Page 59 of Mating With My Grumpy Alphas
The trail wound through thick forest before opening up to meadows dotted with late-season wildflowers. I kept the pace easy, stopping whenever Willa wanted to photograph something that caught her eye. Watching her work was like seeing the landscape through entirely new eyes. She found beauty in details I would have walked past, the way morning light filtered through spider webs, the pattern of frost on fallen leaves, the delicate structure of seed pods waiting for winter wind.
"You have a good eye for macro work," I said as she crouched to photograph a cluster of tiny mushrooms growing on a rotting log.
"I love the small things. They tell just as much of a story as the big dramatic landscapes." She adjusted her angle, chasing the light. "Sometimes more."
I found myself watching her more than the trail ahead. The way she moved with quiet purpose, completely absorbed inher work. The small sounds of satisfaction she made when she captured something exactly right. The unconscious grace of someone doing something they truly loved.
This was better than any romantic gesture I could have planned. Just watching her rediscover her passion, seeing her come alive behind the camera. It was more intimate than dinner at the fanciest restaurant, more meaningful than flowers or jewelry.
"Sterling never would have brought me somewhere like this," she said, standing up and checking the shot on her camera's LCD screen. "He thought the outdoors was too messy for omegas, said I had no business wandering around in the dirt where he couldn't see me. Too many things that could go wrong."
"He was an idiot."
The words came out more forcefully than I'd intended, and she looked up at me with surprise.
"Sorry," I said. "I just... anyone who couldn't see how talented you are doesn't deserve to have opinions about your art."
Her smile was radiant. "Thank you. That means more than you know."
"Got it," she said, straightening up with a smile that made my chest tight.
"Good. The real payoff is still ahead."
Hawk Ridge was exactly what its name implied, a rocky outcropping that provided sweeping views of the valley below and the mountain ranges beyond. More importantly for photography, it was a natural funnel for bird migration and a favorite perching spot for raptors.
But as we climbed higher, I started to see it through romantic eyes instead of just scientific ones. The way the morning mist clung to the valleys like a soft blanket. The layers of mountains stretching away in shades of blue and purple. The way the lightwould be perfect for photography, but also perfect for the kind of moment that changes everything between two people.
"Oh wow," Willa breathed as we crested the final rise.
The view was spectacular. Morning mist still clung to the valleys below, and the mountains stretched away in layers of blue and purple. A red-tailed hawk circled overhead, riding the thermals with effortless grace.
"This is incredible," she said, already pulling out her camera. "Wes, this is absolutely breathtaking."
"I was hoping you'd like it." I tried to keep the pleasure out of my voice, but failed. "I've been coming here for years to document population changes, but I never get tired of this view."
She was already lost in her photography, moving around the ridge to find different angles and compositions. I found a comfortable rock and settled in to watch, pulling out my binoculars to scan for wildlife she might want to photograph.
This was what I'd wanted to see. Willa in her element, completely herself, pursuing something that brought her genuine joy. The concentration on her face, the way she moved with purpose and confidence, was more attractive than anything I'd ever witnessed.
"Peregrine falcon at two o'clock," I called quietly. "About halfway up the cliff face."
She swung her lens around, adjusting settings with practiced efficiency. I watched her face as she found the bird, saw the moment when everything else faded away except the shot she was trying to capture.
"Beautiful," she murmured, and I wasn't sure if she meant the falcon or the photograph.
For the next hour, she worked with the kind of focused intensity I recognized from my own research. I pointed out wildlife when I spotted it, but mostly I just enjoyed watching her discover the rhythm of the place. She had a naturalunderstanding of animal behavior, knowing when to wait patiently and when to move for a better angle.
"There's a pair of ravens that nest on the north face," I said when she paused to change memory cards. "They might come investigate if we're patient."
"Ravens are incredible. They’re so intelligent."
"These two have been here for three years. They've gotten used to the occasional researcher, but they're still wary of cameras."
As if summoned by our conversation, one of the ravens appeared, landing on a rocky outcrop about fifty feet away. It cocked its head, studying us with bright black eyes.
"Don't move too fast," I whispered. "He's deciding whether we're interesting or threatening."
Willa slowly raised her camera, moving with the kind of deliberate care that came from understanding wildlife. The raven watched her for a long moment, then seemed to decide we were harmless. It began preening, giving her perfect shots of its glossy feathers catching the morning light.
