Page 47 of Wild Flower

“Yeah, sure,” I say, because I’m not going to be the last one jumping off this cliff. But something in my gut feels off about it. I just can’t identify what it is.

27

BECCA

Archer and Finn join me on the patio outside Flambé after Simon gives us all the necessary papers. I stand between them, leaning against the railing as I look out at the bay. Being sandwiched between these two men is becoming my comfort place. It makes my skin tingle, but it also makes me feel protected. Saying yes to this photoshoot is just as wild as jumping off the cliff last night. I’d normally never do anything like it—but the two of them make me brave.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Archer asks for the umpteenth time. “Veto power means you can walk away from this at any moment.”

It warms my heart that he’s nervous about this. He’s deflecting that energy onto me, but it’s clear he’s the one with the inhibitions. I push Archer’s long dark hair behind his ear, before cupping the side of his face.

“If I’ve learned anything from the two of you,” I say softly, running my thumb across his high cheekbone, “it’s to walk fearlessly into what sets you on fire, even if it’s scary.”

I kiss him softly and he melts like a kitten against me. Big talking, beautiful Archer is just a teddy bear. Finn doesn’t touch me, probably because we’re in public, but I miss the warmth of him behind me. This moment is so sweet, compared to the heat of last night, and I love seeing both sides of them.

“This photoshoot sets you on fire?” Archer asks when we release.

The sun heats my cheeks.

“It’s hard to explain,” I say, “but the way Arie made me feel when she came to my shop and talked about this shoot …” I close my eyes and tilt my face to the sun. “I guess I couldn’t believe she saw those things in me: beauty, magic, meaning.”

The warmth of Finn steps up behind me and once again I’m eclipsed by the two of them.

“I had this awful conversation with my mother this morning,” I continue, feeling brave in their arms. “It was like night and day to have a powerful, creative woman like Arie walk into my life and tell meI’m the magicshe needs to capture and put on display. I’ve spent so much of my life shrinking around my family—they hate the tattoos, they don’t understand the flower farm—so to have someone brazenly demand that I put myself on display, photographme, as I am, as something beautiful and worthy …”

Finn’s mouth hits my neck. It isn’t a heat, so much as an acknowledgement. I open my eyes and look right at Archer, and his sapphire gaze is molten ice. The way the two of them look at me keeps taking my breath away. It’s this energy that Arie wants to bottle. This fierceness that ignites.

“I couldn’t turn away from her offer,” I admit, holding Archer’s gaze. “I guess, I just want to see what she sees in me.”

I’m swallowed by both of them. Finn’s arms are on my shoulders and back. Archer is kissing me from the front. There’s heat in it, but it’s not a demand. There’s a sweetness between them that’s more adoring. I can see why Arie wants to capture this, even if I still don’t understand myself in the middle of it. But I want to be brave and face it, photograph it—so I’m not so scared to see the beauty in myself.

Finn’s lips brush back and forth across my nape, before he whispers, “I want to photograph your flowers before this shoot with Arie. I mean, your farm and you. It’ll help you get comfortable in front of the lens, and I’ve got this photo series I’m exploring, if—”

I turn from Archer so I’m facing Finn, and run my fingers through his golden hair. It’s as soft and brilliant as a fairytale. I nod my head and kiss him, too.

I’m drunk on sayingyes.

Yes, to Arie. Yes, to Finn. Yes to all of this.

“When?” I ask against his lips.

“Wednesday,” he says. “Early evening for golden hour.”

I smile at the thought of all that gold—Finn and the sunset and my flowers. Could I be swallowed by light, swallowed by the two of them in the twilight?

“What should I wear?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Finn responds. “Just be yourself.”

It’s such a cliché piece of advice. You see that written on aspiration posts on the internet, and it’s the underlying message of every Disney movie and princess. But I’ve never had someone say it to me and actually mean it.

Be yourself.

“I want Archer there, too,” I say, pulling his arms around me from behind, and Finn nods. Why does being with the two of them feel like I’m at the center of a star, bright and burning and on fire? I know this is reckless of me. Two photoshoots? Two men? I may be Icarus, flying too close to the sun, and yet I don’t care because their warmth feels too good to give up.

So I push away the niggling feeling in the back of my skull: my mom’s voice, my sister’s voice. We all know what happened to Icarus. We all know that shooting stars burn bright and fast, but flare out at the end. We all know this concludes with broken wings crumpled on the ground.

But right now, all those fears seem like tiny grains of sand, too little to amount to anything.

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