Chapter 13
13
Cameron
“Dude, where’ve you been?” I ask my roommate. It’s been weeks since we’ve hung out.
“I’m sorry, man. Work’s been so busy lately.” Ezra shoots our server a flirty smile when she sets two glasses of whiskey in front of us.
She lingers a bit, batting her lashes the way women do when he’s around. I call it the Bearded Effect. He’s got that “I woke up like this” look. You know the one—tousled dark brown hair that hints at a late-night romp, paired with a beard trimmed to perfection like he has a live-in barber. Women crawl to him like they’re cats in heat everywhere we go. Not that I can complain about my share of attention most days.
But lately I haven’t bothered with the New York City dating scene. And by lately, I mean for the last two years.
I wish I could say the end of my year-long relationship with Hayden was the cause, but in reality, a single night with Joey is what broke me. I’ve gone on dates since the cruise from hell, but anytime I attempt to take things to the bedroom, all I see—and hear and feel—is Joey, and I back away before the belts even come loose. Ezra jokes that the women of New York are going to call me Chastity Cam if I don’t get over my dry spell soon.
I raise my whiskey between us.
“Here’s to new beginnings.” My buddy clinks his glass against mine. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, man,” I grin. “This last year has been wild. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Rather than crawling home to dear ole Mom and Dad after my breakup, I channeled the peace and optimism that had hit me that day on Crete and quit my job. I hadn’t even been back on American soil for three hours before I marched into my father’s office and resigned. If I didn’t do it right away, I might not have done it at all.
Naturally, my father canceled his meetings for the rest of the day, called my mother into the office, and tried to stage an intervention. It was shattering, watching my mom’s dreams crumble, but I stood my ground. They chose this life; I didn’t. And it wasn’t fair for them to decide my future for me. I am my own person and I get to decide my career and path in life.
I choose photography.
Graciously, my mom talked my dad into letting me live in the penthouse until the end of the month. If it were up to my dad, he would have given me the boot that day. Ezra had been begging me to move into the city with him for years, so that’s exactly what I did.
We’ve been best friends for more than half my life. For a year, we attended the same boarding school about an hour outside Manhattan and were thrown together as part of the school’s senior-freshman mentoring program. Though he mentored me more on women than academics.
Ezra is my platonic soulmate and the one person I can always count on to have my back. After I quit my job, he was the first person I called.
When he shouted “It’s about damn time, man!” into the phone, I could practically see his fist pump.
I stuck around and trained my replacement at Hotel Connelly for a couple of weeks, then hit the ground running. I busted my ass, sending my portfolio to every photography company I could find on the internet and scheduled meeting after meeting.
Through my contact with Aaron from Crete last year, I was connected with Atlas Luxury Resort & Spa. After submitting recreational photos I took around the resort, including the one of Joey jumping off the chartered boat, I accepted a seasonal photographer position.
I busted my ass in local workshops to hone my skill, but freelance photography is competitive. It’s exhausting combating impostor syndrome and not selling myself short.
Fake it till you make it.
With the last year of hustling to build my online portfolio, this job is just what I need. I get to live on Crete for a month with guaranteed income. The fifty percent discount for staff accommodations is a perk, too, and exactly what I used to convince Ezra to join me for a week. While I’m there, I’ll spend a handful of hours each day taking engagement and family photos as well as photos the resort will use for marketing. That will leave me with ample time to relax and explore the island. And in a couple of days, I’ll be on my way.
One Month Late r
“Damn. This has been your home for the last month? Smells so much better than the city,” Ezra laughs.
“Just wait until we drive through the villages,” I say as I pull out of the airport. “You’ll be missing the smells of the subway in no time.”
Beside me in my little island rental, Ezra’s hair is losing its battle with the wind, so he ties it back in his infamous man bun. “I’m stoked to be here.” He rests his tan arm halfway out the window. “Enjoying hotel life again?”
To be honest, there’s no comparison. This place is nothing like Hotel Connelly. “It’s like I’m on an extended vacation.”
Most days it doesn’t feel real. While I’ve had plenty of ridiculous encounters with clients (a puking mother-in-law, a blowout diaper incident, a very touchy-feely bachelorette party), this job is cush. I’ve only had to capture one surprise engagement, and rather than triggering, it was confirmation that Hayden and I were not meant to be.
Eating my weight in souvlaki, bureki, olives, and fresh seafood is my new religion, as is spending my free time exploring the island and staying up way too late to drink with the locals. Life is good.
“Have you talked to your parents lately?”
Gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, I force my shoulders to relax and let out a breath. “My mom, yeah.”
“Your dad still not speaking to you?”
Behind me, a car inches closer, so I drive on the shoulder lane to let them pass. Driving on the island is intuitive. Slower drivers use the shoulder to allow faster cars to pass, and no one is upset over the encounter. People only honk to say hello. That would never happen in the States—especially New York City.
“He’s speaking to me— kinda .” I check twice for motorcyclists before catching up with traffic. “If you count a few sentences every time my mom forces him to get on the phone. ”
My dad is still bitter. He doesn’t think I can make a living “taking pictures.” In his eyes, I swear my only purpose in life is to take over the family business. He doesn’t hold Claire to the same standard. Though she chose medicine. Of course he’d be supportive of such a respectable career.
“Anyway.” I give my head a shake. “How are you?” Fathers are a sore subject for both of us, so he doesn’t call me out when I redirect the conversation. “Are you still seeing that chick from work?” I ask. “What was her name? Lemon?”
“Lennon.” Ezra rolls his eyes.
“Are you saying Lennon or Lemon ?” I tease.
“Are you saying Pan or Pam ?” He quips. This routine is one of our favorites. We’ve probably watched Stepbrothers more than a hundred times together throughout the years.
I laugh. “Crete sort of reminds me of Catalina Island.” Years ago, he and I took a trip to the small island off the coast of Southern California when we found out it wasn’t just a fictional one mentioned in a movie.
“I can see that,” he replies, scanning the scenery.
Out here, we’re surrounded by mountains peppered with Venetian-style architecture. Brick castles carved into mountains can be seen in the distance, as well as unfinished concrete rooftops with laundry hung on clotheslines.
“So, Lennon,” I try again.
“Oh, yeah. No, that’s not going to happen.”
“Why not?”
Ezra doesn’t look away from the scenery for another moment, but when he does, he huffs. “She told me she was separated from her husband. Turns out she lied, and I didn’t catch on until he walked into their apartment looking as clueless as ever.”
I gasp. “No way.”
“Yup.” He covers his face and mumbles into his hands. “I never want to be caught with my pants around my ankles again. ”
“Metaphorically speaking or—” I snap my mouth shut when I peek over at him. His face says it all. “I’m sorry, dude.”
“No worries. Who knows, maybe I’ll find a Greek goddess and ditch your ugly ass,” he chaffs.