Page 1 of Capturing You
CHAPTERONE
She was finally going to get the perfect shot.
In the gray light of pre-dawn, Brooklynn Wright shifted on the jagged rocks, scraping her belly through her thin shirt. At least it was low tide. Otherwise, she’d not just be cold, but wet.
She snapped a few photos with her Nikon, adjusted the small tripod, and snapped a few more.
Excitement bubbled inside her. Just four minutes until sunrise.
She could see it in her mind’s eye. The rising sun shining through a wave as it crested and rolled. Behind it, the gleaming rocky headland north of the small bay that gave Shadow Cove its name.
Catching the wave and the sunlight at the perfect moment. That was the challenge. So much depended on her success. Her gallery, her very livelihood.
One more minute till sunrise.
She snapped photos as the eastern sky turned from midnight blue to indigo. Clouds she hadn’t seen in the darkness added richness to the view as light shone around them in deep red and coral and orange.
Finally, finally, the sun clawed back darkness with its perfect radiance.
Birds quieted as if to mark the moment. Even the ever-present breeze seemed to still.
Beautiful.
Brooklynn snapped, snapped. Catching waves and sunlight. Sunlight and waves.
But sunlightthroughwaves? She didn’t know, didn’t stop to absorb what she'd captured. Just kept snapping.
A low hum rumbled beneath the sound of the incoming tide. A boat engine. She prayed it wouldn’t ruin her shot. She had a minute, maybe less, to get this.
Her father thought she was flighty, and…whatever. It didn’t matter. But he didn’t know this part of her. None of her family understood the single-minded focus it took to catch nature’s fleeting moments of beauty.
If this photograph came out the way she thought it would, if it won the prestigious Arthur Whitmore award, her sisters would congratulate her, her mother would sing her praises. And her father would pat her on the head—metaphorically, if not physically—like a cute little puppy.
Or maybe, just this once, he'd be proud of her.
The engine was getting closer.
Ignore it. Focus.
Snap, snap, snap.
Too soon, the sun was above the horizon, bathing Brooklynn and the Maine coastline in its warm light. She removed her camera from the tripod and flipped through the photos.
Decent. Good. Maybe great, but…
She gasped. Enlarged the tiny image.
Sunlight streamed through a cresting wave. No ugly seaweed inside, just clear blue. Behind it, the indescribable beauty of a new day. To one side, a seagull diving for breakfast. To the other, the rocky shoreline.
She’d done it. She’d finally gotten a photograph that could final for the most prestigious photography award in northern New England.
Just that would put her little gallery on the map. And if she won the cash prize…
She could survive past the tourist season—and prove that shecouldmake a living doing what she loved.
Prove to her father that she mattered.
A shout carried on the breeze, the words lost in the roar of the surf.
