Chapter 8 #2
Bedazzling? Paint by numbers? What am I, five?
I expect Gabriel’s probably savoring this moment so he can tease me later, but the look on his face is quite the opposite and I feel awful.
After finding out about his dad—and realizing just how terrible Oliver and I must’ve come off—I have a gnawing need to fix things.
“Let me help. I know my sister has a million bags,” I say to Gabe as he heads out the door.
Ruby snaps her head up. “Oh no, dear. Gabe can manage.”
He looks at me, a sort of question mark on his face, but I flash my big First Daughter smile. “Oh, I don’t mind. I need to stretch my legs anyway after that long car ride.” I don’t wait for a response and walk out the door.
Heavy footsteps follow and Gabe quickly catches up. “Seriously, I can manage,” he says.
“And seriously, I wanted to get some air.”
He hesitates. “The last time we ventured away from the crowd, I got you in trouble.”
I scoff and stop at the top of the stairs. “You may have ordered the pizza, but I was the one who actually went outside to pick it up.”
His silence tells me he’s at least seeing my point of view. “Fine, but I’m grabbing your textbook bag. You’ve got to be the only person who brings the contents of her high school locker on summer vacation.”
“How did you know I brought textbooks?”
His brows wrinkle. “You labeled your luggage.”
I start down the stairs, glad I’m walking ahead of him, so he doesn’t see my red face. “Summer before senior year is important.”
“Sure,” he says tersely. “Prepping for college applications and senior-year courses.”
I glance back at him, nonplussed. “Exactly. You get it.”
“Not really.”
I nod. “It’s cool. Mom has been working to make sure that young people have careers with or without college.”
He laughs. “Wow, you’re a walking campaign ad.”
I wince. “Sorry, guess it’s a habit. But seriously, not judging whatever you’ve got planned after high school.”
We’re back in the foyer. “You know I’m into photography, right?” he says.
I see red, remembering my photo collection back at the White House. “How can I forget? You ruined my family’s photograph arrangement when you rearranged them.”
He pretends to be offended. “Wait. Did you say I ruined it?” He points at the photos in the inn’s foyer. Many of which I admired when we first walked in. “Most of these are my dad’s, but the more contemporary ones are mine,” he says.
I nod with appreciation at a rich collection of photographs that capture blue mountains and golden-hued countrysides, along with a diverse range of people—each telling their own story.
The ones of the night sky are particularly breathtaking.
I glance at a beaming Gabriel. I would be proud of these photos too.
All the shots are gorgeous and look expertly composed.
Gabriel continues. “These antique photos were part of my dad’s collection.” His face softens. “We used to visit countless road shows to look for them. Trust me, I can tell the difference between a daguerreotype and ambrotype, and a couple of your photos were out of order.”
My lips purse. “Okay, but the archivist I worked with—”
He arches a brow. “Did they actually see the photos?”
I stand tall. “I showed them to him over a video chat and he reviewed them closely.”
He laughs triumphantly. “Over video chat? Your amateur eye and his digital one made some rookie mistakes. No worries. I won’t tell everyone you’re not perfect.”
“B-but I’m not perfect,” I stammer.
He gives me an oh please look. “You also alphabetized your luggage.”
I squint at him. “It makes it easier to find everything.”
Instead of dignifying that with an answer, he opens the front door. I step outside and appreciate the warm breeze and the inn’s welcoming porch. I make a mental promise to have a future date with one of the rocking chairs.
“As I was saying,” Gabe says. “I’m into photography…” His voice trails off, and I can tell he’s struggling with what information is safe to share with me.
“Gabe, if there’s one thing I know about being a First Kid, it’s discretion. You can trust me.”
His copper eyes study mine and he nods. “This summer I’m working on putting my portfolio together for a competitive art program.”
My eyes widen. “Is that why you were taking photos of the art at the White House?”
He grins. “You noticed that?” I bite my lip. Maybe I noticed more details about him than I care to admit. He continues, “I’m big on light, shadows, and context. Showing important art that’s been photographed hundreds of times from a different perspective was a unique challenge.”
I recall our dinner conversation with the art philanthropist. “During dinner, you spoke quite a bit with Luca about the art school in Florence?”
I’m delighted seeing his cheeks finally color. “They have an awesome study abroad program there.”
“Aha,” I say. “You want to go there, don’t you?”
“Just for their summer program.” He looks shocked. “You’re the only person who knows about this.”
I tilt my head, surprised and feeling satisfied that Gabriel Calabrese is confiding in me.
He looks behind him like he’s checking if anyone is listening. “My mom needs a lot of help with the inn. With my dad gone, all she has is me.” My chest tightens as I nod in response. Family obligations. I’m an expert.
We reach the trunk with our bags. Even though I try to grab my bag with the books, Gabe is quick to snatch that one away from me, so instead I grab one of Elle’s toiletry bags and her large panda stuffy.
Gabe continues, “I figure a summer program wouldn’t be too big a deal, if I can manage to win a scholarship. But if I don’t get in, she’ll never be the wiser.”
I grin encouragingly at him. “You’re totally getting in.” His silence makes me second-guess my response, so I try again. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your mom either.”
He nods. “I appreciate it, but actually…” His voice trails off again. “I was thinking it might be helpful for my portfolio if I could take some pictures with you in them.”
Me? I scoff. “Are you serious?”
Gabe shuffles nervously. “I have a lot of objects and nature shots, but I’ve been looking for a subject to photograph without the whole town knowing and figuring out I’m applying to art school.”
“So, you need someone to photograph who won’t spill the beans about your summer plans?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Maybe you have a friend you trust?” Or a girlfriend. I don’t say that last part aloud.
“Sure, but you photograph well. You have great…proportions.”
I glare at him. I have great proportions.
What am I? A science experiment? Still, I weigh the pros and cons.
I’ve been sent here to get away from prying cameras, but I also respect and understand what it means for someone to chase their dreams. My whole family understands that concept, as children of immigrants and public servants.
I blow a strand of hair off my forehead.
“Fine. If we do this, I get final approval of the photos you plan on sharing.” He nods and I continue.
“And promise. No posting. Because if you do, it won’t just be me who’s upset—you’ll have an entire team of my mom’s overcaffeinated PR professionals on your tail.
” I wave a finger in his face. “You don’t want to be on their bad side.
I’ve seen their killer meme skills. It’s not pretty. ”
Gabe breaks into a nervous laugh. “Of course. I’ll get your permission before sharing anything anywhere.
Besides, I compose my photos from an artist’s perspective, not a journalist’s.
Most of the images will be of your profile or behind.
” His face reddens. “Not your behind. I meant your back. Your entire back. Not just, you know, your back. You know what I mean. Artfully composed.”
I laugh too. It’s satisfying seeing Gabe tongue-tied when he’s usually so nonchalant.
I hold up my hands for him to stop. “For art. I get it.” I think of my own bucket list and my goals to have the perfect teen summer.
Gabe’s photos would be a great opportunity for me to remember my time here—even if it’s just me reading and lounging at the inn.
“And for the photos you don’t use in your portfolio—the ones where I’m recognizable—I guess I wouldn’t mind having those for my own records,” I say.
Gabe nods. “You got it. Artsy photos for me. Candid shots for you.” I extend my hand, and we shake on it.
When we reach the porch, I pause at the steps. This time it’s my turn to get something off my chest. “Before we go in…I need to apologize for how things ended that night.”
He pauses, Elle’s pink duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “What are you talking about? If anything, I should be the one apologizing.”
I shake my head. “No. Oliver was out of line, and I didn’t stop him.”
Gabe scoffs and starts for the door.
“Wait. We didn’t know about your father. And Oliver shouldn’t have been lecturing about our parents’ expectations. It’s just—”
“Douchey?” Gabriel supplies.
“Yeah, rude. I’m sorry, and I know Oliver would apologize too if he were here, but he had some family obligations himself in Hawaii.”
A humorless smile stretches across his face. “Because he’s in Hawaii on a family vacation and he left his Pineapple Princess behind.”
“He has family obligations in Hawaii, and I have mine here,” I say. “I’ll see him again in July.”
Gabe faces me. “Exactly, and that’s why I should be the one apologizing for ruining your summer plans. You should be in Hawaii with Darby and his infinity pool. You don’t belong here, Abby.”
My arms fold across my chest. “Well, good thing I am. I just agreed to help with your photo portfolio.”
His face darkens. “Don’t worry about it.
” He’s a flash of pink and sequins from Elle’s bags as he disappears inside.
But even if Gabe remained on the porch longer, I wouldn’t have known what to say in response.
He’s right, I’m not supposed to be here—it wasn’t anything I’ve planned—but maybe what he really means is he doesn’t want me here.
And that bothers me more than I care to admit.
The inn’s pineapple sign stares me in the face. That cheerful little fruit is supposed to mean “welcome”—yet all I feel is the opposite.