Текст книги "The Absence of Olivia"
Автор книги: Anie Michaels
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
Chapter Twenty
Two Years Later
“Sylvia,” I called out, trying not to sound as completely flustered and nervous as I felt. “Can I get the lighting on this one taken down a bit and the print lowered just a smidge? It’s being washed out entirely.”
“Absolutely. No problem,” she replied with confidence, even though I knew I was handing her a task she was going to pass off to someone else.
I flipped my wrist over looking for a watch I never wore then cursed myself for never wearing a watch. “What time is it?” I asked impatiently.
“We’ve got plenty of time,” she said with a genuine smile, placing a friendly hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me.
I breathed out heavily, attempting to expel all the butterflies taking up residence in my belly. They didn’t go anywhere. Bastards.
“Okay, let’s get this one fixed then everything looks great.”
“No problem,” she replied, again with confidence.
“You know,” I said, an easy smile coming over my face for the first time that evening, “I almost believe you’re not just as nervous as I am.”
“That’s my job. To de-stress you. But trust me, I’m nervous as hell. But it’s a good nervous, more excitement. I just know this is going to be your night.” Her eyes lit up with contagious excitement, and I smiled back at her, this time my smile stretching my cheeks and raising my eyebrows.
“Thanks.”
She winked and then walked away faster than anyone should have been able to walk in her death-trap heels. I walked back to my office, a room I’d neglected until about three weeks ago when the idea of my gallery filled with patrons and clients made me organize the mess I’d made there in the last year and a half.
Sitting atop my desk was a crystal vase filled with all different pastel colors of peonies. I smiled as soon as I saw them, remembering the happiness I’d been overwhelmed with when they’d arrived. I picked up the card leaning against the vase, and allowed the words written on it to calm me a little.
We’re so excited for you, Auntie Evie. Good luck with your show!
The card was signed with an XOXO, and then names signed by little hands, Ruby and Jax.
I held the card close to my heart, trying to let their love wash over me. I missed them terribly. I hadn’t actually seen them, face to face, since they moved to Florida, but we Skyped weekly. Devon had never denied me them and, in fact, had bent over backward to make sure I was still a part of their lives. I loved those two kids so much, it sometimes hurt to be away from them. But, I knew the space for Devon and me was important.
We’d had civil correspondence in the last two years, but nothing in depth and nothing meaningful. We were both moving on, trying to build new lives. He had spent a few months after moving focused on being with his children, and in those months I saw the kids respond well to having their father back. Then, he’d gotten a new job, and only a few months ago, he’d purchased another house, making Florida their permanent residence.
Still, it was very thoughtful of him to send the flowers. He knew how much it would mean to me. In moments like that I couldn’t regret the way my life had played out. Devon was a good man. He just wasn’t it for me.
I sighed and put the card back, then bent and smelled the flowers. It had worked. I was slightly less frantic than I had been five minutes ago. Mission accomplished. My eyes flitted to the hanger on the back of the door, which held my dress for the show. This show, my very own gallery show, was what I’d been working toward since I left my life behind two years ago. In my mind there’d been only two places I could go to make my dream a reality: New York City or Los Angeles. I’d done my research and decided LA was a safer choice. Plus, the weather was warmer.
So, I’d packed up my whole life, selling everything I couldn’t take with me, and left for California. I’d spent the last two years focused on my craft, working tirelessly to make it as a photographer in one of the toughest cities in the country.
About eight months before, I had submitted a few photos to the Kontinent Awards. It was a fine arts series of four photos, all of which I’d taken on a hazy summer morning. Wildfires were running rampant through southern California. One morning, instead of evacuating as I’d been told, I grabbed a model, put her in a red gauzy dress, and placed her precariously close to smoke and flames.
When I was taking the photos, I knew they were special, but I had no idea they would launch my career. I’d won the award for my category and the images had become, in the world of photography, famous. Suddenly, I was selling photographs for more than I was used to making in a month. I invested in myself and started looking for a place to open my own gallery. Tonight was my inaugural show. I was beyond nervous. I wanted the show to go well, but more than that, I wanted to be taken seriously. I wanted to be recognized as an artist.
I slipped the red dress out of the garment bag, freshly steamed from the tailor, and it looked magnificent. I wanted to look professional, yet still young and fresh. I’d just turned thirty, and I was trying to embrace the ‘Thirty and Flirty’ mantra. My twenties were definitely something I wanted to leave behind, so I was looking forward to the next decade with exuberance. I locked my door and undressed, then slipped the silk dress over my head, loving the feeling of the material sliding down my skin, which I’d had buffed, primed, and polished in anticipation of this event.
I was, possibly, in the best shape of my life. I’d never taken such good care of my body than I had since I moved there. I was stronger in many ways, but my body was reaping the benefits of the gym I’d joined and all the hiking I did to get my shots. I also did small things to take care of myself. My nails were polished, my hair was highlighted, and I’d developed a habit of waxing. I was smooth everywhere and something about that always exhilarated me. And it was, indeed, just for me. I’d not been with a man since I had moved there.
I’d barely slipped on my black stiletto heeled shoes when I heard a small knock at my door.
“Come in,” I called out, smoothing the fabric of my dress down my thighs, pulling on the hem where it lay only a few inches above my knees.
“Hey, famous photographer lady.”
I turned at the excited declaration and saw Shelby standing in my doorway, an enormous smile on her face.
“Oh, my God! Shelby!” I cried, rushing toward her. “What in the world are you doing here?” I wrapped my arms around her, not believing she was actually standing in front of me.
“You said you were having your first show, so, of course I came! I’ll get to tell everyone how I knew you when!”
“I can’t believe you came all the way to LA for a gallery show.” It had been a while since anyone had done something that nice for me.
“Well, I’ll be honest, I can’t afford to buy anything because you’re so famous, your prints are selling for an arm and a leg, but I’m here to show my support.”
I leaned in and hugged her again. “Thank you,” I whispered.
I’d made a small group of friends in LA. Lainey was my neighbor and lived in the townhouse next to mine. She’d introduced me to her friends and, luckily for me, I had fit right in. They were all in their early thirties, single, and trying to do the responsible, working adult thing. I’d made some great connections with some models in the city, using them for my shoots, building relationships with them, but Shelby was more than just a model to me. She’d helped me through some tough times and I was thrilled she was here. I couldn’t wait to introduce her to my LA friends.
“I’ll let you finish getting ready and see you out there,” she said with a smile before she gave me another quick hug and disappeared. I took in a deep breath and let it out. Something about having a familiar and friendly face there made me feel better, a little more relaxed, as if I could actually pull the show off.
An hour later, I could hear voices filling the gallery space. Lots of voices. I’d done a lot of legwork for this show, trying to make sure that anyone and everyone was invited. Editors from prominent magazines and newspapers had given me indications they’d be attending, other photographers whose endorsement could mean a lot to me, so many people who could be right in the other room. I almost couldn’t bring myself to leave my office. But eventually, when I was sure there wasn’t a hair out of place, I took a deep breath and walked out of my safe office and into the gallery.
I’d seen the set up for weeks now. Heck, I’d designed it. But seeing the show in full swing, lighting up, people milling around, drinks in hand, pointing to my photos, well, it seemed like a dream come true.
I grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing server, giving her a smile, and then slowly strode through the open gallery showroom, trying to take in bits and pieces of what people were saying to each other about my photos.
“Breathtaking,” “beautiful,” “soulful,” and “exquisite” were some of the words floating through the air as I passed by, and the smile that spread across my face was genuine and pure. This was what I’d worked so hard for these past years.
I spotted Sylvia and made my way to her, grateful for a friendly face. Her eyes lit up when she saw me and greeted me with an excited smile.
“Oh, my gosh, Evelyn, so far everyone is in awe of your work.” She placed her hand on my arm just below my shoulder and gave me a gentle, supportive squeeze. A few heads around us turned at Sylvia’s words and once people’s eyes found me, I was suddenly surrounded by people – fancy, glamorous people – who all wanted to talk to me about my “talent.”
Over the next two hours, I was happily cornered by some of the most impressive people I’d ever hoped to meet, let alone talk with about my photographs. Someone from Time Magazine spoke to me for ten whole minutes about using my photos for a regional edition and I nearly stopped breathing. Whose life was I living?
Shelby found me, champagne in hand, and gave me another enthusiastic hug.
“Evie, these photos are incredible. You’ve done such phenomenal work in LA,” her eyes continued to wander around the room, taking in all the photos that hung from the wall.
“You saw that one, right?” I asked, pointing to the wall on the east side of the building. Hanging there was a large print of the photo I’d taken of her at the falls just weeks before I left town.
“I did see it,” she said with a smile. “I also saw the little sticker next to it that indicated it had been sold.” Her voice was nearly at a squeal.
A new wave of emotions rushed over me. While talking with all the exciting people about what my next step as a photographer would be, and where my art would take me, I’d totally forgotten that my work was for sale. If I sold even a few pieces at the prices posted, I would be set for months.
“Are you serious?” I balked.
“Totally. I saw quite a few stickers already. You’re doing fantastic!”
Another server walked by and we grabbed more champagne, quietly toasting, my smile growing wider by the minute. I kept Shelby near me, glad to have a friend there, and we slowly made our way through the gallery. I accepted compliments with as much grace as I could muster, feeling my cheeks heat every time someone said something I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear.
“You’re a magnificent artist.”
“The way your photographs capture light, it’s amazing.”
“Where have you been hiding? Your work is incredible.”
I was floating on a cloud of realized dreams and bubbly champagne when I suddenly felt the hairs on the nape of my neck raise, standing straight up, and goose bumps spreading across my skin.
“You’re a difficult woman to get ahold of.”
I heard his wonderfully deep and gravelly voice from behind me and my breath caught in my lungs. My mouth parted, waiting for words that weren’t anywhere near ready to come. I registered Shelby’s wide eyes, but I was too focused on all the exciting responses my body was having to his voice to care.
My heart rate thundered through my veins, my breath started moving in shallow pants, and every nerve in my body was tingling with just the sound of his voice. I felt him step up closer, his front barely brushing my back, and I had to fight every instinct to lean into him.
“This one is my favorite,” he said, his voice a low whisper, his hand coming up, finger pointing toward a photo on the wall a few feet in front of us. My eyes were trained on his hand. His skin was tanned, palms looking rough and worn, but he was obviously strong. Then, my gaze moved to the photo he was pointing at and I felt a small smile pull on the corner of my mouth.
It was one of my favorites too.
A black and white image of a man, standing atop an unusual, yet amazing, formation of naturally fallen logs. Even though it was a black and white image, the sunlight was flooding the frame, making his face impossible to see, but illuminating every other part of him.
“That was one of my most favorite days,” I managed to whisper. I remembered that hike, remembered him fondly, and thought of him often.
“Mine too,” he whispered so close to my ear I could feel his breath passing over my cheek. I turned my head slightly, and took in his incredibly handsome face with bright eyes smiling down at me. He was just as I remembered him. Dark hair, a little unruly, deep brown eyes, arresting smile.
“What are you doing here?”
“My favorite photographer announced on her website a few months ago that she was going to open her own gallery. I made it a point to come and support her. She’s an incredible artist.”
“Nate,” I whispered, unable to make it past his name, overcome by his sweetness and the absolute shock of seeing him again. Something in my belly flipped at the thought of him looking at my website, of him thinking about me after not seeing each other for years.
He stepped around me so we were face to face, and his thumb and forefinger gently gripped my chin, his touch light and comforting. “How’ve you been, Lyn?” His eyes sparkled with his question, his smile widening. He was the only person who ever called me Lyn, and I liked it. So much. Too much.
“Good,” I breathed. “I’ve been good.”
“Hmmm. I can tell.” His words flowed through me, my eyes drinking in the beauty of his face right in front of me. His hand moved to my shoulder, then slid softly down my arm until my fingers were in his hand. He lifted my left hand up and examined it, running his thumb over my ring finger. “You’re not wearing a wedding ring, and I haven’t seen any men lingering near you. Is it possible you’re single?”
“She’s totally single,” Shelby offered from behind me, her voice way too enthusiastic for the message she was delivering. I rolled my eyes.
“Thanks, Shelby,” I laughed, but then turned back to Nate. “I still can’t believe you’re even here. I never really thought I would see you again.”
“I don’t want to monopolize you on your big night, but I was hoping we could catch up later.”
“Um, sure,” I said softly, realizing I was a little disappointed he wouldn’t be monopolizing me. “But you’ll hang around?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said, squeezing my hand one more time before stepping away toward the bar. I couldn’t take my eyes from the man who I had only seen in clothes fit for hiking or construction, now standing before me in an incredibly sexy suit, complete with slick, skinny black tie. My mind was whirling, wondering what in the world he was doing there.
“Did you tell him about this?” I asked Shelby as soon as Nate was out of earshot.
“Absolutely not. I haven’t seen him since that one time in your studio back home. I can’t believe he showed up here, all hot for you, checking out your ring finger. He’s on a mission, Evie.”
My eyes flitted back to him, standing at the bar, back to me. A considerably large part of me wanted to stare at him for the rest of the evening. My body was remembering, slowly, the one real date we’d had, the one kiss we’d shared under that waterfall, and the way it had made me feel. Before my thoughts could carry me too far away, I was being beckoned by Sylvia to chat with an editor of LA Times, wanting to do a story on my photographs and me, so I had to put my work face back on.
My body, however, was always aware of Nate. So much so, it seemed to vibrate with the awareness. I knew where he was at all times: which photos he was looking at, which people he was talking to, which corner of the gallery he was standing in, watching me from afar. It was the most brutal and beautiful form of torture. As much as I was aware of him, he definitely seemed to be tracking me as well. Electricity flowed between us like a hot current, and I was surprised people inside the gallery weren’t fanning themselves. I found my cheeks warm and my core even warmer. My belly clenched every time we made eye contact, my breath caught when I saw him taking in one of my photos. I’d never experienced foreplay from a room apart, but what was happening between us definitely qualified.
I sipped cool champagne, trying to calm myself. Obviously, my body was on high alert, suffering from withdrawals. I’d only gone on a few dates since moving to LA, and definitely hadn’t slept with anyone. And it had been a long while since I’d slept with anyone even before the move. I was in a serious dry spell and my mind was telling my body to prepare.
I was almost embarrassed. He’d said twenty words to me. He could have been in a relationship for all I knew. But deep down I knew he wouldn’t have come to my show, especially alone, if he’d been in a relationship. Regardless, my body was onboard and primed to devour his.
Despite the distraction of Nate, I managed to put on a good show. I spoke with many important people who could all have a significant impact on my career path, and I felt as though I’d made a good impression on everyone. Overall, it seemed to be quite a successful night. It was easy to keep a smile on my face as people began to leave, showering me with compliments and congratulations.
My eyes wandered to Nate and I saw him talking with Shelby, both of them stealing glances my way. I didn’t know what she would have to say to him, but I wasn’t too worried about it; Shelby had always been a good friend. I watched as she leaned forward and pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek, and then made her way back to me.
“I’m beat. I’m going back to my hotel.” She opened her arms to me, wrapping me up in a hug and whispered in my ear, “I’m so proud of you, Evie. You’ve accomplished so much since you’ve been here. Now, let that man love on you a little.”
I laughed, not at all surprised by her forward demand.
“Thank you for coming,” I said as I pulled back from her embrace. “It means a lot that you were here. Make sure you call me before you head home so we can get coffee or lunch.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, but not too early,” she said with a sassy wink.
I gave her a natural, warm smile as she left, feeling particularly lucky to have made such a good friend in her. As a few more people left, I felt the tension in the room grow between Nate and me. Soon enough, there were just ten or so people with us. My breath stalled when I saw him making his way to me, a small glass of amber liquid in his hands.
“Hi,” he said, his smile easy and sexy.
“Hey,” I breathed, a peculiar combination of relaxation and anxiousness coming over me. Something about him calmed me and amped me up simultaneously.
“I’m sorry I ambushed you.” He looked down at his glass, swirling the liquor in it slightly. “I should have reached out to you and told you I was coming, or even asked if it was all right for me to be here.” I smiled, not really knowing how to respond. If he had told me he was coming, I would have been even more nervous than I was before. And even though his presence was distracting, it wasn’t unwelcome. Not at all. “I was pretty sure if I called, well, I was sure something would have kept me from coming to you.”
I felt my eyebrows draw together and a confused expression pass over my face. “What do you mean?”
“I thought if I called, you’d either tell me you were married or dating someone, or worse, tell me you didn’t remember me.” He shrugged. “I just thought something would keep me away. After I never heard from you…” His voice trailed off and I could tell he was waiting for me to start explaining myself, to give him some sort of information about my life and how it had changed since we saw each other last.
“Nate, I have to close up the gallery,” I said with regret. “But, can we talk about everything? How long are you in town?”
He ran his free hand through his hair and I remembered, instantly and with arousing detail, what his hair felt like between my fingers. “I didn’t buy a return ticket,” he said, not looking me in the eye.
Excitement shot through me, followed quickly by apprehension.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t abandon my life to come to LA. I wasn’t sure what I would find when I got here, so I wanted to be able to either go right back to the airport and fly home, or stay a few days if things worked out.”
“Abandoning life and coming to LA worked out pretty well for me,” I said, smiling again. “But we can talk about that too. Tomorrow, maybe? Where are you staying?”
He laughed at my question. “I’m not sure yet. Know any good hotels in the area?”
“Are you serious? You don’t have a hotel room somewhere? It’s Friday night in LA. The only places you’ll be able to find an available room are places you don’t want to be.”
“Again, I wasn’t sure what my plan would be. I’ve got a rental car and a suitcase.”
“I have a spare bedroom. You can stay with me if you’d like.” The offer was out of my mouth before the words had even formed in my mind. The majority of my brain was eagerly hoping he would accept, that I would have unlimited access to him until he went home, whenever that would be. The idea of him in my home was causing warmth to spread through me, laced with excitement. But a tiny part of me was screaming, albeit quietly, to not invite practical strangers to my house for an undetermined amount of time.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose. Honestly, I thought I’d come here and find a good reason to turn around and go home.”
“Do you want to go home?” Please don’t say you want to go home.
His eyes remained on mine, not blinking, and he softly said, “I don’t want to go home yet.”
“Okay then, you can come stay with me.”
