“Just the lake. I could take pictures all day.” My fingers tingled to keep moving around the lake, my heart racing with the promise of the canyon.
“You’re a photographer?” His expression was curious, but I was so used to people dismissing my interest in taking photographs as a hobby, my shoulders tensed.
“Isn’t everyone?”
“No one else is taking pictures.” He nodded to where the guys were joking around.
I smiled. “Maybe they don’t appreciate beauty when they see it.”
“I do.” He lifted my ponytail off my shoulder, sending tingles rippling down my spine.
I knew without asking he was referring to me, not the lake. I loved it.
“I just want to remember this.” But it was more than that. There was a burning in my chest to capture the feeling I had when I first saw the lake. I wanted everyone who saw my photograph to feel the same way. I wanted them to feel like they were here. It would be like taking a vacation without leaving your home. It could lift your mood, give you an escape.
“It’s more than that.” He was scarily in tune with my thoughts and feelings for someone I’d only just met.
It was like we had this connection—one that transcended the getting to know each other phase.
“I’ve never been here before. I’m a tourist like you.” I turned, expecting him to take a step back, but he stilled, his hand still raised from touching my hair.
“I think it is. Why do you hide who you are? You mentioned your brother and parents not appreciating you, but it’s more than that.”
How could I explain that I had no idea who I was, what I wanted, or what my purpose was? I was a mess. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. How did you explain that to someone who was so put together, so determined and motivated? He wouldn’t understand. He’d think I was a dreamer, just like my parents. How many times had I been told wishes and dreams wouldn’t pay the bills?
“Will you get this excited when we go to the ghost town?”
We’d stop at St. Elmo’s later today. As a well-preserved ghost town, it would make for interesting photos, but it wasn’t what got my heart racing. “I like nature when it’s untouched.”
Something sparked in his eyes when I said untouched. It was like a match lit in his eyes, every muscle in his body tensed. Heat washed over me as I struggled to pull in a breath. If there weren’t twenty other guys a few feet away, I would have thought he’d kiss me.
“Colin.” His name came out breathily. My chest heaved like I was walking up that steep embankment again.
His gaze dropped to my lips.
I couldn’t resist swiping my lower lip with my tongue. The world fell away—the lake—the mountains—the guys.
He leaned toward me as I lifted my chin, wanting, no, needing, him to kiss me.
Time seemed to stop. Then he took a step back, turned, and strode toward his teammates.
The breeze of the water chilled my heated skin.
I placed a finger on my tingling lips. He hadn’t touched me physically. Only his gaze touched my lips. That was all it took to have me needing more. I wanted to grab on to the promise I saw in his eyes. I wanted to know how his lips would feel on mine. I wanted to be impulsive.
I turned, continuing to walk around the lake, taking shots from every angle. Heading back to the guys, Henry approached me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Oh, yeah.” The fall—Henry’s ire—it was worth it to see Alpine Lake.
His gaze fell on my camera. He opened his mouth, but I spoke quickly before he could make some comment about my photography.
“I’d better eat quickly. We’re headed out soon?”
“Yeah, I want to camp near St. Elmo’s tonight so we have plenty of time to explore tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a plan.” My smile felt brittle.
Henry touched my elbow. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was harsh with you. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I’d learned to ignore those barbs, not letting them penetrate.
“It does. I want to do better with you.”
“You are.” The fact that he noticed when he was condescending was a change.
When I was around my family, I’d always been treated like a child. I’d resigned myself to always resenting the fact he’d gotten to leave Telluride to go to college.
The only way I could move past it was to leave, go somewhere I wouldn’t be reminded of my limitations, my failures. Start over somewhere new. It was time to start thinking about what was next.
I sat on a rock near my pack, taking out the food I’d brought for lunch. I scrolled through the pictures I’d taken, posting the best one to my account. I captioned it, Untouched.
My phone said the image was loading. There was probably no signal here. Hopefully, it would go through once we made it to the hot springs.
I scrolled through my messages, stopping on one an online photography friend had sent me the other day. She was always trying to encourage me to do more with my account. She’d suggested ways I could monetize it, create a blog like she had, or even be a sponsor for different brands now that I was working with an adventure tour company.
This time, she’d sent me an advertisement from an outdoor magazine that was asking for amateur submissions of images. The winner would travel on the magazine’s dime, taking pictures of the top ten places to visit in the West, writing about my journey. I was confident I could provide a contest-worthy image, but I wasn’t sure about the second requirement. I needed to explain why I chose the image and why it spoke to me.
It would be effortless to post my best picture, but they wanted me to dig deep and figure out the reason I’d chosen that particular image. I lifted my head, looking at the lake. What was it about Alpine Lake that drew me in? Was it the sheer beauty? It’s perfection? It’s purity?
I knew I’d never be perfect. I was far from it, as my mother liked to remind me. She’d always said I was a dreamer, like I was destined to fall short of her expectations. She had little patience for someone who didn’t have a goal in mind that they strived to achieve.
A shiver ran down my spine. Why couldn’t I be happy in this beautiful town near my family? Was it my resentment for how my parents treated Henry differently than me? Or did it go deeper? I video chatted with my online friend, Haven, once a month. Last time, she’d said I didn’t think I was worthy of success. She read a lot about mindset and staying positive. A lot of it sounded a little hokey to me, but I’d wondered if she was right.
Maybe I stayed stuck in the same town in the same job that didn’t make me happy because I felt like I didn’t deserve anything else.
I let myself imagine I won the contest. I envisioned what I’d do when I got the email declaring me the winner. The way I’d feel.
The application said you’d get a spot in the magazine, your essay would be included in the caption. It could lead to other opportunities—freelance photography—maybe I’d even get paid to travel.
It was one of those dreams I’d never dared to tell my parents. Getting paid to travel, to take pictures, and to write about my journey wasn’t practical. It wasn’t a guaranteed source of income.