Page 22 of Click of Fate

“Well, she’s fun,” I say, unzipping my bag.

“Sure,” he offers.

When I don’t respond, he lets the silence stretch between us. I get my camera ready before speaking again.

“So, why don’t you show me around and tell me about this place while I snap photos?” There. Easy enough.

“Sounds good.” He lifts his hand, directing me to start walking.

"Squeaky Bum started in Chicago. My uncle built the brand with a big community focus. When I got the chance to open this location, I wanted it to have that same feel. Indy needed something that wasn’t just another chain gym."

I study him while he talks. He’s easy-going, but so passionate. He stands with his arms crossed as he looks out across his domain. I frame him just right in my viewfinder for a photo that I know will be great for the article.

Damn him for looking good.

He looks over his shoulder at me and flashes me a knowing grin.

"You getting all my best angles?"

“I make everyone look good. It’s a gift,” I tell him.

“Modest, too.” He laughs.

I ignore him and keep shooting.

A while later, against my better judgment—for my lady parts, that is—I ask if he’ll demonstrate some climbing. None of the current climbers look to be especially skilled, and I would have to do a media release with them.

I watch him gear up and take a few photos of said gear while trying not to focus too much on the man himself. He talks me through some of the skill levels they teach but also talks about what they do to help climbers prepare forrealclimbs. He’s mid-climb on a wall that doesn’t look very safe. His muscles are flexed, and he’s focused.

Objectively, it’s a great shot. Subjectively, it should be illegal for someone to look that good while scaling a wall.

When he’s done showing off his skills, he drops down to ground level.

“You should give it a shot. I can walk you through it,” he tells me, dusting off his hands.

Snorting, I say, “I know how to climb, Farley. I don’t need a lesson."

Grinning back at me while he works at his harness, he says, “Oh, really? Didn’t peg you for the outdoorsy type.”

“I take pictures of extreme sports for a living. You think I just stand on the sidelines?"

Tilting his head, he studies me, and I shift on my feet.

“Alright, Snapshot. I’ll believe you when I see it.”

Snapshot. Damn him.

I hate that I like that nickname.

I’ll admit, I spend slightly longer than I really need to taking photos of Squeaky Bum. But when Luke starts talking about rocking-climbing and his plans for the business, I can’t seem to focus on my shots. He’s so passionate about this place; I really would like to just let him tell me all about it.

I tell him that I need to take a few more shots and that he doesn’t need to stick with me, but he declines and follows silently. Making it full circle, we’re back at the front of the building. I’m focusing on my last shots when a gust of warm air hits my back as the front door swings open.

I hear a familiar giggle when I glance over my shoulder and nearly choke.

Lilly, my six-year-old niece, bounces into the gym, eyes wide with excitement as she heads my way. Right behind her is Ruth Ann James, Layla’s grandmother.

What the actual hell is happening right now? Am I in theTwilight Zone?

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