Page 14 of Rescued In The Storm

"These are really good," I say, gathering more. There's Kathryn, laughing behind the counter at The Coffee Loft. The mayor feeding pigeons. Mrs. Henderson arranging flowers in her shop window.

Then I find one that stops my breath.

It's me. Standing near the lodge, my back to the camera, silhouetted against the light. But it's not just a silhouette. Somehow, Sarah has captured the moment just as I turned slightly, my profile visible, eyes closed, face tilted toward the sun. The shot catches my features in a way that shows peace. Contentment. A stillness I didn't know my face could reveal.

I've seen countless photos of myself over the years—family pictures, promotional shots for the lodge's website, selfies with hiking groups. But I've never seen myself like this. Never known I could look like this.

"When did you take this?" My voice comes out rougher than intended.

Sarah freezes, her eyes widening when she sees what I'm holding. "I—that's—" She reaches for it, but I move it just beyond her grasp, still staring.

"Sarah."

A blush rises on her cheeks. "Last summer. I was making a delivery and took a couple of pictures of the garden."

But she hadn't photographed the lodge’s garden that morning. She'd photographed me.

"You never showed me this."

Her blush deepens. "It's nothing. Just something I was practicing with light and shadow techniques. I should have asked permission."

I look back at the photo. It's not just technically good. It's intimate somehow. Like she saw something in me that no one else bothers to look for.

"You're really talented," I say, finally meeting her eyes. "All of these…they're amazing."

She ducks her head, gathering the other photos quickly. "It’s only a hobby."

"A serious hobby, from the looks of it." I gesture to the dozens of photos. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Since high school. My mom gave me my first camera for my sixteenth birthday." She takes the photos from my hands, but I keep hold of the one of me. "You can, um, keep that if you want. Or I can get rid of it. I know it's weird that I?—"

"I'd like to keep it," I interrupt, surprising both of us.

Sarah stills, her eyes meeting mine with a question in them I'm not sure how to answer. Why would I want this photo? What does it mean that she took it in the first place?

"Okay," she says softly.

* * *

I'm sitting on my cabin's porch, staring at the photo for what must be the twentieth time tonight. The lodge is quiet, guests settled in for the evening. A light breeze rustles through the pines, carrying the scent of approaching summer.

But I barely notice any of it. All I can see is this image. Me, caught in a moment of complete peace. The kind of moment I rarely allow myself to have, much less show to others.

And Sarah saw it. Captured it. Kept it.

"You're going to wear that photo out if you keep staring at it like that."

I look up to find my mother standing at the bottom of the porch steps, a thermos in her hand. Even in the dim light, I can see the knowing look in her eyes.

"Just checking my good side," I joke weakly, making no move to put the photo away.

Mom doesn't miss much. She climbs the steps with the grace of a woman half her age and settles into the chair beside mine, setting the thermos between us.

"Chamomile," she says, nodding toward it. "You look like you could use it."

"I'm fine."

"Mmm." She doesn't contradict me, just waits in that patient way of hers.

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