Page 5 of Stranger Session

My roommate would shit a brick if he knew the idea he came up with managed to somehow excite me. I still haven’t told him. I can’t let him think he had a good idea, can I?

The buildup to this moment hasn’t been easy, though. The nervous energy of meeting a stranger had traveled straight to my fingertips, and I nearly had to restrain myself so I wouldn’t hack into Vehement Photography’s system and see my match ahead of time. But I didn’t do it. I forcedmyself to put my tech knowledge aside and let the blind date remain...well, blind.

The trees begin to open up around the road, showing signs of habitation. My GPS signals that I’m here, and I pull into a driveway. Fall leaves cover the pavement in hues of reds and yellows. They crunch beneath my feet as I get out of my car.

The home is a gorgeous A-frame that looks like something out of a magazine. I suddenly feel insecure that I still live in a shitty two-bedroom apartment with a roommate. I take a step back toward my car, sabotaging myself before we even begin.

A melodic voice floats from the house and stops my backward progression. “Del Monroe?”

The woman waves at me from her wrap-around porch. A camera hangs around her neck, its gaping glass eye pointed at the ground. Soon she will aim it at me, and it will see everything.

Every facial movement.

Every unspoken word.

Every hidden emotion.

The camera doesn’t lie, after all, and it’s going to speak my truth loud and clear.

It’s too late to run, so I walk toward her. She offers her hand, and I take it.

“Yes, I’m Del. You’re Sarah, right?”

“I am! Nice to meet you. We’re just waiting on your date, so come inside and settle your nerves.”

I don’t know if everyone arrives inherently nervous or if she sees the anxiety oozing from my widened eyes, but I hope it’s the former. I’m not normally such a nervous man, but this situation is bringing it out of me.

I follow Sarah inside and realize how completely her work consumes her. Photographs spill over every surface. Antique cameras line the tops of the double bookcases in her living room, but the shelves hold no books. Instead, framed pictures fill each rectangular space. They mostly showcase nature shots, and they’re very good.

As we enter the kitchen, I pick up a few of the pictures lying on the table. I sift through them, unable to tell if these are from other blind date photo shoots or if they show organic couples who’ve been dating for years. The connection is that believable.

I can’t help but wonder if the couple creates this chemistry or if it’s mostly due to the person operating the camera. Could she make two enemies look in love if captured in the right patch of sunlight?

It’s possible.

Sarah slides a piece of paper across the worn oak surface and taps her finger above two lines near the bottom of the contract. “I just need your signature here and here. It’s your standard photography release. In a nutshell, it basically says I can use your images for promotional material without compensating you, and you agree you won’t contact the other participant once this is over. If you’d like to read through it, though, take your time.”

This gives me a hint of relief. If things go poorly, I never have to worry about hearing from my blind date again. Some of the pressure has been taken off, so maybe I won’t have a hard time pretending to like the woman if I really don’t. It’s not as if I’ll have to endure another minute with her once the camera clicks for the final time.

I fill each blank with my information and pass it back to her without studying the fine print. If you’ve read onecontract, you’ve read them all. She checks it over, tucks it into a leather laptop bag, and brings me into a smaller room.

A large window overlooks the backyard. Golden fields stretch into the distance, and a few trees dot the sprawling landscape. An old-fashioned swing hangs from one of the outstretched tree limbs. Two thick cords of rope lead down to the weathered board seat. Picturesque is an understatement.

Sarah follows my gaze to the backyard. “We usually set up at a local park for these shoots, but they were too crowded for what I wanted to do today. I figured you wouldn’t mind having the shoot here. Thanks for being flexible.”

“No problem.”

She raises her camera to her eye, then fusses with a few of the buttons below the viewing screen. “Once Mariah gets here and signs her paperwork, you’ll both be blindfolded and led outside. Then the fun can really begin.” She offers me an excited smile.

Mariah. That’shername. And it’s a pretty name, at that.

“You just have to stay in this room,” she says. “If you come out of that door before we’ve put the blindfold over your eyes, the shoot is off. Your clothes are in the closet. We’ll be in to go over last looks before we blindfold you.”

I nod and she rushes out and leaves me with my thoughts. They grow more pessimistic the longer I wait. As each second stretches out as I dress, I struggle to keep my feet from turning toward the door and breaking into a run. Maybe I can sneak out before anyone else arrives.

But the thought of disappointing this girl I’ve never fucking met holds me in place. Yeah, I’d feel better, but atwhat cost to someone else? The poor girl would feel so awkward and unwanted if she arrived and found her partner had jumped ship. Then a thought strikes me as I look at my watch.

What if I’m the one who’s been stood up?

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