Page 42 of I Saw Her First

So I told her I’d see her in the morning as usual, and her smile lit the car’s interior before fading away. Then she thanked me for the ride and went inside without looking back. I sat on the street for twenty minutes, fighting the urge to press the buzzer to her apartment, before I finally drove myself home.

It didn’t surprise me to find Jesse’s stuff gone when I returned to the house. I haven’t heard from him since he stormed from the beach house, and neither has Daisy, as far as I’m aware. I’m not sure who he’s living with, or what his plans are, and despite everything he’s done—the way he treated both me and Daisy—I still need to know he’s fine. I still care.

Part of me wishes I didn’t.

I tried calling him, but it went straight to voicemail. Two messages later and he still hasn’t bothered returning my calls. The longer he goes on ignoring me, the more my concern for him morphs into anger.

And the easier it is to justify continuing to see Daisy.

We’ve spent the week making small talk at Joe’s each morning, like the old days. We don’t talk about Greenport. We don’t talk about Jesse. We don’t talk about photography.

But it’s not enough for me anymore, not after how close I felt to her on our vacation. Not only that, the light that came on inside her at the beach house has dimmed again, and it hurts me to see it. After knowing how bright she can shine, I can’t stand to see her shadow version. Not when I know what’s inside her now.

Anyway, after playing with the Nikon at the beach, I had the idea to build a darkroom in my basement. Well, I’ll ask my neighbor to build it. I want to learn more about photography after the way Daisy spoke so passionately about it. If she happens to drop by and use the darkroom I’d be okay with that, but mostly I’m building it for me.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

The door in front of me opens, and Kyle appears in the entryway. He’s around my age, of a similar height, with a short beard and kind smile. He moved in next door late last year after the place sat empty for years, and while we haven’t spent a great deal of time together, we’ve chatted enough for me to know he runs a company that restores old buildings in New York. In fact, he restored his building before moving in.

His brows rise when he sees me, and he extends a hand, smiling. “Hey, Wes. How are you?”

“Good, good.” I give his hand a hearty pump and let it drop, glancing back at the steps. I could turn and leave now, and everything would be fine. I could go back to how my life was before the beach house, before I saw Daisy with that camera in her hand, before she told me she’d never felt more like herself than when she was in that darkroom.

Except I know I won’t. I can’t.

“Listen,” I begin, shifting my weight. “This might be an unusual request, but I’ve been… experimenting with photography, and I’d like to put a darkroom in my house.”

“Right.” Kyle lifts a hand to scrub his beard, nodding.

“I was wondering if you might have a few hours free to help me put it together. I’m thinking of using the bathroom in the basement. It only has one small window, which would need to be covered and sealed, and I’d need a table custom-built to fit into the space.”

I’ve spent the past week researching what a darkroom requires, and it’s actually pretty straightforward: complete darkness, running water, a table to lay out the trays for the developing process, ventilation, and a line to hang photos to dry. It also helps to have a safelight, which is a special bulb that doesn’t affect the photographic material. I figured the downstairs bathroom would be perfect because I never use it.Plus the window is tiny, it has a fan for ventilation, and running water.

Kyle contemplates this for a moment, his brows pulled low in thought. “I’d have to take a look at the space, but I’m sure it would be doable.”

I blow out a breath, grinning. “Great. Any chance you could come take a look now?”

He nods. “Sure. I’ll just grab a few things.”

He pops back inside, and I wait at the open front door, peeking into the interior. Although our townhouses share a continuous matching façade, along with another to the right, inside they couldn’t be more different. His place is full of original historic features, while mine has been stripped of its history to showcase everything modern.

He appears at the door again, a measuring tape and notebook in hand. I lead the way down the steps and up the stoop to my place. As I let him into the entry hall, I gauge his reaction with an amused smile. He sweeps his gaze across the minimalist walls, devoid of their crown molding, and grimaces. It makes me laugh. Knowing that he specializes in restoring buildings to their historical roots, this must be killing him.

“Sorry,” he mutters, following me as I lead him down to the basement.

I wave his apology away. I have the utmost respect for historical buildings, but this place had already been gutted and modernized when we bought it. Lydia and I simply updated the design.

I lead him into the bathroom, tucked under the stairs at the back of the basement. There’s a sink with a toilet to the left, and a bathtub along the far wall. Above the tub sits a small window, and my plan is to fill that, then build a table between the sink and the tub, with a front panel to hide the toilet underneath. We’ll use the space over the tub to hang the prints to dry, and wecan plug a safety light into the outlet by the sink and mount it to the wall above.

I flick the light switch as we enter the room and catch my reflection in the mirror. Piercing blue eyes stare back at me, daring me to admit that I’m not making this darkroom for myself at all.

I’m making it for her.

I raise a hand to smooth the short silver beard that’s filled in along my jawline. Usually I’d tidy myself up when I get back to the city from vacation, but for some reason I resisted this time. Maybe it was the way Daisy stroked my jaw, the way her eyes darkened as her soft fingertips brushed the coarse hair, but something told me to leave it.

Fuck. Here I am thinking about Daisy. Again.

I force thoughts of her from my head and turn to Kyle, talking him through what I want to do with the space. He nods along, measuring things and making notes. After a few minutes he closes his notebook with a smile.

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