Page 42 of The Girlfriend Zone

And I do like winning.

I walk, fast and determined, toward the bar with her.

15

THINGS HAPPEN

Miles

A shot of the newlyweds dancing, Maeve’s head tipped back as she laughs. A photo of Max whispering something in Everly’s ear, her expression…serene. An image of Wesley standing behind Josie, his arms wrapped around her, amusement in her eyes. Pictures of Asher’s dads sharing a slice of cake. Maeve’s brother lifting a glass to toast.

“These are great,” I say, admiring the way Leighton captures a moment in time, each one rich with emotion and connection.

And then there’s a shot of me, elbows resting against the counter, looking pensive as I survey the scene. Alone, but watching. I try to place when it was taken, but I’m not sure.

“I don’t know what I was looking at,” I say, trying but failing to remember that moment. Mostly it feels like…the whole night. There’s a glass in my hand in the photo, and I’m just…watching.

“As a photographer, I’m more interested in what you were thinking,” she says, studying the viewfinder on her camera with the shot of me on it.

“What’s your take then? What was I thinking?” I ask, turning the question back on her, here in this corner of the bar.

We’re at The Spotted Zebra, tucked into a small booth in the back. The lights are low here, the vibe very much after dark, the music a little sultry. It might not have been the wisest choice for resisting, but the more I fall into Leighton’s orbit, the less I’m thinking rationally.

She has that effect on my brain—she makes everything warm and hazy.

She studies the picture a little more, then looks at me next to her. Her gaze on me right here, right now, tightens the pressure in my chest. She looks back at the photo. I’m wearing my glasses, like I am now, with a faraway look in my eyes. “I think you’re wondering,” she begins, her tone thoughtful, “what’s next for you. Where do you go from here? Will you live up to the captain job? And what will it cost?”

Talk about a mind reader.

“You got all that from a photo?” I ask, but she’s shockingly right. Those thoughts all ran through my mind.

“Yes, but in all fairness, I was looking for it too. I wanted to remember that moment in time. So I was trying to find your thoughts on your face and capture them in the picture. When I was taking it, I knew what to look for—the idea that you had a lot on your mind.”

I let out a low whistle, impressed with her artistry, her approach. “You’re good. I knew that, but I keep learning it.You seem to know how to…read a room, but really—to read people.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I hope so. But I also love it. Trying to find a story in what’s going on with the people I’m photographing. Sometimes it’s easy to just assign all these stories to people. But I think you have to know what you’re looking for, or at least be open to finding the stories they’re telling themselves.”

I think on that for a moment, linking it with what she said a few minutes ago about always taking pictures—like she did of us, of our first kiss. Like how she held on to those photos. “Do you look back at the pictures you take? I’ve read stats on the number of images humans now take every day and most seem so mundane. A receipt, where we parked our car, a schedule for a workout class.”

“A lot of photos are just notes. But the thing is, youcouldlook back on those later, and read the story of your day, what was going on, what mattered to you in that moment.”

That’s one way of looking at disposable photos, but I don’t think that’s what she does behind the lens. “You’re not taking photos for notes though, are you?”

A soft smile shifts her lips as she shakes her head, looking like she appreciates being understood. “Not really. I want to capture experiences if I can.” Excitement builds in her tone as she says, “Think about how fast the world moves now. Our days fly by so quickly, filled with simple, incredible moments we don’t realize are special until later, when it’s too late. So I try to capture what’s happening now—what’s exciting us, worrying us, making us think. Then, someday, I can look at a picture and that memory won’t be lost. When I take pictures, I try to find the storyof that moment, thatunlostmoment,so that I can feel it again later.”

I peer at the photo she took of me with new perspective. I’m pretty sure, against my plans, against my judgment, I was looking for time with her at the party.

No matter what I told myself.

It’s true I stayed to help a friend. But it was also a lie I told myself to be close to this woman. That was the story of my day. That’s theunlostmoment.

With her so close, her hair cascading down her shoulder, that vanilla-brown sugar scent teasing me, it’s hard to remember that tonight I’d intended to put this thing between us squarely in the past, where it belongs.

That plan seems like a blur now. In a round booth at the back of the bar, with the lights low and us talking about the things that make us tick.

I swallow roughly. “I was looking at you.”

Her breath hitches. “You were?”

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