Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“How many people have signed up?”
“Eleven.” Marco poked away at the computer in Austin’s gallery. “Just one spot left.”
“That’s pretty good for the first night photography workshop of the summer season,” Austin said. He locked the front door and flipped the Open sign to Closed. Out on the street, other shops were also beginning to close up for the evening while the restaurants and cafés were starting to see a brisk business.
Downtown Windsor had an Old West vibe that Austin had always loved. His studio and gallery—aptly and unoriginally named Austin MacIsaac Photography—was squished between an outdoor outfitters and a store selling leather goods, and directly across from him was a homemade ice cream shop.
“That workshop doesn’t usually fill up?” Marco asked.
“Not in June,” Austin told him, striding toward his assistant at the checkout counter. “It still gets cold at night in June. No one wants to be outside at ten o’clock at night when it’s less than forty degrees. Not unless they have to.”
Marco tucked a strand of shoulder-length hair behind his ear. “Didn’t you say it was minus something with the windchill when you were photographing the Orion Nebula in Cornwall last winter?”
“ Bitterly cold I believe is how I described it. But I was being paid for that. These people are paying me to stand out in the cold.”
Not that Austin was complaining. His photography assignments for Wyoming Traveler and Traveler’s Digest Yearly paid his mortgage, the sale of his prints and art from his gallery paid his bills, and his workshops provided a little extra.
Plus, they were fun. Teaching was so much more fulfilling than he’d ever expected it to be. And he loved the intimate setting of his maximum twelve-people workshops—limiting enrollment gave him the chance to get to know his students and mentor them more personally than if he were teaching a group of thirty.
In fact, he was hoping to get his workshops into Central Wyoming College’s outreach center in nearby Jackson so he could offer them more frequently. Had already submitted a proposal to the college to do just that.
Hovering over Marco’s shoulder, he squinted at the computer screen. “What’s the experience level with this group?”
“Most came from one of your previous workshops. A couple of them are new with self-proclaimed advanced knowledge of a DSLR camera.”
Austin grunted. He’d see whether or not that was true at tonight’s first lesson. “Anything from the college?”
Marco navigated to Austin’s email. “Not yet.”
A pang of disappointment hit Austin square in the chest, but Marco continued before it could settle in.
“You do have an email from someone named Hedda Haarstad from the Norwegian School of Photography.”
“Oh yeah?” Austin grinned at the thought of his mentor. “How is Hedda?”
Marco frowned at him over his shoulder. “You know her?”
“Mm-hmm. She’s the reason I got to go on a photography expedition in the Lofoten Islands my senior year of college.”
“Are those the photos that won you that award?”
“Yeah.”
The Night Sky Photographer of the Year Award had launched his career. Not that he was famous or anything. He was no Ansel Adams. But if someone googled night sky photography , Austin’s name was one of the first to pop up in the results. He’d submitted a portfolio of images that had won him the grand prize: an exhibition, his portfolio submission displayed in the National Maritime Museum—the host of the competition—and ten thousand pounds.
It had gotten him noticed by Wyoming Traveler and Traveler’s Digest Yearly magazines. He’d also had a short stint as one of the photographers on staff for a night sky magazine, but he and the creative director hadn’t seen eye to eye. Austin had cut his losses there and quit before things could get heated.
“Do you want me to respond to Hedda?”
“Nah,” Austin said. “I’ll get back to her tomorrow. What’s her email say?”
“She wants to know if?—”
Austin’s phone chimed with an incoming call, and he pulled it out of his pocket. It lit up with his brother’s photo.
Frowning, Austin stepped away from Marco. “Sorry, Marco. Give me a second.”
If it was after seven in Windsor, then it was after one o’clock in the morning in England. If his brother was calling at this hour, it couldn’t mean anything good. Braced for the worst, Austin stepped behind a wall displaying photos of Gannett Peak against a backdrop of stars and put the phone to his ear. “Ben? Is everything okay?”
“Hey.” Ben sounded tired but... okay. There was a hint of strain to his voice but nothing to indicate urgency. “Yeah, all good. Just on my way home from work, so I wanted to call and say hi.”
“Work? But...” Austin leaned against the wall and stared sightlessly out his front window. “I thought you had an office job. Creating videos for social media, right?”
“Yeah, that was...” Ben blew out an audible breath. “I don’t know. It wasn’t... It wasn’t for me.”
That was what Ben had said about his last job. And the one before that. And the one before that . And the one before that if Austin remembered correctly.
“Ben...” Austin hesitated. Ben wasn’t without his pride, but as his older brother, Austin was worried about him. “Are you okay? Do you need money? Do you need?—”
“No,” Ben interrupted, a thread of steel entering his voice. “I’m fine. Just figuring myself out.”
Frustration and concern burning through his veins, Austin swallowed a protest. Ben had been figuring himself out since he’d first flown to London in his junior year of college for a semester abroad. He’d been figuring himself out since he’d decided to stay there.
That had been almost three years ago.
Ben was ten years Austin’s junior—the same age as Las. In fact, Ben and Las had been best friends growing up, until they’d become something more, and then nothing at all when Ben had stayed in England. He’d made some questionable decisions in the past few years, but he was still Austin’s baby brother. They’d been close despite the decade between them, and Austin missed him, but more than that, he was worried about him.
It was all well and good that Ben wanted to figure himself out, but Austin had a feeling there was more to it than that. He’d visited Ben several times since he’d moved across the pond, and every time, Austin was tempted to bundle his brother up and bring him back home with him.
“All right.” Austin passed a hand down his face. “Tell me about your new job. What’s got you out so late?”
“I’m bartending at a club. The pay’s pretty good and the tips are nice.”
“You saving up for something?”
Maybe a plane ticket back home?
“No,” Ben said with a laugh. “Just the regular stuff. Rent, food, bus fare.”
“You still like living in London?”
Austin didn’t miss the telling pause. “Yeah.” Nor the forced enthusiasm. “What’s not to like?”
Closing his eyes, Austin leaned his head back against the wall.
Christ. What the hell was keeping his brother so far away when he was so obviously miserable?
“Do you think you might visit soon?” Austin asked quietly. “I miss you, kiddo.”
“Mm. Maybe.”
As noncommittal as always. Funny, because Ben never used to be noncommittal. He’d always known what he wanted.
So what had changed?
“Tell me what’s going on over there,” Ben said in a terrible attempt at a subject change. “How are things with you?”
Austin bit back everything he wanted to say, every plea to come home, and gave his brother what he asked for.