Page 34 of Weekends with You

I’m not sure whether it was his blinding smile or the way my own words sounded in his mouth, but I had to cross my arms over my chest and bury my hands to keep myself from reaching out and pulling him in.

“Has anyone ever told you you have a way with words?” I asked.

“Yes, actually. But they usually only say it when the words are my own.”

Liv returned with my drink, saving me from having to think of another clever response. “Hen, I’m glad you remembered to bring your camera, because I totally forgot to remind you.”

“I couldn’t have forgotten,” he said to her, but he was looking at me. “There are some important things I had to shoot tonight.”

“Have you gotten anything good?” Liv asked, oblivious to the building tension.

“Yeah, great,” he said. “Gorgeous, really.”

“Do share them tomorrow, will you? We have no pictures of us around the apartment, and we’ve been living in it forever. It’s time.” She was slurring too, only she had no chance of convincing us she wasn’t totally wasted.

“Let me pop inside and upload this lot now, so I don’t forget. Luce, give me a hand, will you?”

I laughed. He was unbelievable. “You need me to give you a hand doing something you literally do for a living?”

“It seems something has distracted me, and I fear I’ve forgotten how.”

Liv disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two of us standing there alone in a sea of people. “Fine,” I conceded. “But only because that’s what friends do.”

I followed him from the party back into the apartment, resisting the urge to reach for his hand as we wove through the crowd. It was quiet and dark upstairs, save for the distant thumping of the bass and the glow of the streetlights outside the windows.

Instead of heading to his studio, he stood outside the one I’d used earlier.

“What are you doing?” I crossed my arms again, leaning in the doorway as he had a few hours before.

“Lend me five more minutes of your time, Lucy. I have an idea.”

“Tell me the idea before I agree.” Being in there alone in the dark felt like a dangerous game.There’s no harm in pushing the boundaries right to the very edge, is there?

Instead of saying anything, he handed me some leftover winterberry branches and gestured to a spot near the window.

“You want to take pictures of me in this dingy studio with a pile of leftover flowers?”

“Well, when you say it like that, it doesn’t sound quite so romantic, but yes. That’s exactly what I want.”

“‘Romantic’ is the last word we should be using to describe anything we’re doing tonight,” I reminded him.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“In terms of photography, absolutely. The jury’s still out on everything else.”

“Good thing we’re just taking photos, then.”

Was that flutter in my chest disappointment?

“Right, then.” I cleared my throat. “Where do you want me?”

He was sitting on a stool adjusting the settings on his camera, but he stopped at this and looked up at me through his eyelashes. “For the photos,” I clarified, trying to wave off the suggestive glint in his eyes.

“Right over here,” he said, resting his fingertips on my hips so lightly, I wasn’t fully sure they were there as he moved me toward the workbench. “Up here.” I hopped up, surprised to see this put us eye to eye. Inches from each other.

“Just like that,” he whispered. I wished he would stop saying things like that. Every time he did, the flutter in my stomach dropped lower, and it was getting harder to deny the pull toward him. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, trying to gather myself.

We fell into silence, except for the occasional whispered direction from Hen. He posed me this way and that, using the wilting bundle of flowers as a prop.

---