Page 65 of Last First Kiss
“You’re right,” I say softly, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Thank you.”
“Anyways.” Isabella pulls my iPad closer to her. “What have you got?”
I try to focus on why I asked Isabella to meet me today. I scoot closer to her and put my password into my iPad. As soon as it unlocks, it opens to the three pictures I want Isabella to take a look at.
“Here are the three I’m thinking about sending to print, but I wanted your opinion first.”
Isabella grabs my tablet and zooms in, examining them closely as I try not to squirm in my seat.
The first image is a close-up of a woman’s face, half hidden by swirls of pink and purple smoke, but her intense gaze pierces through the haze, catching the light, making her look almost unreal. The colors melt together around her, giving her this soft, dreamy glow.
The second shows a woman floating in a lake, half underwater, while wisps of teal and lavender smoke drift above her. Her hair fans out like a halo, her face calm, andthe whole misty scene is peaceful but a little otherworldly—like she’s stepped out of another realm.
The third is more low-key. You can’t see her face—it’s of a woman in a long dress crouched by the water, pressing a finger to its surface. Everything is dark and moody, her hair falling forward as she rests her chin on her knee.
“These are amazing. I don’t think they’ll last very long at the gallery.”
“Are you serious? You think they’re that good?”
Isabella nods. “Why haven’t you sent them to me already?” she asks, still studying the pictures.
I shrug, because I don’t really have a reason other than that I wasn’t sure they were good enough. “Perfectionism, I think.”
“Print them and send them to me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I squeal, pulling her in to hug her tightly. “Thank you for doing this. You’re my favorite!” I add.
“It’s not a favor, Ale. I’m not doing this because you’re my best friend, I’m doing it because I think you’re talented.”
My heart swells with pride, and I can’t help the giant smile on my face. Isabella is the most talented person I’ve ever met, and to have her say this means so much more than I can even explain.
“Thank you. Coming from you ... that means everything.” I pull her into another hug, wishing I believed in myself the way she seems to.
This could be the break I’ve been waiting for. I’ve had a lot of fun shooting for companies, but that’s not why I went into photography. I want to make art. To have my work in galleries and live off what I create. I’ve been dreaming about that for years.
I was always too scared to ask Isabella to consider myphotos for her gallery. I didn’t want her to think I was trying to ride her success. But a few months ago, Clara stepped in and made it happen.
“I talked to Isabella for you,” she said one evening during one of our DIY spa days. “She couldn’t believe you two haven’t done this already.”
I blinked so many times it was unnatural, but I was trying to get myself out of the shock. “Wait—seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.” She grinned.
“I can’t believe you did that.”
Clara shrugged, clearly proud of herself.
Honestly, it was the push I’d needed. Since then, I’ve been working on these photos nonstop—tweaking, adjusting, and tinkering to no end.
My phone buzzes, and it’s Clara, as if she senses I’m thinking about her.
Clara 9:00 a.m.:
Are you still at the cafe?
Alejandra 9:00 a.m.:
Yes! Why?
