You know with just the metal bars?

He doesn’t respond right away, maybe deciding whether he wants to really indulge in this conversation or not. Or maybe he’s roping some calf trying to flee the confines of a pasture. A laugh bubbles up as I picture ranch hands chasing a wild baby cow.

My phone vibrates.

Cowboy:

You want to take pictures of cows?

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