Page 102 of Seven Lost Summers
Theo
I’msittingnexttoQuinn on the back patio, watching as she flicks through her camera, scrolling through the shots from today.
Her fingers move fast, pausing only when one of the images grabs her. Every few seconds she tilts the screen toward me, waiting for some kind of reaction.
Kit’s gonna lose her mind over these. I’m honestly surprised she didn’t crash the session with coffee and chaos to hover over Quinn’s shoulder the whole time.
Every frame is sharp. No bullshit in her work. She catches the in-between moments—sweat on a brow, fingers mid-strike, Xander pacing as though the lyrics are chasing him instead of the other way around.
And I’ve got to admit, I’m a little annoyed Xander doesn’t come off rough in any of them. Not even one. The man’s still brooding around in tight jeans and layered necklaces, and somehow every photo makes him appear as though he stepped off a fucking billboard.
“They say the camera adds ten pounds,” I mutter, squinting at a shot of him gripping the mic stand, shirt clinging to his chest. “What, does yours work in reverse?”
Quinn laughs softly, nudging me with her shoulder. “He’s photogenic. That’s not on me.”
“He’s a smug bastard, that’s what he is.”
“You love him,” she says, shifting her attention back to the camera.
“Yeah, I do,” I add, before shooting her a sideways glance. “But if you tell anyone I said something bordering on sincere, that’ll be the end of you, Thomas. I’ll deny the whole thing until the day I die. Hell, I’ll take you down with me.”
Quinn laughs, eyes still on the camera screen. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Better be. I’ve got a reputation to uphold. Can’t have people thinking I’ve got feelings and shit.”
“God forbid,” she says, biting back a grin.
She taps through a few more shots, stopping on one of Ace leaning back in his chair, guitar in his lap, mouth parted mid-yawn or perhaps mid-growl. Hard to tell with him.
“That one’s my favorite,” she says, thumb hovering over the screen.
I tilt my head. “Why?”
“He looks real. Not polished. Not perfect. Simply tired. Honest.”
I study the photo again, this time seeing what she means. His jaw’s tight, shadows cling under his eyes, but a trace of vulnerability cuts through.
“You’ve got a good eye,” I tell her.
She glances at me, a flicker of surprise in her expression, before offering a small smile. “Thanks.”
I reach down, adjust the volume on the shitty Bluetooth speaker humming low in the background.
Quinn shifts beside me, pulling her knees up, camera resting in her lap. She doesn’t say anything else, only leans back.
And for a second, everything feels easy. Calm. The way it has always been between us. The kind of quiet that settles deep.
But my head is spinning.
I shouldn’t be sitting this close.
Shouldn’t let the scent of her shampoo slip beneath my skin, or notice the heat radiating off her as though it’s crawling across the space between us, burrowing deep. But I’m here anyway. I breathe her in.
The silence settles. And for a moment, it feels good.
Falling into a rhythm I know better than to trust.
I’ve carried this before. That warmth. That pull.
