Chapter Six
Rory
N ash didn’t seem like the kind of person who knew how to make the first step to forgiveness, and while Rory believed he deserved an apology for Nash ignoring the note he left him after Sam’s wedding, he was willing to suck it up and make the first move to get the water flowing under the bridge, so to speak. And it earned him a warm night’s sleep.
It also earned him a twinge of regret. Indulging in something he wanted but couldn’t have. Like eating something delicious you’re allergic to.
He didn’t have time to wallow in regret, however. He had a wedding to photograph. He hopped on one foot as he tried to get a black shoe on the other, suiting up to be as invisible as possible, while also sticking their cameras right in people's faces. He turned toward Nash and lost his balance immediately, crashing to the floor the second he saw Nash pull on his camera harness. Rory had borrowed Sam’s harness, which was the same idea. It allowed them to carry two cameras at a time, to make quick decisions between two different lenses, without having to change them out.
Theory and reality were two different things, however. Nash was in black slacks and a black long-sleeve button-down shirt, the brown leather straps of the harness hanging on his shoulders and crisscrossing his back. It looked like a gun holster, but actually sexy, because there were no guns.
“You alright?” Nash asked, oblivious to the way he short-circuited Rory’s brain.
“Should have sat to tie my shoes,” Rory mumbled, pushing himself up to sit on his butt as he tied his laces while Nash loaded freshly charged batteries into camera bodies and extras into his gear bag.
Rory took a deep breath, and then it was off to the first event of the day: bridesmaids getting ready.
The main suite was bustling when they made it up there, and it reminded Rory that the bridesmaids were always more fun than the groomsmen. There was so much joy and levity, fun nerves, silly jokes, camaraderie. The groomsmen usually just…got drunk. Which was fine, but not what Rory thought of as being fun.
There were seven women including the bride getting ready, and two little flower girls. The room was chaos.
“Only flattering photos, please!” Olivia joked, in a satin robe that said Mrs. in gold thread on the back.
“We are here to flatter you,” Rory promised. She shoved them over to the breakfast spread first, and while they’d found espresso and biscotti in the lobby, Rory was grateful for the filled cornetto, some fruit, and of course, more coffee.
Professional hair and makeup was already happening, and had started over an hour before Rory and Nash showed up.
Rory let Nash call the shots, happy to do whatever second-shooter tasks he had. Nash took candids and assigned Rory to get shots of the dress and shoes, and macro shots of the rings. This was the shit Rory was good at. When everything stayed in one place and he could take his time composing a beautiful shot. When it was him and a camera, the world around him disappeared.
He knew how Nash and Sam usually took macro shots of the rings, which Olivia handed over to him only with a solemn promise he would guard them with his life, and he got the classic shots, set up on a table in the corner of the room by a window. The macro shots highlighted the detail in the rings, two wedding, one engagement, and made the diamonds sparkle.
Once he got the regular straightforward photos taken and checked off the shot-list note that Nash had shared with him, he decided to get creative. They had a long day ahead of them, and most of that day would be taking the kinds of photos Rory didn’t artistically care about. He knew he was doing a job, and that was fine, but there was a reason he didn’t go into wedding photography.
He collected items from around the room. A couple roses from an arrangement. The veil. A perfume bottle. A tray with a mirrored bottom. He played around with them, careful not to spill the perfume on the veil. Behind him, he could hear Nash’s shutter as he captured the getting-ready process.
As much as wedding photography didn’t scratch the art-making itch in his brain, it was nice to work on a project with another person.
When he was satisfied with the number of ring shots he’d taken, he took the macro lens off the camera to switch to a 50mm lens for some portrait shots.
His phone buzzed and he slipped it out of his pocket. A message from Sam.
Sam
How are things going over there? I know Nash has his phone on Do Not Disturb, which you should do too, by the way, and I’m going bananas over here.
Good! Just got ring shots. Ladies are getting ready. It’s going smoothly, don’t worry.
Rory found Nash, crouched down to take a photo of one of the flower girls, and snapped a quick shot on his phone and attached it to his text with Sam. Before he could hit send, he heard someone shout be careful, sweetie as the other child in the room rushed past him, eager to get in the photo Nash was taking, too. She nudged the table the rings were on, and Rory watched as time slowed down, and the macro lens on the corner of the table went flying.
“Fu—Shi—uh, crap,” Rory said as the lens hit the ground and cracked. He froze, and for one moment the room was silent. Shit, shit, shit. He picked up the lens to inspect it. It hadn’t shattered into pieces. Shards hadn’t flown everywhere. It didn’t become a hazard. But he could see that the glass was cracked.
Fuck. He’d come on this trip to help, and here he was, fucking shit up. Lenses, especially the pro ones Sam and Nash had, were fucking expensive , and Rory didn’t have the extra cash at the moment to buy a new one.
Reluctantly, he looked over at Nash, who looked like he alone was standing under a rain cloud. Dark, stormy eyes, posture so still Rory could tell he was forcing himself not to do anything.
Rory didn’t know what to do.
“I am so sorry about that,” one of the bridesmaids said, corralling the running kid against her legs.
“We’ll replace it,” Olivia said, like it was no big deal. Rory could barely hear her, eyes locked on Nash, who did not look comforted by Olivia’s reassurance.
“Hall,” Nash said, nodding toward the door. Rory carried the broken lens with him, feeling like he was going to have a meeting with the principal. Nash might be a grumpy bastard sometimes, but he was never scary . That was the only thing keeping Rory from pissing himself.
“I’m sorry,” Rory said, voice barely above a whisper. He held the lens out to Nash, hands shaking.
Nash accepted the lens in one hand, and pinched the bridge of his nose in the other. He took a deep breath and exhaled for so long Rory thought he must be counting it.
“I’m sorry,” Nash said. It was not what Rory was expecting.
“Huh?” Did Rory need to remind him that his careless action of not putting the macro lens away the moment he removed it from the camera was the reason it was broken?
“This job is overwhelming to me. This situation”—he gestured between the two of them—” is overwhelming. I don’t want anything to go wrong. I’m not good at shit like this. Sam is the one who keeps everything together, and I don’t know how to do that.”
Rory touched his cheek, guiding his face so they could look at each other. “Everything is going to be alright.”
“I know. We have equipment insurance. That’s fine. It wasn’t the most expensive of our lenses by a long shot. I just…feel unsteady out here.” Rory put a hand on his forearm, letting him know he could be there to steady him.
“What did you mean by the situation between us is overwhelming?”
“Because it’s embarrassing to be harboring feelings for you still, when it was clear you wanted a fling. I don’t know how to?—”
“Back up. What do you mean I wanted a fling?”
“That night. You left while I was asleep.”
“Yeah, because my best friend was at the emergency room with his kid and I had to go let his dog out. I left a note, and you never called so?—”
“I didn’t see a note.”
“It was on that little pad of like, three sheets of paper every hotel leaves on the desk, with the shitty branded ballpoint pen that barely works.”
“Why would I have looked at the desk?” Nash asked. It was a good question. Rory probably wouldn’t have looked there either. Shit. “I woke up and you weren’t there and my heart…dropped. I left pretty much right after I woke up.”
“Oh my God. Nash. Fuck. I should have put it on the bathroom sink or something.”
“We didn’t…for a whole year we thought…”
“At Sam’s wedding I thought for sure we had something,” Rory said, heart doing a little flutter as hope crept in.
“We had something,” Nash confirmed.
Rory couldn’t help the smile breaking over his face, cheeks so high up he had to squint. “We could…we could have something now.”
“Yeah,” Nash said, a whisper, like any sound, any movement would pop the bubble they were in.
Rory thought he would have to make the first move, to get some momentum going between the two of them, but it was Nash who wrapped a hand around the back of Rory’s neck and pulled him into a kiss.
It was as good as Rory remembered—better, probably, since it felt like relief. Like there had been a hurricane minutes ago, and the ocean of his feelings was now glass-smooth. He pulled Nash in at the waist, Nash’s hand holding the camera lens pressing between their bodies. Rory broke their kiss to laugh.
“I forgot about the lens.”
Nash looked down at it like he’d never seen it in his life. “Same.”
“We should get back in there.”
“I can’t believe we have to go work for twelve hours now,” Nash grumbled. Rory was used to his grumpy face. He wasn’t used to him looking grumpy because he had to wait twelve hours before he could kiss Rory again.
Rory caught Nash’s lips in one more kiss, and smacked another on his cheek.
“Let’s go photograph some lovebirds.”