Page 51 of In Frame
But Leo took another sip of water, and said, “Honestly fifty times better?” He didn’t sound skeptical, only curious, exploring the edges of a new idea.
“At least. Maybe a hundred. A thousand.”
“I…did say I like saying yes to you. And trying things.”
“So you’ll think about it.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Good.”
“And…I’ve also got biscuit crumbs all over me now. It’s a bit of a problem. Certain places were still rather sticky. And now you’ve got that image of me to consider, so I’d understand you rethinking the sex plans for my anatomy.”
“Nope,” Sam informed him, “now I’m thinking about eating chocolate off you, sorry, there’s literally nothing you can say that’ll make me not want you,” and Leo laughed, and the evening glowed with sweetness and satisfaction.
They got off the phone, softly, amid affirmations of care and texting and check-ins. Sam let Leo hang up first, and sat there looking at his phone for a while, not moving.
It was real. It was all real. Leo and this life and this job offer. The future changing, opening up, billowing outward right in front of his eyes.
He knew this was only a chance, an opportunity, a glimpse. He wouldn’t even quit his current job right away, especially if he and Leo weren’t going public yet; he’d just have to say he wasn’t available for a while, but he could do that, though Jameson—and a few other editors he sometimes worked for—would grumble about it.
He’d have a week to prove what he could do. At the end he’d have the pictures, and the hope that they were in factgood; he’d have a reputation as the only photographer allowed exclusive access to the home of Colby Kent and Jason Mirelli, and that fact alone would open other doors, even if his work wasn’t flawless, in the end.
He did want to believe he’d do Colby and Jason justice. He would try.
He would give them his best. For Leo’s friends, who deserved that. For Leo, who he loved, and he’d admit that in the privacy of his own head: he was in love, and he knew he was.
Head over heels. Swept away. Fast and all-encompassing and everything he’d never imagined he could have. Leo was the best person he knew, and even more than that, the person who fit him, fit into his heart, just right.
Leo, he thought, had asked him about what he loved, in photography. And he’d answered honestly. People, and stories, and catching moments. Life. The world, shared with others.
So he’d go to California, and he’d do this for Leo’s friends, and for Leo. And for himself.
Because hewasgood at capturing those stories, or he hoped so. And he knew Colby Kent only rarely allowed photographs, and that might be a challenge, but then there was a love story there, a story about Jason and finding home and trusting people; the tantalization nudged at a long-shut door in his chest and kicked it open partway.
He wanted to see what he could do. He wanted to find out.
He wanted to find out with Leo at his side.
He moved a hand, made a face at drying release all over his skin, hauled himself off the bed. Leo would be showering, getting clean, applying salve, slipping back into luxury sheets. Much nicer than Sam’s own; but somehow that didn’t matter, or not much, in the wake of the moment. They’d shared it together.
Clean-up, he thought. Clothing. Change. Go out and talkto Cynthea and Diana. Maybe pasta for dinner. Easy enough. They had some tomatoes. Some peppers.
Thea and Di were used to him leaving, and at nearly eighteen were independent enough to not be too bothered; they understood about his job, and the demands. He did tell them most things, the way Leo had talked about doing with family; not everything, because there were definitely some parts of his life that sat squarely in the realm of never to be discussed with younger sisters, and those parts generally included first of all how much he hated his job, and secondly anything related to his sex life ever.
He’d tell them about this offer. Of course he would. If this opportunity meant what it could…or even if it didn’t work out, but at least gave him something, a line on a resume, a reference…
It’d change their lives too.
He’d also have to tell them about Leo. About him and Leo.
Him and Leo. Sounded nice. Sounded…not impossible. Improbable, yeah, and Leo was right about them needing to talk, about publicity and photography and relationships and worlds colliding.
But possible? Maybe.
He could see the glimpse of it. A shape on the horizon. He thought that Leo, who’d talked about telling his parents, who’d gone to friends brimming over with hope, had seen it too.
He yanked on a clean shirt, scooped up his phone, knew that Leo would text him soon, and let that knowledge fill up his bones.
