CHAPTER 13
Maverick
The days between Christmas and New Year's had a dreamlike quality to them. Time felt suspended, like we existed in our own little bubble where nothing could touch us.
I spent most of my time working on my photography portfolio. Every morning I'd grab my camera and explore Winterbrook, taking photos of everything that caught my eye.
The mountains at dawn, all pink and gold.
Main Street with its Christmas lights still up.
The frozen lake at the edge of town where kids were ice skating.
Bear being majestic in the snow (and then immediately ruining it by eating said snow).
Clark working in his shop, sawdust in his hair, completely focused on whatever he was building.
That last one was my favorite. I'd taken it through the workshop window without him knowing, and when I showed it to him later, he'd gone all gruff and embarrassed.
"Delete that."
"Absolutely not. You look hot when you're focused."
"Mav."
"What? You do. Very rugged craftsman. Very sexy."
He'd chased me around the workshop for that, but I'd been laughing too hard to run properly.
***
Three days after Christmas, I met with my first official client.
Marion from the mercantile wanted new photos for her website—product shots, storefront pictures, that kind of thing. I showed up with my camera and my portfolio, nervous as hell.
"These are wonderful," she said, scrolling through the images on my laptop. "You've really captured the town. The feeling of it, you know?"
"Thank you. That's what I was trying to do."
"And your rates are very reasonable. Too reasonable, honestly. You should charge more."
"I'm just starting out. I don't want to—"
"Maverick." She gave me a look that reminded me of my grandmother. "Don't undersell yourself. Your work is good. Charge what it's worth."
I left with my first paid job and a lecture about knowing my value. When I got home and told Clark, he pulled me into a hug that lifted me off my feet.
"I'm so proud of you," he said.
"It's just one job."
"It's your first job. That's huge." He set me down but kept his arms around me. "How do you feel?"
"Terrified. Excited. Like I might throw up."
"That's normal."
"Is it?"
"Starting something new is always scary. But you're doing it anyway. That takes courage."
I pressed my face into his chest. "What if I mess it up?"
"You won't. But even if you do, you'll learn from it. That's how you build a business." His hand rubbed slow circles on my back. "I've got you, baby. You're not doing this alone."
***
By December 29th, I'd completed Marion's job and gotten two more inquiries—the flower shop owner and someone who'd seen my photos online and wanted family portraits. I spent the afternoon updating my website and responding to emails, riding a high of possibility.
Clark found me at the kitchen table, laptop open, phone in hand, completely in the zone.
"When did you eat last?" he asked.
I looked up, blinking. "Um. Breakfast?"
"Mav. It's four o'clock."
"Oh." I glanced at the time on my laptop. "I didn't realize."
He crossed to the fridge without a word, started making me a sandwich.
"I'm fine, I just—"
"You're eating." Not a question. He set the plate in front of me. "Now."
I knew that tone. I closed my laptop and picked up the sandwich. I took a bite, and my stomach immediately reminded me how hungry I was. "Okay, you were right."
"Usually am." He sat down across from me. "How's it going?"
"Good. Really good, actually. I finished Marion's edits, sent them off. And I got two more people asking about sessions."
"That's great."
"Yeah." I took another bite. "It's just... what if I can't keep up? What if I get too many jobs and I can't deliver or—"
"Hey." His voice dropped into that firm tone. "Stop."
I took a breath. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize. Just eat your sandwich and tell me what's really bothering you."
I chewed slowly, trying to figure out how to explain it. "I'm not used to this. Having something that's completely mine. What if I'm not good enough? What if—"
"Mav." He reached across the table and took my hand. "You are good enough. You're more than good enough. But you're going to drive yourself crazy if you don't pace yourself."
"I know. I just—I want this to work so badly."
"It will work. But not if you burn yourself out in the first week." He squeezed my hand. "You need balance. Work time and rest time. Understand boy?"
"Yes, Daddy." The title slipped out without thinking, and I saw his eyes darken slightly.
"Good boy. Now finish your sandwich."
***
New Year's Eve came faster than I expected.
Clark and I had been invited to the town party at the community center—apparently it was a big deal, and everyone would be there. I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to figure out what to wear.
"It's not fancy," Clark called from the bedroom. "Just casual."
"I know, but I want to look good!" I yelled back from the bathroom where I'd changed shirts three times.
"You always look good."
"You have to say that. You're contractually obligated as my boyfriend."
"I'm really not."
I finally settled on dark jeans and a burgundy henley that Clark had once said made my eyes look good. When I came out, he was leaning against the doorframe, already dressed and looking unfairly handsome in a navy flannel.
"Perfect," he said, pushing off the doorframe to pull me close. "Ready to celebrate?"
"Ready to dance badly and drink too much cheap champagne?"
"That's the spirit."
***
The community center was packed when we arrived. Decorations everywhere—streamers, balloons, a disco ball that looked like it was from the seventies. Music played from speakers, and people milled around with plates of food and cups of punch.
Marion spotted us immediately and waved us over. "There's the happy couple! Maverick, I got your photos—they're perfect. Already updated the website."
"Really? That was fast."
"When something's done right, no point waiting." She beamed. "I've already had three people ask who did them. Gave them all your info."
"Wow. Thank you."
"Don't thank me, honey. Thank your talent." She squeezed my arm. "You're going to do well here."
Clark's hand settled on my lower back—that steadying touch I'd come to love. We made our way through the crowd, and I was surprised by how easy it felt. People greeted us warmly, asked about Christmas, teased Clark about finally smiling again.
"Didn't know Clark's face could do that," one older man said with a grin. "Thought it was stuck in permanent grump mode."
"I'm not grumpy," Clark protested.
"You absolutely were," the man shot back. "Good to see you happy, Gibson."
The evening passed in a blur of conversations and laughter. I met more people, collected a few more business cards for potential photography work, and ate way too many cookies from the dessert table.
"Having fun?" Clark asked as we found seats at one of the long tables.
"Yeah, actually. This is nice."
"See? Winterbrook parties aren't so bad."
"Better than my usual New Year's Eve."
"Which was?"
"Alone in whatever city I was passing through, probably eating gas station snacks and trying to find free wifi." I leaned against him. "This is way better."
He pressed a kiss to my temple. "Good."
Someone requested a slow song and couples started moving to the dance floor. Clark stood and offered his hand.
"Dance with me?"
"I don't really know how to—"
"I'll lead. Come on."
He pulled me onto the floor and into his arms, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine. We swayed to the music, and I tried not to step on his feet.
"Relax," he said quietly. "Just follow me."
I let him lead, and after a moment, it got easier.
"You're getting better at this," he murmured.
"Only because you're a good leader."
"Damn right I am."
The song ended and another started, faster, and we stayed on the floor. By the time we returned to our table, I was breathless and laughing.
"That was fun."
"See? You can dance."
"Only with you."
His eyes went dark and warm. "Good answer."
As midnight approached, the mayor started the countdown. Everyone gathered, cups of champagne raised.
"Ten! Nine! Eight!"
Clark pulled me close, his arm around my waist.
"Seven! Six! Five!"
"New year, new beginning," he said quietly.
"Four! Three! Two!"
"Best year of my life," I replied.
"One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
He kissed me as the room erupted in cheers and confetti rained down.
"Happy New Year, baby," he murmured against my lips.
"Happy New Year, Daddy."
***
We didn't stay much longer after that. The party would go until two or three in the morning, but we both wanted to go home. Wanted to be alone together to start the new year right.
The drive back to the farm was quiet, comfortable. Clark's hand on my thigh, my head tilted back against the seat, watching stars through the windshield.
"Good party," I said.
"Yeah. It was."
"I'm glad we went."
"Me too." He squeezed my thigh. "But I'm more glad we're going home."
When we got home, Bear greeted us with his usual enthusiasm, and Clark let him out for a quick run while I got ready for bed. But when I started toward the bedroom, Clark caught my wrist.
"Not yet."
I looked at him. His eyes were dark, intent. "No?"
"No. Come here."
He pulled me to the couch, sat down, and guided me to sit next to him. Close, but not touching. My heart started to race.
"We need to talk," he said.
"Okay?" That never sounded good.
"You've been anxious all week. About the photography, about money, about whether you can really do this." His gaze was steady on mine. "And you've been in your head too much."
"I know. I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize. But I think you need help getting out of your head." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "What do you think?"
Oh. Oh.
"You mean..." I couldn't quite finish the sentence.
"I mean I think my boy needs a reminder that Daddy's here to take care of him. That you don't have to carry everything alone." His hand cupped my face. "What do you need, baby?"