Page 5 of All I Desire

Chapter Two

MATTHEW

The photographer’sgaze roams down my body, and I laugh nervously.

“Oh, you’ll do quite well,” says Nina Michaels, her eyes lingering on my bicep. “Do you have any problem taking your shirt off?”

“Ah, well…” I chuckle and run a hand through my hair. “Of all the things I thought I’d do on a late Sunday afternoon, a shirtless photo shoot with a famous Miami fashion photographer was not among them. But, sure. Why not?”

Nina is short, probably around sixty, and Asian. She has a mischievous smile and a twinkle in her eyes, and her entire vibe makes me grin.

“What have you got in mind, exactly?” I ask. I’m okay with taking off my shirt in public. Anything more… well, we’ll see.

Over coffee this morning, I’d looked up some of Nina’s photography. It ranged from classic celebrity portraits to some risqué, nude, black and whites. I’m guessing the Paradise Beach Tourism Board wants more of the former, but after being in this place for a couple of weeks —and after Nina’s question — who knows?

Paradise Beach: Things are Different Here.Hey, that’s a new marketing slogan for the Tourism Board…

“Once the other model gets here, I was thinking of some shots by those palm trees over there”—she points in the direction of the nearby beach—“and perhaps in the water. I have props for a picnic. We also might go back to my place because it has some beautiful views from the living room. We’ll see. I own a vacation home on the other end of the island.” She waves in the direction of her assistant, a young woman who is arranging and pawing through plastic boxes in a giant SUV.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Glad you’re an easygoing type.”

“Wouldn’t you have to be if you applied to be photographed by a stranger with another stranger?”

“You’d be surprised.” She laughs heartily and her eyes take another sweep down my body, not in a lecherous way, but as if she’s assessing my look.

I tilt my head down to look at my black T-shirt, jeans, and leather flip-flops. “Did I dress okay? The email instructions didn’t give any guidance on what to wear.”

“You’re fine. You’re wearing almost exactly what Brad Pitt wore when I shot him in ‘97 on South Beach.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I think you’re wearing it better, though.” She adjusts her glasses and clicks the key fob of her SUV.

Well, hell. I grin and take off my shades.

The Florida sun weakens as it races toward the horizon. We’re about an hour from sunset, and we’re standing in the parking lot by Nina’s SUV, waiting for the other person to arrive. The other model. Even thinking that is kind of hilarious. All of this is Froot Loops, as far as I’m concerned.

I’m not a model kind of guy. I’m a divorced, single dad of a ten-year-old girl. A guy who’s starting over and pushing forty.

Nina opens the back of her SUV then opens a messenger bag. She extracts a black folder. “You’re Matthew… the hot dog stand owner?”

“I’m Matthew, but I don’t own a hot dog stand.”

“Okay. Wait. That’s tomorrow’s shoot. You’re the…” She shuffles through the papers. “Pilot? Doctor? Librarian? Several people applied and I think my assistant’s mixed them up. Dammit.”

“Pilot. That’s me.” I spot my name on a printed email and point to the paper.

She looks up, tilting her head. “Matthew Mancini. Commercial pilot?”

“Used to be. Well, still am. I’m from Fort Lauderdale. Took a buyout from Delta, and am in the process of relocating here to Paradise and opening a helicopter tour business. My brother, well, half-brother, saw your flyer in a local restaurant and thought I might be a good fit. So, I took the plunge and applied.”

Might be the best idea Chad’s ever had. Or the only idea. I’d actually gone along with his suggestion because that’s what I’m trying to do these days with him and my mom. Go along. Get along. After so many years of family dysfunction, why not… especially since Chad and Mom claim to know this island so well.

And so, I’d sent a recent photo, one my ten-year-old had snapped on the beach while I was wearing Ray Bans and a smile. My daughter, Chloe, picked it out of several that she had taken — kids these days are like freaking modeling scouts — saying that I didn’t look “too ridiculous for an old guy.”

Yeah, Chloe has a way with words.

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