Page 16 of When to Call a Blitz

What a god damn place to be.

I love photography. I’ve loved it since the first moment I stepped into a dark room as a kid. Watching the photos bedeveloped before my eyes felt like magic, and I threw myself into studying some of the most amazing, talented photographers out there.

I loved it so much growing up, and when I finally saved up enough to buy my first camera, I thought that I was really going to be someone.

I never became that person. Instead, I decided to get a job with a company who photographed weddings. I’ve always loved love, and nothing could go wrong, right?

Wrong. A lot, in fact, could go wrong.

So much so, actually, that I ended up quitting after my boss got borderline abusive. It felt great not to be working eighty-hour work weeks anymore in order to get photographs edited and out by the time people wanted them, but I won’t lie and say that I didn’t miss the process.

It was familiar to me.

But then I went off on my own, and although I had a solid portfolio and so many amazing people who recommended me, it never felt the same. I felt like someone stripped my love of it away, and it truly did leave a bit of a gaping hole in my chest.

I think back to the Tower tarot card I pulled the other night and groan. My camera breaking was surly a sign to hang it up. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.

I mean, I can’t just take a job working for Emmett, can I? The man doesn’t even like me at a basic, friend level.

He’s quiet. He doesn’t really show emotion.

I’m not quiet. I showallthe emotion. In fact, I can be known to cry at literally anything.

But then again, I did love nannying. It’s the only other job that I’ve had where I didn’t envision myself quitting every two seconds.

And I do love his daughter. Plus, Elara should still be friends with Juniper, right? So maybe I’d see her occasionally, too.

The war continues on in my head.

I’m in the middle of thinking about selling my bath water when there’s a knock on the door, making me jump out of my skin. “I’ll be out in a second!” I call, standing up quickly.

I look around the shower for the first time, noticing that there’s only a two-in-one shampoo in the corner, a blue bath pouf, and some body wash. I eye the two-in-one, trying to weigh my options.

In no world would I ever willingly use two-in-one. But on the other hand, my hair feels absolutely disgusting after the kind of humidity we had today, and it’s matted to my skin.

Sucking it up, I wash my hair quickly, coming to terms with the fact that it’s going to feel so gross when it dries, and I climb out, wrapping his ginormous, fluffy towel around me.

I peek my head out the door in order to make sure there’s no one in his room before exiting the bathroom, and just as I’m about to panic about what to do about my clothes, I see a fresh pair of sweatpants and a hoodie laying out on his bed.

I don’t really have any other choice, so I pull on the sweats and tie them off. They feel a million sizes too big, which isn’t surprising considering the sheer size of that man’s thighs, and the sweatshirt is big enough to swim in. But for some reason that feels comforting right now.

Counting to ten, I finally force myself to leave the room, making my way back to the kitchen where I find Emmett at the kitchen island with two mugs. He’s on his laptop, and I can tell that he also had a shower, most likely using the one in Juniper’s room. His lighter, dirty-blonde hair is ruffled and wet, and although he’s also wearing sweats and a sweatshirt, there’s drips of water all over them, as if the man just shook his hair off.

“Hey,” I say, and his eyes shoot up.

“Hey. I uh,” he starts, grabbing one of the mugs. “I made some coffee for you.” He slides it across the island, and I happily take it, loving the way the warmth feels against my skin.

Maryland can feel like the devil’s ass in the summer, but there’s something about the coziness of all of this, even if I’m practically burning up, that I just really can’t help but love.

Emmett takes a sip of his own coffee and gestures to the other chair. I take a seat, wrapping my arms around myself.

“Are you okay if we talk about the nannying position?” he asks.

Worrying my bottom lip, I think about whether I really want to do this. Although I don’t really have any other choice, something in me is telling me no. But I also know that that thing in me is my self-preservation, and that I really, really need this job, even if I’m royally fucked no matter what.

I can feel Emmett’s gaze in my bones as I study the mug in my hands: A simple blue stoneware piece he probably got from Target as a matching set.

Would he even shop at Target? I’m not sure. On one hand I could see him wandering the aisles, and on the other I don’t think he’d be caught de?—

---