Page 119 of Lost Love on 6th Street

“Oh my god.”

She holds up another one. Luke laying on my floor, wrapped in a blanket.

“Seriously, you need to give me a warning before a jump scare,” I grumble.

“Eleanor, listen to me. These aren’t just pictures. These are beautiful.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, I’m sure the Reeder Music Library would like a picture of my ex-boyfriend wrapped in a blanket on the walls.”

“Well, no.”

“Mhm.”

“But you should have a gallery showing!” Jolene sorts through more photos. I try to ignore them as she spreads the photos out on the bed. So many of them are from times with Luke. The record shop, the boot store, the honkytonk, the lake, and on and on. More confirmation that my life here has always been about him. I’m more resolved than ever that leaving is the right choice.

“Jo, can you please focus?”

Jolene starts sliding the photos back into my portfolio. “I know this isn’t easy, Eleanor, but, like, we take chances in life and sometimes they don’t work out.”

“And sometimes they gut you like a fish,” I respond.

“Ha, ha.”

“I’m not being funny.”

Jolene grabs the shirt I’m folding and tugs on it.

“Hey!” I’m about to give her what for until I see the look in her eyes.

“You’re a good photographer, Eleanor. If it’s not here in Austin, fine, but you’ve got to do something with your talent.”

I’m not sure how to respond at first. I’m not used to compliments on my work.

That’s not true.

I don’t know how to accept compliments on my work. When you’ve been rejected so many times, you either have to have a reckless belief in yourself that your work is actually good, or you have to believe that anyone who has ever complimented you is a liar.

I’ve chosen the latter for a while now.

“I’m not just saying that because I’m your friend, okay?” Jolene grabs a photo off the bed and turns it toward me. It’s a photo from 6th Street. The aggressive lights and signage are composed against a swathing sky at sunset. “This is beautiful.”

I try to smile. “Then you can have it.”

Jolene narrows her eyes. “Great. Thanks.”

I laugh, thinking she’s joking, but she goes into the living room with the photo to put it with her purse a moment later. I shake my head and smile to myself. I hope we don’t lose touch.

From somewhere amongst the messy clothes on the bed, my phone starts buzzing. I haven’t shaken the urgency that floods me every time my phone makes the tiniest sound, always thinking it might be Luke. I know that I’m setting myself up for disappointment if I continue to believe that, yet I can’t help myself from hoping.

When I find it, I’m surprised to see the number from Harmony Hounds on the screen. I hope they’re not calling about Shortbread. The last thing I want is for him to suffer. Although, I’m not sure he’d understand when they tell him that the woman who fell in love with him doesn’t want him anymore. He’d probably tip his head back and forth, trying to understand, and then sniff around for a treat.

My baby boy.

Not mine.

I answer the phone. “Hello?”

“Eleanor? It’s Claire.”

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