21. Capture The Perfect Moment
TWENTY-ONE
CAPTURE THE PERFECT MOMENT
Eve
I thought this could be different. Maybe something would develop between me and Lach. Obviously, he isn’t looking for a serious relationship. Another Dead End sign flashes in front of me. But he seemed so excited, practically bouncing on his feet, when I said I was moving. Perhaps I’m overanalyzing this. I just left a relationship where I was the other woman. Granted, I know I’m not the other woman in this relationship or fling, but I felt a connection. I should just have fun while it lasts so I don’t set myself up for heartbreak.
We continue eating our breakfast in silence. After a few bites, I set down my fork. A wave of nausea crashes into me. I lean back and rest my hand on my stomach.
Lach stops with his fork halfway to his mouth and meets my gaze. “Is something wrong with your omelet?”
“No. It tastes great.”
He drops his fork to his plate. His attention is now fully on me. “The crease in your forehead tells me otherwise. Are you feeling okay?”
“My stomach’s a little queasy.”
“Have some water.” He slides his glass across the table for me.
“Thanks.” I give him a tight-lipped smile before I swallow a big gulp.
Lach finishes his pancakes while I pick at my bacon. Everything else I leave untouched. When we’re finished, he pays for our breakfast, and we continue on the road.
While Lach drives for the next two hours, we make small talk about the various businesses we pass and funny billboards like the one that read “Quality Erections” for a construction company. At the three-hour mark, my eyelids drift closed.
I stir awake and stretch my limbs as much as I can while my eyes adjust to the light. We’re parked at a gas station, but when I turn toward the driver’s seat, it’s empty. A second later, Lach steps through the glass double doors with a plastic bag in hand. I can’t keep my eyes off him as he strolls toward the truck. He runs a hand through his hair. His gaze connects with mine through the windshield, and a flutter floats through my body. His gaze, unlike any other, makes me feel seen, understood, and cherished. It’s soft and gentle but also screams, “I want to rip your clothes off and have my way with you.” And I greenlight that idea.
Lach opens the door and climbs into the cab. He sets a plastic bag on the center console before tilting his head toward me. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?” His words are soft. Comforting.
“Good.” I adjust myself in my seat, hoping my cheeks aren’t as red as they feel from fantasizing about Lach stripping me naked. “I don’t know what it was, but the nap certainly helped.”
“I didn’t want to wake you, but since you’re awake I got you some water, snacks, and a turkey sandwich. In case you were up for eating since you didn’t have much of your breakfast.”
My heart swells at his thoughtfulness. “Thank you.”
“I wasn’t sure if you liked mayo or mustard, so I got both.” He holds up the two condiment packets.
“Actually, both are perfect. Mayo on top and mustard on the bottom.”
“I like the bottom. Mustard is what I meant. I also like mustard on the bottom.”
A laugh bubbles out of me.
A pink blush fills his scruff-covered cheeks. “Also, I got sour gummy worms.”
My eyes widen, and I snatch the bag from his grasp and rip the top off. “How did you know my favorite road snack?” I reach inside and pull out a brightly colored worm-shaped candy. My lips press together when the sweet and tart hit my tastebuds.
The corner of his mouth curves into a smile. “I didn’t. But they’re my favorite too.”
I grab another sour gummy worm from the bag and pass it to him. He takes it and pops it into his mouth. When he’s done chewing, he says, “On that note—you want to use the bathroom before we get back on the road?”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” I unbuckle my seat belt and climb out of the truck. A few minutes later, I return, and Lach has the water bottles in the cup holders and my sandwich laid out on the center console. I can’t help but smile as I climb into the passenger seat. “How far did we get?”
“Not as far as I’d like. There was a car accident south of Indianapolis. Traffic was at a standstill for a while until they were able to re-route us. I’m thinking we’ll maybe stop outside of Chicago for the night and finish the rest of the drive tomorrow.”
I take a drink of my water. “Yeah, that sounds good.” I won’t complain about spending another night alone with Lach because I don’t know what’s going to happen once we get back to Harbor Highlands. He may be reluctant to pursue anything between us, but I know he wants this as much as I do. I just need to convince him how amazing we can be.
I pull my camera from my bag and stare out the window, looking for inspiration. Almost a month has passed since I’ve been able to exercise this creative outlet. I’ve missed it. I lift the camera, closing one eye. A sense of calm washes over me every time I look through a lens. I twist to face Lach. His profile fills the viewfinder. A strong, scruff-covered jaw. His nose is perfectly straight, with a narrow bridge and a refined tip. His long, dark lashes blink once. Twice.
He twists his head toward me. “What are you doing?”
“Taking your picture.”
“Out of everything surrounding us, there has to be a better view than me.”
I scrunch my nose, pretending to volley his words around. “I beg to differ.” The soft click of the camera fills the cab, capturing this moment.
With a chuckle, he reaches across the seat, his fingers brushing against the camera. I lean away. Now it’s my turn to laugh. Everything with Lach is so easy. Carefree. Fun. All the things that have been missing from my life in the past… all my life.
He drops his hand, and it falls to my thigh. His fingers splay over the denim, its warmth radiating through my jeans. I don’t know if he purposely put his hand there, but I’m afraid if I move, he’ll remove it, and I don’t want him to.
Turning toward me, a smirk on his lips, he says, “As soon as we’re out of this truck, it’ll be my turn to take pictures of you.”
I drop the camera on my lap and bite my lower lip. “What kind of photos?” I drag a finger across my collarbone and down my chest. His eyes follow the same path.
He clears his throat before turning his attention back to the road. I lift the camera and snap a picture, wanting to capture the slight pink that dusts his cheeks.
“Are you going to take pictures of me for the rest of the drive?”
“Maybe.”
He laughs again, and I snap another picture. I zoom in on his long fingers as his hand drapes over the steering wheel and take another. Panning the camera to the left, I focus on his face. He meets my gaze from the corner of his eyes, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths, but he doesn’t move. I snap another picture.
“So, what do you love about photography?” he asks.
“It’s like little moments frozen in time. Captured memories.”
“You ever worry about spending too much time trying to capture the memories versus just living them?”
His fingers flex on my thigh, causing butterflies to erupt in my belly. This right here is everything I want. This is precisely the perfect moment I want captured for eternity. Raising the camera, I press the button, taking a picture of his hand on my thigh. “There’s definitely a balance between the two.”
“Think of all the people who spend their time taking pictures, capturing the memories, instead of living them. How many pictures do you have on your phone that you’ve taken but you never look at? Who knows if you ever will? They just sit there, taking up space until you run out of room and delete them.”
“That’s certainly one way to think of it. But if you’re taking pictures with purpose, it’s different because when you look back at all the photos, and if they invoke an emotion, you know you’ve captured the perfect moment. They may be happy, sad, scary, frightening, or a deep love. If you feel any of those, you’ve captured the right moment.”
His soft gaze drifts to mine, and his lips twitch into a smile. He removes his hand from my thigh, and I frown at the loss.
“Come here.” He lifts his chin, motioning me over. “Bring your camera. Let’s capture the perfect moment.”
I lift the armrest on my side, and he does the same to his. Setting my camera in my bag, I grab my cell phone instead. Selfies with a regular camera don’t work. I slide to the center seat—it’s more of a child seat, but it’s a seat, nonetheless. He wraps an arm over my shoulders. I hook my pinky with his, hold out my phone, and snap several photos. Some where he’s smiling with me and others where he’s in profile. Perfect memories in case it’s the only thing I’ll have. After I finish taking pictures, I move to slide to my seat, but Lach tightens his grip, stopping me.
“Stay.”
A small smile curves across my lips. “In the middle seat? What am I supposed to do? Straddle the center console?”
He peers at me from the corner of his eyes. “I’ll give you something to straddle later.”
“Promise?”
He laughs and pulls me closer. “You certainly like to challenge me, don’t you?”
I smirk and shrug. Lach shakes his head and laughs. The constant shift of hot and cold with Lach is giving me whiplash. I’m going to go into shock one of these times. Tomorrow, we’re back in Harbor Highlands, and I need an answer by then. I can’t continue doing this back and forth any longer. In the meantime, I’ll savor this time I have curled against his side in case it’s all I’ll get. We sit mostly in comfortable silence, which is out of character for me. But with Lach, everything is different. My world seems brighter and more vibrant. The sounds sharper and more alive. There are no words to describe it. Almost as if we know each other without knowing each other. Two lost souls reunited. I wonder if he feels it too.
After an hour passes, my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen, and my body stiffens. Lach peers down at me.
“It’s Jake. He’s wondering how far we are.”
Lach nods, lifts his arm from my shoulder, and pulls away. A pang of disappointment washes over me. Jake’s not even here, yet he still ruins things. Now feeling foolish for sitting in the middle seat, I sit up, unbuckle my seatbelt, and slide to the passenger seat. I reply to Jake before tucking my phone away in my purse. I shift my body toward the door, cross my arms over my chest, and stare out the window as we pass by flat fields and the sporadic patches of trees.
Soon, the bright sky turns to dusk and eventually nightfall as we pull into the parking lot of a hotel outside Chicago. With traffic and detours, the GPS-estimated eight-hour drive turned into twelve. I’m beyond ready to get out of this truck. Once we’re parked, Lach grabs his backpack and my small rolling suitcase, and we stroll into the hotel together. He gets us our room keys and escorts me to the elevator. Our room on the third floor is a standard king-size room with a small pull-out couch next to the bathroom that has a tub and shower. There’s a desk against the far wall by the window. It’ll be our little sanctuary for the next twelve hours.
“I’m going to jump in the shower.” Lach sets his backpack on a chair and stands my suitcase next to it. He grabs a couple of items from his backpack before going into the bathroom. The door softly clicks behind him.
I hear the shower turn on, and I plop down on the bed and grab my phone. I send a quick message to Jake and let him know where we are and that we’ll be back tomorrow. Several messages from Mr. Shart draw my attention. After the third “Don’t leave, I miss you” text, I delete all the others without even reading them. I send him a text with Jake’s address for my paycheck, then block his number. I’m slamming the door and throwing away the key on that chapter of my life.
I drop my phone to the comforter. I bite my lower lip, contemplating if I should just join Lach in the shower. Water conservation and all. He wants this as much as I do. His eyes tell me everything I need to know. Every time he looks at me, it’s like he has to fight with himself to not clasp my cheeks and kiss me. He’s given in a few times, and he beats himself up afterward. What we are doing isn’t wrong. I need him to understand that. I roll off the bed and rise to my feet as the water shuts off. A few minutes later, the door opens, and Lach emerges wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips. Water droplets slide from his neck and disappear into the light smattering of hair on his chest. He runs a towel through his hair, causing his reddish-brown hair to sprout in all directions. His tattoos, a collection of bold designs and intricate patterns, are fully visible. I’m mesmerized by the way the ink slowly dances on his skin as his muscles flex with every twist and turn. In an instant, a flood of naughty ideas converge between my legs. I clench my thighs together to relieve the ache. His eyes meet mine, darkening to indigo with each passing second. All my thoughts are a jumbled mess when he looks at me like that, and instead of ducks, I need my thoughts in a row in order to navigate this. Also, I need the shower to have a removable showerhead to help me clear my mind.