“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. I think he’s really into her. For the moment.” I can hear the eye roll in her voice. “You know how he is.”
Yes. Yes, I do.
“Tarek said she was your best friend in California. Why didn’t you ever tell me about her?”
“I don’t know.” I rack my brain. I really don’t know why I would do that, even in my imagination. “I guess I wanted to leave my past behind and be open to making friends at my new home.”
I hold my breath again, wondering if she’ll buy it. She waits a second to respond and I think I’ll pass out from lack of oxygen before she answers, but she finally does.
“That was really mature of you.”
I blow out the breath I was holding and take a gulp of fresh air. “Thanks.”
“No, really. It was. Who knew you had it in you?” she teases. “So what’s the deal with Giselle? Tarek’s really taken with her.”
“Oh? How so?” I remind myself to keep breathing. What Tarek thinks about Giselle is not worth passing out over.
“Oh, he just keeps asking me questions about her. I finally said I’d call you and find out. Is she single?”
I feel the smug smile on my face. “Not really. She has a boyfriend. They’re long distance right now, but I believe they’re deeply committed.” The pain on my bottom is building. I turn over onto my side, and the pressure is relieved. Oh, Tarek. That bruise on my butt is you. “She didn’t tell him?” My tone is innocent.
“She did. I think he wants me to double-check her story.”
“Ahh.” Untrustworthy people are so untrusting.
“I’m glad your friend is kinda off the market. I’d feel terrible if Tarek broke her heart just when she was moving back here and reconnecting with you and everything. And his track record being what it is—a broken heart is the most she can expect.”
“That’s sweet of you, Ky, but I wouldn’t worry about Giselle. Like you said, she’s taken, and even if she weren’t, there’s no chance Tarek would break her heart. She’s a tough one.”
“Ohhkay.” She draws the word out. She doesn’t believe me. Does hero worship of her brother extend so far as to think he’s completely irresistible? To every woman?
“Seriously. She’s good.”
“Okay, great. I’m glad. And I hope I get to meet her soon,” she throws out generously.
“Sure, yeah. Getting us all together would be really fun.” And nearly impossible.
We chat another minute, and then I get off the phone and onto Facebook where a message from Tarek is waiting.
Tarek Oliver
The sunset tonight reminded me of you.
That’s all he’s written, but below he’s attached a stunning picture of what I’d guess was last night’s sunset. Streaks of orange, purple, pink, and red paint the sky in flames. I can tell he took the picture from his home office. I recognize part of his windowsill in the bottom right of the frame. I stare at it a long time, wondering why he’d say the colors of the sunset remind him of Giselle. She isn’t a redhead. And she doesn’t dress colorfully. In her profile pictures she’s wearing a white blouse.
I click through the travel photos I’d posted on Giselle’s Facebook wall and sit back.
Huh. There’s a sunset in every single one of them.
Funny how I hadn’t noticed I’d chosen all sunset pictures when I had her posting “her” pictures of the pyramids at Giza, the Eiffel Tower, and the Roman Colosseum. Weird that Tarek had.
Startled into responding, I shoot him back a smiley face emoji and shut down my laptop for the night.
∞∞∞
Tarek calls me at work the next day.
“Hey, Duchess. Just checking on you.”
The hell he is. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I lean back in my desk chair and play with the phone cord. “So if I have a problem or need help with something, I should call you?”
He laughs nervously. “Sure thing. Why not? Hey, speaking of favors, you know your friend, Giselle?”
My pulse kicks up, and I catch my reflection in the blackness of the screen saver on my monitor. Oh, yeah, I’m smiling. “Yes?” My tone is all innocence. I pluck a pencil out of my cup o’ pens and hold it in my hand just so I have something to squeeze.
“Well, she and I have struck up a friendship on Facebook.”
“Really?” My voice is astonished. I am not.
He clears his throat. “Yes, I do have friends.” His tone is wry.
“Not women friends.”
He pauses. Got him there. “Touché,” he says, and I wonder if he’s expanding on the things he thinks he’s an expert at by watching French movies.
I don’t say anything and wait for him. I don’t have to wait long. The man simply cannot be cowed.
“So would you like to get together sometime? Maybe a group date or something with Giselle and me, Kya and whoever, and you and that new dog-boy Kya was telling me about?”
Instead of nice-guy Brandon I picture a giant dog walking on his hind legs, opening the door of the restaurant for me with a paw on my lower back and a black bowtie around his neck. “Giselle’s got a boyfriend.”
“Yes, thank you, I know that, Marissa.” His words are clipped and I want to giggle at the irritation in his voice. “This is in the name of friendship and helping someone out.”
I pull a carrot stick from the plastic bag of them in my top desk drawer and crunch it loudly in his ear. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t want to sacrifice any of my friends—new or old—to your rampant sex drive.”
“But—”
“Sorry, Tarek, I’ve gotta go.” I hang up the phone and finish my carrot stick with a smile on my face. Playing hard to get works on men like Tarek.
And he has no idea just how hard Giselle will be to get.
Chapter Nine
On my way home from work, I stop by the library and check out several books on photography. I know I could probably find most of the same information on the internet—and more quickly—but whenever I take on a new project, I think it best to be surrounded by heaps of books on the subject. There’s something inspiring about having tangible examples of the thing I’m pursuing. I plan on researching online as well, but as I sit on the floor with half a dozen of the latest photography, art, and design textbooks in front of me, I’m glad I’ve made the effort.
Large, glossy pictures ripe as fruit fill my senses until I’m absorbing one work of art after another. Much like paintings, some are still lifes, some are landscapes, some are portraits, but some are pure photography—moments in time captured at the exact millisecond the remarkable happened. I breathe in deeply until I can feel my lungs expand and stretch.
I’m excited about this.
I’m surprising myself. I thought that I should know a little something about the career I’ve chosen for Giselle so she can write and speak knowledgeably about it when the topic comes up, but I didn’t expect to get so swept up in it myself.
So swept up, in fact, that I jump online and order myself a mid-range professional camera with an adjustable zoom lens. I rationalize the expense by telling myself that I’m not going on a honeymoon, I don’t need any spending money—or even grocery money for the next three months since I wouldn’t be cooking fancy meals for Liam—and retail therapy is therapy and therefore good for me, right?