Page 72 of True Dreams

“Jaime and I played around with testing. I’ve advised a couple of farmers, so I knew what to look for. John Nelson wanted to know.”

Campbell clipped a photo to the line with a sharp snap of his wrist. “I just bet he did.”

“These are stunning. So much variation. I mean, black and white…” She shrugged, searching for the right words, knowing photographs were so much more than two simple colors.

He turned to face her, bracing his hands on the table and leaning against it. The barest hint of a smile crossed his face, though she sensed the amusement was aimed at himself. “Split filter printing. Multiple filters and separate exposure times create a broad tonal range.”

At her questioning shake of the head, he laughed softly. “All those variations of black you’re seeing.”

She nodded. “Ah…”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

She shrugged, her gaze dropping to his photographs.

“Me either.” He gripped the dangling cord on his hoodie and gave it a quick tug. “Your hair.”

She lifted a hand to run her fingers through it, but he pushed off the table, the sudden movement stopping her.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s?—”

Tilting her head just enough to catch him from the corner of her eye, she waited.

“Beautiful,” he finished.

Fontana’s breath caught as all the things she wanted to say hovered in her throat, locked in place by fear and uncertainty. “What’s the big boy for?” she asked instead, jacking her thumb toward the metal beast in the corner as the darkroom’s temperature seemed to skyrocket.

“An enlarger. It projects an image from negative to paper.” He walked to the piece, trailing a teasing finger along a glass plate. “A Meopta. I used one years ago during a semester abroad. This one’s a 1960s version. Czech.” He gave his hoodie string another tug. “Like the truck, I prefer the old stuff.”

“You’re not comfortable with me here, are you?”

He glanced at her, wistfulness softening the edges of his gaze. Amber light washed over him in a gorgeous tide. She’d never seen him betray even a hint of shyness, and his reticence was oddly charming. She wanted to strip away the layers of caution wrapped around him, but how could she when she had her own—just as powerful, just as terrifying, just as real—to face?

“The darkroom is my passion.” He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Most of my work goes to a creative team now, after I take the shots. Color’s a bitch to develop, too time-consuming. And digital is coming on the scene. It’s probably going to upend everything. Frankly, maybe it already has.”

“There are other things you could work on. Other passion projects to even the playing field.”

He twisted a knob on the enlarger, sending the metaland glass head gliding up and down. “Have you been talking to John Nelson or something?”

She let out an aggrieved breath. “This is friendly advice, Campbell. That’s it.”

“Listen.” He shoved a negative strip into a slot, fiddling with a grip on the side. “Excuse me for my caginess, but I don’t know what having a friend feels like. And here, with you…”

Adjusting the negative, he did that humming thing under his breath. “Sometimes people get their signals crossed, okay?”

“You didn’t get your signals crossed. I came to you.”

He slipped his glasses off and rubbed his eyes so hard he was probably seeing stars.

His gaze, when it finally met hers, was bleak. Emotions chased each other across his face—wonder and something haunted. “I’m not equal to this. Being with you is like breathing deeply for the first time in years, a bracing jolt I feel clear to my toes. So much change, and you in the middle of it. Kit, my job, the Rise. My life doing a complete 180. I can’t keep up.”

Her lips parted, but she had no words.

“Do you know I took a photo of you? In the field, when I had the class at the barn.” He pushed the negative strip into the slot and pulled it back. Again. And again. “I’ve been working on it, trying to tighten the shot. Bring you into sharper focus.”

She debated, close to crossing the room to shake some sense into him—or kiss him until he truly saw stars. “And…that’s…what?”

“I took the shot because you were in the distance. A safe fucking distance. On the periphery. Not a critical component.” Campbell ripped the negative from the enlarger and threw it onto the table. “I’m trying to let this thing between us fade, like a photo that’s been sitting too long in the sun. Agentle fade. Because you’re as close as I can let you get.” Pausing, he turned to her, the expression on his face lethal. “Too close. And then here I am, trying to bring you closer. Even if it’s only in a photograph. It’s masochistic.”

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