Page 6 of Undeniably Perfect

“Sorry,” I mutter, shaking my head and wondering why the hell the bathroom isn’t marked and why the hell it isn’t locked. I quickly close the door and look at the other one.

I decide to knock on the next door. There’s no response, so I tentatively push it open. Bingo. It’s a photography studio. Giant photographs line one wall. There’s a desk by the door. The space itself is open with exposed beams and ductwork. Giant windows fill the space with natural light. There’s a space set up with multiple lights framing a white floor and white backdrop. A camera sits on a tripod in front of it.

I walk over to the photographs, examining each one. They’re good. There are a few black-and-white ones of various buildings around D.C. There are a few portraits, some of local celebrities and some of people I don’t recognize. And there’s one shot of a panda playing with a ball.

“Hello?!” I call out as I approach the wall of photographs. No response. I shrug and figure I’ll wait a few minutes before bailing. The old fifteen-minute rule from college ought to work.

I’m standing by the panda photograph when the door opens and in steps the woman from the bathroom.

“You’re early,” is all she says as she walks over to the camera on a tripod.

I turn to give her a snide answer about locking bathroom doors, but she beats me to it.

“Knocking before you enter a bathroom might be a good idea, for future reference.”

I roll my eyes. Of course, she knows who I am. I’m contemplating my response when she speaks again.

“You coming over here?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder at me.

I walk over to her slowly, examining her in the bright natural light of the room. She’s short and curvy in the best way possible. She has a light smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her eyes are indescribable, a mix of blues and greens with flecks of other colors in them. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. She has a few ornate silver rings on her fingers. Her shirt is flowy and black and she wears purple leggings and Converse sneakers with little paintbrushes on them in multiple colors.

She turns more toward me and her gaze meets mine, her head cocks to one side and her hands come to rest on her luscious hips. My mind momentarily wanders to a place it shouldn’t as I imagine gripping those hips. I shake my head slightly, forcing myself to focus and be professional.

“Let’s do a few headshots, and then I want to take this outside,” she announces with a nod of her head.

“OK,” I reply slowly. She motions for me to sit on a stool in front of the white backdrop. I comply. I study her while she faffs with the camera. It’s not my first photoshoot and won’t be my last. She pays me no attention for a long moment until her camera settings are just how she wants them. When she finishes, she grabs a remote and stands next to the camera.

“Let’s start over. I’m Tabitha Crane. My bathroom is out of order and the lock on the door on the hallway one is broken. Unless you’re into bathroom hookups. Then, I’m Tabby. I’m an Aries. And I like blueberry mules,” she says with a smile and a wink that seems to transform her into a completely different person than one minute ago.

A grin forms on my face as I laugh. I hear the camera fire, and I realize she’s been doing her job this whole time. She takes a few more shots, asking me to move in certain directions. We continue our playful banter. As we talk, I begin to realize that there’s much more to this woman than meets the eye.

“You are really good at this,” I say as she looks over at her computer screen and smiles.

“Thanks. All done in here. Let’s go outside,” she announces. I stand as she turns the screen so that I can view the photographs. Damn. She’s good. She has a great one of me smiling and a few ones of me laughing. They are awesome headshots.

“Come on,” she prods as she grabs her camera. I follow her down an alley until we reach the river. We walk along the sidewalk. I get a few glances, but everyone is seemingly transfixed by their cell phones, so I escape a potential fan shitshow. Normally, I don’t mind stopping for an autograph or selfie, but it can get a little overwhelming, especially when I’m trying to get somewhere.

Eventually, she pauses, and I look around. The stadium juts out in the distance.

“Lean against this railing,” she commands. She positions me how she wants and steps back to examine her work. She shakes her head and changes my posture, moving my hands on the railing. She steps back again and nods.

Pulling the camera up to her eye, she snaps a few photos.

“You can smile, I promise I won’t tell anyone that you can,” she says to me with a wink. I roll my eyes and smile.

“Seriously,” she mutters.

She snaps a few more photos. Then puts the camera down and stares at me as though she’s trying to figure me out. It would normally be unsettling to have someone staring at me like this, but something about her makes me at ease. “Tell me about your favorite memory.”

“My favorite memory?”

“Yeah, your happiest memory.”

I shrug but comply, telling her about the first baseball game I went to with my family and how at the age of five I just knew that’s what I wanted to do. She snaps a few more photos as I speak, but otherwise doesn’t interrupt me.

“OK, I have what I need.”

“That’s it?” I ask, my eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

---