Page 3 of The Photograph

After Emma returns with his coffee, he lifts the cup to his mouth with his little finger raised and slurps.

Oh God, he’s one of those!I curl my toes while I clench my teeth around a scream. And he does it again.

The revolting sound shoots straight to my brain. I take a deep breath while my face gets warm, my heartbeat thunders, and my fingers shake with the need to slap the cup from his hand. Then his ferret face… I curl my fists in my lap. Another deep breath.Please stop. Please.

When the cup finally hits the matching saucer on the desk, I roll my ankles and breathe out.

I have a teensy bit of misophonia—hearing people chew, slurp or swallow loud triggers a kind of angry anxiety. It’s been happening since I was a child, so I have it under control, but this balding little man was annoying way before he opened his mouth. I speak louder than necessary to refrain from throttling him.

“I need more details before I can commit to any type of project Mr.…?”

He pinches the knot of his tie he moves side to side before he clears his throat. Again.

“My apologies. Smithson, my name is Tim Smithson.” He pulls out a manila envelope from the inside pocket of his coat and hands it to me. “All you need to know is in the package.”

The Sistine Chapel has already been painted. So, what kind of project would demand such a cloak-and-dagger delivery?

Tapping my fingers lightly on the envelope, I tilt my head to the side.

“Mr. Smithson, can you tell me who recommended me?”

“My employer…”I don’t know who this ‘my employer’ is, but Tim Smithson’s expression tells me it’s a wealthy someone,“…was recently abroad for business and one of his friends, Mr. Kouriakis, showed him a picture of the Versailles-themed ballroom you designed for his daughter’s wedding.”

“Yes, that was an exciting project.” I plant my open palm on the envelope and stand up. “Thank you, Mr. Smithson. I’ll give this my full and immediate attention.”

When he finally leaves—eager to talk to Emma, no doubt—I open the envelope, and my heartbeat quickens.Oh, my God. Can it be?

I hurry to my sketch table on which I lay out the five pages side by side, and I hold my breath.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God. It is.

The project is the restoration of a beautiful Georgian house called the Holloway House located outside of the city.

A few months after we moved here Cara, John—the first man I kissed—and I drove by the house after spending hours at the craft fair in Uxbridge. I asked her to stop the car and stood staring at the empty building for a long time, awestruck by its majesty.

It’s the castle of the little princess in me. My dream and my happy place.

My heartbeat’s so loud, it’s all I can hear. This is my chance to actually renovate it to its former splendor while modernizing its interior. The project that will launch my career and allow me to settle professionally.

“So? What did Mr. Jackass want?”

I spin toward Emma’s smile and fist my hands under my chin. “It’s Holloway House.”

Her cornflower eyes widen before she leaps across the room to grab my hands.

“Ael, this is huge.” My words get stuck in my throat, so I nod as she cups my cheek. “You deserve this and we’re going to dazzle them.”

I shake my head. “This might be premature, I haven’t—”

Emma wraps her hands around my shoulders. “This project is yours, Ael. You’ve been talking about that old house forever and you’re super talented. We’ll get it.” When I grin, she pecks my cheek. “I’ll call the team.”

She means the only people I work with on all my projects—John, my oldest friend and a genius at carpentry, Piotr, brilliant with paint and our color expert. Then there’s Jen, a landscape artist, a true magician with trees and everything green.

“Thank you.”

Around 6:00 PM, after Emma goes home, I shut down the office and remove my heels before I stroll to the kitchen counter where I perch on the dark wood stool. My thumbs fly over the screen of my cell as I text Cara who’s probably still asleep.

I might officially get to see inside Holloway House. LOL. Ax.

---