Page 64 of A Man To Remember
"Austin?" A voice interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to find a man in an expensive suit approaching with purpose. "I'm David Chen from Morrison & Associates. Could I steal you for a moment?"
Morrison & Associates. I know that name. High-end advertising, luxury brands, the kind of clients who pay photographers enough to buy houses.
Jesse squeezes my arm once before stepping back, giving us space.
"I've been admiring your work," the man continues, pulling out a business card. "Particularly the series with the male subjects. There's something about the way you capture masculinity—it's powerful but not aggressive. Confident but accessible."
I nod, not trusting my voice yet.
"We have a client launching a new men's fragrance campaign. High-budget, national rollout. They're looking for something that speaks to modern masculinity, and I think your aesthetic would be perfect."
The words hit me like physical objects. National campaign. High-budget. The kind of job that could set me up for years.
"I'd love to set up a meeting," he continues. "Discuss the details, see if it might be a good fit."
I manage to find my voice. "That would be... yes. Absolutely."
We exchange information, and he promises to call next week. As he walks away, I stand frozen in place, trying to process what just happened.
Jesse reappears immediately, like he was hovering just out of earshot. "Good news?"
"I think I just got offered the biggest job of my career."
His face lights up like I've told him he won the lottery. "Austin, that's incredible!"
Before I can respond, the gallery owner approaches with a clipboard and an expression that suggests more good news.
"Just wanted to give you an update. We've sold twelve pieces tonight, and there are three more with serious interest pending. This is..." She pauses, checking her notes. "This is exceptional for an opening. Really exceptional."
Twelve pieces. In one night.
I look around the gallery with new eyes, noticing the small red dots that have appeared next to frames while I wasn't paying attention. Sold stickers. Proof that people don't just like my work—they want to live with it.
"There's also been some interest from collectors," she continues. "People asking about future work, wanting to be notified when you have new pieces ready."
The room spins slightly, and I reach for Jesse's hand to steady myself. This is more than I ever dreamed of when I decided to stay. More than I hoped for when I first approached the gallery with my portfolio, nervous and trying to play it cool.
This is a career. A real, sustainable career doing work I love in a city I'm learning to call home again.
"You okay?" Jesse whispers.
I squeeze his hand and look around the room one more time—at my photographs on the walls, at the people studying them with genuine interest, at the red dots marking sales, at the business card in my pocket that might change everything.
"Yeah," I say, and mean it completely. "I'm perfect."
***
JESSE
AUSTIN'S KEY FITS in my front door like it was always meant to be there.
My front door.Ourfront door now, I guess, though we haven't made it official with paperwork or anything dramatic like that. He just started leaving more clothes in my dresser, more toiletries in my bathroom, more of his coffee in my kitchen. One day I realized I was thinking of the apartment as ours instead of mine, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
His equipment cases are stacked neatly in what used to be my spare room and is now his studio. The morning light in there is perfect for editing, he says, and watching him work at the deskI helped him pick out makes the whole place feel more like home than it ever did when I lived here alone.
"I still can't believe it," he says, collapsing onto the couch with a satisfied groan. His tie is loose around his neck, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed from running his hands through it all evening. He looks like success, if success were a person who just spent three hours charming potential clients and collectors.
"Believe what? That you're incredibly talented and people are recognizing it?" I settle beside him, close enough that our thighs touch. "Because I could have told you that months ago."
