Page 8 of Camera Chemistry
“If she’s nice, do you promise to ask her out for coffee?”
“Sure,” I answer flippantly. It gets her off my back, even if it makes me a shitty father for lying.
Maven claps. “Yes! Progress. First stop, espressos and croissants. Next stop, walking down the aisle.”
“Keep dreaming, kid,” I say.
It’s not like I’m going to meet this woman and fall in love with her. It’s impossible, a stupid thought to even consider.
Still, though, that persistent hum of importance continues to cackle through me, a deafening roar I can’t tune out.
FIVE
MAGGIE
My teeth chatteras the frigid air plagues my lungs. I lift my chin and take in the 10,000 square foot warehouse Jeremiah owns. The industrial building looms in front of me, an ominous stretch of construction appearing less inviting and more intimidating the longer I stand outside, delaying the inevitable.
With a final deep breath of courage, I pull open the glass door and walk inside with my head held high. A gust of heat envelops me, a warm, welcomed hug helping to quell the jitters racking my body. My shoulders become pliant, relaxing and loosening away from my ears to their natural resting position.
“You can do this, Maggie. It’s a couple of photos. You’ll be home by dinner. No big deal,” I whisper to myself. A glance at the modern clock on the wall tells me I’m ten minutes early, barely considered on time by Jeremiah’s stringent standards. Assistants are already hard at work. Someone is fixing a floral arrangement, trading out a rose for a daisy in a pink vase. Another is fluffing white pillows on an aquamarine couch, organizing the squares into a perfect line.
“There’s my star!” Jeremiah’s voice filters across the room.
I wave and walk toward him. The gray floor of poured concrete is the only dark component of the space, a stark juxtaposition to the walls swathed in various colors and patterns. Pink stripes, green rectangles, purple stars and white hearts wink at me as I pass.
A high ceiling stretches above me, a whopping twenty feet up. Skylights illuminate the drab path I shuffle across in ethereal hues of yellow and orange. I look around, seeing dozens of props set up. A bed, complete with a headboard and footboard, covered in a navy duvet. A clawfoot tub, a dance floor, and a spinning disco ball. In the corner, the back left section of the room, is a parked lime green Hyundai.
“Hey.” I greet Jeremiah with an embrace. I hold on longer than necessary, reveling in the silent support he’s sending me, conveyed with a tight hug around my shoulders and a kiss to the top of my head.
“Holy shit.” He releases me and lets out a long whistle. “Those jeans look incredible on you. Spin.” He twirls his finger and I do a small circle in place. “You have a figure, Mags, and it’s hot as hell.”
I blush at the compliment. The clothing was a frenzied purchase, bought on impulse yesterday afternoon. The denim highlights my curves, hugging my thighs and accentuating my hips and backside. When I looked in the mirror before I left, I feltgood,liking who I saw staring back at me.
“Thanks.”
“Aiden is close,” Jeremiah continues. “When he gets here, I’m going to do a rundown on the itinerary with you all, then send you to hair and makeup. After that, we’ll get started.”
I look over my shoulder at the entrance in anticipation. A spool of eagerness unravels through me.
Aiden Wood.
I laid in bed last night and stared at the ceiling, wondering what he might look like. Is he tall? Does he have dark hair or light? Is his skin tan, sun-kissed and tawny from hours spent outside? Or is it more of an olive complexion? What about glasses? Tattoos? Facial hair?
As if on cue, like I’ve summoned him to materialize and conjured his presence from my curiosity, the door to the warehouse swings open. Sunbeams glint in through the entryway behind a figure moving swiftly inside. The man—obvious from the posture—is only a shadow. A whisper of unknown until the barrier closes and I can finally,finallysee him properly.
My vision blurs, solid figures turning to indistinguishable colors and shapes. Time stops, and the world narrows down to a singular entity: him.
I blink, and the formidable haze settles to pristine clarity so I can soak him in.
He’s not very tall. If we were to stand side by side, there might be an inch or two of height difference between us, and the advantage would go to me. His coiffed hair is auburn, slightly wavy on the top of his head while cut close to his ears. Near his temples are strands of gray, salt and pepper mingling with the brown. A neatly trimmed beard covers his cheeks and hides his jawline. Draped over a corded forearm is a large coat, and the gray sweater he’s wearing is rolled to his elbows, teasing me with inches of bare skin.
He’s wildly attractive. It’s not Hollywood handsomeness that would have throngs of women flocking to him, nor is it the blatant sex appeal of a rugged hero from a romance novel. It’s more subtle and delicate, brought alive by small details and the way he carries himself. One hand in his pocket and his shoulders rolled back. A confident stroll as he walks toward us. The flick of his gaze to my face, then my legs, and back up again, approval etched in the corner of his mouth like granite and finely cut stone.
“Aiden. So glad you could make it,” Jeremiah says.
Aiden’s lips, full and pink, twitch marginally and curl into a small smile. His hazel eyes crinkle, nearly sparkling under the fluorescent lighting. “Jeremiah. It’s so nice to meet you.”
His voice is deep, a baritone timbre that makes my thighs quake. Commanding, while also as smooth as melted chocolate. My face flushes, heat gliding down my back as I relish in his perfect enunciation.
