Page 87 of Not Part of the Plan
“That’s the best part.” Bruce leaned in as if he was going to share a secret. “It’s called the bitchen.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
June arrived with a mellowing of temperatures and an excess of sunshine. The farm was in full swing as produce poked its green fingers through freshly turned soil. The days were longer and busier. Niko lent a hand whenever he could on the farm. The brewery was booked with bridal showers and baby sprinkles and anniversary celebrations, and Emma was working overtime to keep up with it all.
He was shooting everything these days. The deadline for the upcoming show this month served as creative motivation, and Niko spent long hours capturing his subjects and even longer hours editing. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was reassuring his agent Amara that he hadn’t fallen off the face of the planet or forgotten how to work a camera.
Bruce Oakleigh hadn’t given up on his quest to find Emma the perfect home. Despite her repeated objections that she wasn’t really ready to look for a house, she’d seen a yurt, a tree house, and an eight-bedroom brick mansion that until two months ago had been a funeral home. While Niko enjoyed tagging along with her to view the properties, he’d begun to wonder if Blue Moon had any normal residences.
When they weren’t working or shopping for real estate, he and Emma made up for lost time in the midnight hours. Eva had returned to her Virginia home and, while Emma was sorry to see her sister go, she and Niko took advantage of having the cottage to themselves. Keeping the front door securely locked, they explored each other with the desperation of teenagers.
It worked. They worked. But Niko knew they were both wondering what would happen next. He couldn’t leave his life and work in New York forever. Eventually he would have to return. And what would that mean for his relationship with Emma?
Antsy and needing a change for the afternoon, Niko packed up his laptop and drove his bike into town. He had work to do on the photos he’d culled out for the show. Overly Caffeinated, a spacious café on the corner of Main and Lavender, promised free WiFi and necessary caffeine.
He ordered a coffee from a teenage girl with a spiky cap of orange hair and settled in at a table facing the wide expanse of glass that overlooked the park. He’d already culled out thirty shots for the show. They were different from any of his other work, and that was the beauty of them, he supposed, of going from high fashion, orchestrated photo shoots to capturing and freezing real life moments.
Each picture carried with it a story and a feeling. Hope, friendship, victory… and more.Much more, he thought, opening his favorites of Emma.
It was no surprise how often she’d shown up in the shots for the show. If he were to look at her pictures objectively, as if they were someone else’s, he’d assume that the photographer had strong personal feelings for his subject. There was a kind of magic that translated through the lens when model and photographer were bonded. He could see it in these, he thought slowly clicking through the files.
Emma mid-twirl in her groomsmaid dress. Emma shaking a cocktail behind the bar at the brewery. Emma lecturing staff before the dinner rush. Emma kissing her father at his wedding.
Yes, there were strong feelings there,he thought. Strong, complicated feelings.
There was another one he’d taken recently that he thought might fit. Emma sleeping, the sheets draped and wrapped around her naked body, a hint of a satisfied smile on her lips. They’d made love, and she’d fallen asleep when he went downstairs for water. He hadn’t been able to help himself snapping the picture. The intimacy of the moment, the power of her even asleep.
He inserted the camera card into the slot and waited while his files uploaded.
“Excuse me,” the café’s orange haired barista was back. “We just made these, and we need a taste tester. Fresh organic oat bars,” she said, offering up a smile and a plate with what looked like a granola bar on it.
He wondered what it would be like to go back to New York where no one tried to bribe him with free stuff into liking the community.
“Thanks,” he said, accepting the plate.
The girl wandered off again, and Niko took a bite while he flipped through the pictures. The Knit Off, in its blur of color and action, filled his screen, and he entertained himself flipping through the files. There were a few shots that he could use for the show, he decided, culling them into a separate folder to be edited.
He closed one image and clicked to open the next one, and his organic oat bar lodged in his throat. It wasn’t a shot he’d taken. It was the one he’d asked Evan to take.
Emma was looking up at him and laughing, her hands splayed across his chest as he pulled her into him. But it wasn’t her face that demanded his attention. It was his own. He’d seen that look before, knew it so well that it pulled him back to another time. He hadn’t noticed it. It had crept up on him. But in the picture it was clear that the resemblance to his father was striking as was the expression on his face. Niko was looking at Emma the way his father had looked at his mother in those quiet, private moments when they thought no one else was watching.
It was love.
The realization hit him harder than a ton of bricks dropped from above. He was leveled. He’d known he had feelings for her, strong ones. He just hadn’t realized until this second what those feelings were.
He collapsed back in his chair and stared through the glass to the park where life continued on without any indication that the world had turned upside down.
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Still reeling from his discovery, Niko jumped at the invitation to Man Night Poker at Beckett’s. Emma was working, and he wanted to distract himself with something until he could process his epiphany and decide what, if anything, to do about it.
He arrived early, carting a six-pack and the three foot-longs he’d picked up from Righteous Subs. His knock was answered by the adorable, mischievous Aurora and her guard dog Diesel, an overgrown gray beast that had flunked doggy obedience school twice.
“Hi!” she greeted him with enthusiasm.
“Hey, kid. Are you seven yet?”
“Not yet,” she shook her head. “But soon and then I’ll get presents and cake and there’ll be a party. You can come!” she offered.
