“I didn’t exactly plan that, but no, I’m not going to say I’m sorry.”
I look up into his eyes, imploring him to explain so I can understand. “What’s happening with us? I … it’s not just me that feels something too is it?”
He shakes his head, his hair tickling my forehead. “It’s not just you.”
“It’s too quick, isn’t it?” I whisper, biting my lip.
He takes a small step away from me, rubbing his fingers over his lips like there’s still a tingle from mine. Clearing his throat, he says, “Maybe. I don’t know.” He looks away, jaw flexing, and I know, I just know he’s fighting not to say those two words again.
“Look,” I blurt, refusing to let him overthink and ruin such a wonderful kiss. “I like you. I like your company. Spending time with you is effortless and that’s rare for me.” I hate admitting that. I feel like it makes me sound like a bitch, but most social situations exhaust me. But when I’m with Hayden time feels to pass in a blink and I find myself wishing it was longer. Closing my eyes for a brief second, I inhale a breath. “Please don’t ruin this. Whatever this is.”
He leans against the doorway, scrubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. “I’m a lot older than you.”
“Thank you, I kind of figured that out when you told me you were thirty-three. Why does age have to matter? I mean … we kissed, but it doesn’t mean we have to do that again.” Although, what a tragedy that would be. “It shouldn’t effect who we are. Our … our friendship or whatever this is.”
It seems strange to call someone I’m only beginning to know my friend, but it feels like I’ve known him so much longer.
“Whatever we are,” he repeats, voice thoughtful. A minuscule smile, there and gone in a flash, twinkles on his lips. “That’s a good way of putting it.” Clearing his throat, he looks me up and down. Blue jog bra. Black shorts. And mismatched socks—one with Poptarts and the other with otters. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”
“Today’s my first day with Rachelle.”
“Well,” he dips his head like a gentleman in an old movie. “I hope it goes well.”
“Will I see you tonight?” I want to smack myself for even asking. I hate sounding like an overeager puppy desperate for attention.
His lips thin and he cocks his head. “We’ll see.”
"Oh good, you’re here,” a frazzled Rachelle says when I walk into the studio. “Are you good with kids?”
I’m taken off guard by her sudden appearance and set down my bag and keys. “Fairly decent, I’d say.”
“Thank God. I don’t do well with kids and this one is a screamer. I need to try to get him to smile for some photos. I can’t have him crying in all of them.”
“Of course. Where I can put these things?” I point down at my stuff, not keen on the idea of leaving my purse out in the open.
“I’ll take them.” She bends to grab my things. “Just head on back to the third studio. You can’t miss the squawking. I never knew small children could sound so much like disgruntled chickens.” She shudders, heading off and leaving me on my own.
Following her directions, I head through the studio. She wasn’t lying. The screaming is unmistakable, and I enter the room to find a desperate mother trying to console her toddler.
“Hi, buddy,” I chirp in an overly cheerful voice. The boy stops crying long enough to take me in, but then starts right back up. The mother gives me an apologetic look and I feel bad she feels sorry. Kids have a hard time controlling their emotions, especially when they don’t understand a situation. “I hear you’re here to get your pictures taken. Do you take pictures at home? Maybe with mommy’s phone?”
I have to speak up to be heard over his tears, but he sniffles, wiping at his wet face. I keep talking, in the hopes it’ll help calm him.
“I’m Emmie. You don’t know me, but I thought maybe we could hang out and play for a little bit. Your mommy isn’t going anywhere. She just wants some pretty photos of you because she loves you so much.” Scanning the room, I pick up a teddy bear I assume Rachelle uses to try to get children to smile. “Do you like teddy bears? I do. I have one I still sleep with every night.”
I tap his nose with the teddy bear, pleased when a tiny giggle leaves him.
“Look at all these toys. Why don’t you play for a while?”
His tiny arms reach for the teddy bear and I let him take it. Wiggling in his mother’s arms to get down, she sets him on the ground.
Still sniffling, he looks up at me with large owlish eyes, and holds out his hand. “Will you pway wif me?”
I don’t know why little kids have always liked me. It’s not like I think I’m particularly good with them, but even back home the children that lived on our street always seemed to want to talk to me and I babysat quite a few
“Sure,” I shrug, following him to the toy box. I sit down, crisscrossing my legs.
He digs through the box, finding a worn plastic Spiderman missing its hand. “Here.” He shoves it in my direction. He rifles through some more until he finds an Ironman figurine. “Let’s pway.”
I follow his lead and that’s how I find myself running around the studio space chasing after a little boy while making whooshing noises because he says I have to so that it sounds like Spiderman’s webs.
Rachelle is slow to come back, but when she does, she looks a little less frazzled and less red in the face.
“Are you ready to try again?” I ask him. Before he can say no, I add, “We can play for a whole five more minutes when you’re done if that’s okay with everyone.”
“Really?” He looks thrilled to know playtime might not be over.
“Yep.”
“Okay, I’ll take pictures.”
The mom murmurs a soft ‘thank you’ toward me as Rachelle gets the boy to pose and follow—well, somewhat follow—her directions.
When the session is finished, as promised I entertain him for a few more minutes before they leave.
“You were really good with him,” Rachelle comments, going through some of the photos on her laptop already.
I shrug off her praise, picking up the toys and getting the studio back in order from the set that’d been used. “Kids seem to like me for some reason.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself.” Picking up her computer she says, “I’ll be in my office until my next client arrives. Finish cleaning in here and then there’s an appointment book in the front office, that’ll be your space. Call the rest of my clients for the week to confirm their times. Remind them if they can’t make it that the deposit is non-refundable.”
I don’t have a chance to ask her where the front office is before she’s flying from the room, the scent of her floral perfume all that’s left behind.
It doesn’t take me long to finish with the room and I flick the lights off as I step out. Near the entrance of the studio I hesitantly open a door and find a decent sized room that must be the front office she spoke of.
Three of the four walls are white, with the back wall that’s behind the desk done in a leafy green wallpaper. There are several white bookshelves and cabinetry storage installed. Sitting behind the desk I find the appointment book waiting for me. On a sticky note, is the password for the computer.