Page 52 of Eight Years Gone

“Old habits die hard.”

Looking up, she held his gaze. Everything about the last several minutes had been so normal—so automatic.

They’d always shared their pizza. She’d always given him two of her slices, and he gave one of his slices to her. Even pulling off the jalapenos and toasting their damn slices. “Yes, they do.”

“I was waiting for you to finish that up, then hand me the crust.”

She closed her eyes as she smiled, doing her best to ignore how right it felt to be sitting across from Jagger at Rafferty’s.

He gave her calf a quick rub with the side of his sneaker. “Tell me more about your photography. You said you’re traveling to all fifty states for the magazine.”

She nodded, biting into her pizza again, giving herself a moment to steady. “It’s slow going. I started the project six months ago. I’ve been to most of the Northeastern and Southern states. I’d like to head out west next.”

“So California, Oregon, Washington?”

She shook her head. “No, not yet. I want to go to Montana first.”

He raised his brow. “What has you excited about Montana?”

“The mountains.” She grinned, already imagining the pictures she would take. “The sunsets. I want to set up just before the golden hour and wait for the magic to unfold.”

“I imagine it’ll be fantastic. If you wait around long enough, I bet you’ll get some great shots of the stars. You won’t have to worry about light pollution way out there.”

“Mmm.” She nodded enthusiastically, loving that she didn’t have to explain herself—that Jagger understood everything about her world.

He’d gone with her to so many places, patiently waiting for hours while she took her pictures, perfecting her photography skills. “And I want to stay on one of those dude ranches.”

He frowned as he stopped mid-chew. “A dude ranch?”

She laughed. “Yes. The pictures will be amazing—the animals in the pastures. Capturing the ranchers in action. Maybe I might even catch a Montana snowfall.”

He nodded. “I can see it.”

“I might take a couple of days and go in November.”

“It sounds like you have a plan.”

She took another bite, sitting back as she chewed, debating whether to confide an opportunity she’d been toying with. “Marjorie Nickels, the high school principal, approached me about teaching photography at the school next year.”

He snatched up one of the pepperoni slices she’d put on his plate. “No kidding?”

She shrugged. “I currently volunteer a couple of hours a week. I’ve been working with some of the kids on the yearbook staff—helping them with their photography skills. It would be part-time. A new class offering.”

He leaned farther forward. “That sounds great, Grace.”

She jerked her shoulders again as she handed him her crust. “I don’t know.”

“What’s got you hung up?”

She sighed. “It would be a lot with my full schedule—a couple of afternoons a week. Tuesdays and Thursdays, I think. Plus, I’m not sure that I’m teacher material—that I actually know how to stand up in front of a classroom and teach.”

He broke off a piece of the crust she’d given him. “You’re patient and compassionate. You explain things well. I’ve learned all kinds of stuff about photography just from watching you. You’re teaching the kids right now, aren’t you?”

She sighed again. “Mostly, I give hints on improving technique. I don’t know if that qualifies as actual instruction—lectures, lessons, grading.”

He shrugged this time. “So, you’d take it as it comes. You’d figure it out. You always do. Especially if you let yourself have fun with it.”

His absolute faith in her was infectious—a balm over her hesitations to try something so overwhelming. “The yearbook kids seem like they’re enjoying themselves. And their pictures are getting better.”

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