Page 98 of Host for the Holidays
I sigh—mostly with relief, but there’s a little disappointment mixed in there. Not because I want anything from Josh but because it’s so par for the course. He needs something from me. That’s why he’s texting.
“Classic,” I say, showing it to Rémy.
He gives something between a smile and a grimace. “Maybe you shouldn’t take such amazing photos.”
I chuckle, navigate to the app I use to deliver clients their photos, and copy the gallery link.
Madi:Sure thing. Here you go.
I paste the link in and hit send.
He’s already typing back before I can turn off the screen. It’s weird texting with Josh. What’s weirder is how I’m not feeling much about it.
Josh:Thanks. You’re the best. I hope you’re doing well. *heart emoji*
Madi:Hope you’re doing well too
I leave off any punctuation because an exclamation point seems overeager but a period is just as weird. I turn off my phone and set it on the table, grabbing Rémy by the hand and pulling him back down onto the couch. But instead of picking up where we left off, I thread my fingers through his and look into his eyes.
“Siena is obsessed with you.”
“Is she?”
I nod.
“I couldn’t tell if she just has the type of personality to make everyone feel special.”
“Um, no,” I say with a laugh. “She speaks her mind, for better or for worse. But she’s been Team Rémy from the beginning.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile. “Really?”
“Dyed in the wool.”
He looks a little too pleased with himself. “I’m happy to hear that. But there’s really only one person I need on Team Rémy.”
I pull his face toward me. “I’m not only on that team, I’m coach, captain, and cheerleader.”
He brushes my lips with his, and I’m glad we’re lying down because it means it’s fine that my knees are completely useless right now.
* * *
Rémy comeswith me to the photoshoot in Montmartre. He holds my bag and lenses the entire time, he smiles at me in a way that seriously undermines my ability to act professional, and he holds my hand on the way there and on the way home.
But the part that makes me so happy I want to cry is how he wants to go through all the photos from the session with me when we get home. He flips through them slowly, taking them in like he’s really paying attention. “Madi, these are . . . unbelievably good.”
I smile like a fool because he’s making me feel like a million bucksandbecause I’m really happy with the photos. The session was nothing short of magical—the perfect combination of likable, photogenic clients, amazing lighting, and a gorgeous location: the trifecta. I thought maybe it was just a result of me pirouetting all over cloud nine given the situation with Rémy, but looking through these photos assures me that it wasn’t just me. Linnae is going to be really pleased with these.
Rémy wants to see the whole process—from shooting to delivering the photos—so we sit together on the couch all night, culling the photos (such a tedious and torturous part of my job, made so much easier having a second opinion), making the edits, and uploading them to a gallery.
“We are definitely setting the record for the quickest ever delivery,” I say as I press the send button. Linnae deserves it after insisting on paying me twice as much as my normal session fee. I almost cried when she sent the money. It feels like a crime getting paid for something I enjoy so much—and in a place like Paris.
“We’re a good team.” Rémy takes my computer, sets it on the coffee table, and pulls me over onto his lap so that I’m facing him and looking down into his eyes.
“I should be helping you withyourwork now,” I say.
“Okay,” he says. “Maybe you can solve my dilemma.”
“Chances are good. It’s always easier to solve other people’s dilemmas.”
