Chapter 3 #2
I can’t draw to save my life, but I give it my best attempt at sketching a tiny airplane.
I read it over twice, fussing over the wording, before folding it.
I hold it for a few more doubtful seconds.
Tony plucks it from my hands, preventing me from overthinking it and writing it all over again.
He drops it into what I now consider the note drawer.
“This little pen pal arrangement you got me involved in…” he says with a smile. “I might start charging commission. If it weren’t for the fact that I hadn’t heard Josh laugh in months until he met you, I’d have shut it down after the first one.”
Something in me catches at that. I feel accomplished, knowing I was able to bring those few minutes of joy back into his life. Like I’ve aced a test I didn’t even know I was taking.
The urge to do it again builds up like a tornado, wanting to chase that feeling, determined to keep making him laugh for as long as I can.
“Can I have the note back?” I ask, fully intending to rewrite the whole thing into a comedy monologue.
Tony shakes his head with a smug smile. “Nice try.”
My phone, which had been resting on the counter, starts ringing loudly. Emma’s probably wondering why I haven’t texted her yet.
“It’s getting late. I should get home,” I say, tucking Harrison’s note in my wallet next to the other one and grabbing my purse.
“When will you be back?” Tony asks casually.
“Oh, isn’t he sneaky,” I reply, smirking. “You’ll have to tell Harrison to be patient.”
I text Emma on the way home, snapping a picture of the note. I promise to call during her lunch break. She doesn’t answer right away. Probably in a state of shock. But when she does, the messages come in fast and furious.
Emma
I can’t believe this is happening.
Like, what?!
He’s being so open about the fact that he is into you!
Julia!!! 2023’s sexiest man alive is into YOU!
I’m not going to lie—I’m a bit jealous.
Emma’s excitement makes me giddy.
His notes bring out something in me that I haven’t felt in a long time. Which is exactly why I know I’m stepping into dangerous territory.
We’re all gathered around Max—the designated photographer—watching as he turns his camera in all sorts of angles, snapping pictures of the models wearing the spring lineup. He crouches low, then suddenly springs back up without a single shake of the knees.
The light is doing half of the work for him.
For the first time in a week, the sun lays a soft gold over everything.
The setting is gorgeous—the grass and the trees look impossibly green, practically glowing.
The air smells like fresh-cut grass, clean and crisp with a subtle earthiness to it, a little wild.
The kind that makes stress melt with a big, deep inhale.
“Are you sure you don’t want to give it a go?” Max turns toward me.
Claire had beaten us all here and clearly wasted no time debriefing him about my wasted potential. I haven’t had a chance to present my case against it—not that my fear and past experiences would win the argument anyway.
“It’s okay,” I say, dismissing it with a shrug. “I didn’t even bring my camera.”
“Nonsense! Use mine.” He shoves it into my chest. “We’re almost done here. You can finish us off.”
I’m about to protest. Claire must see it coming because she pulls him aside before I can give it back.
And just like that, it’s in my hands.
The weight of the lens is a memory I didn’t even know I missed. It’s been so long—ever since the local competition fiasco a year and a half ago.
I’m shaking, and my hands start sweating slightly. I have no idea what to say to the models. I’m probably going to embarrass myself, but the camera is calling my name.
I lift it up to my face, and the park falls into place. It’s just me, the eyepiece, the light, and the models. Everything slows down.
The way the shadows draw on different parts of their clothes and skin.
The shine bouncing off a pair of sunglasses dangling from a collar.
I start directing with small gestures and barely audible words.
My style might be different from the norm, but that’s okay—I still cherish finding the magic in everyday routines.
I don’t stop until Max comes back and taps me on the shoulder. Startled, I lower the camera and give him a sheepish smile. I’ve gotten completely carried away.
“That was fun,” I tell him, handing him the camera. It was more than fun. It was exhilarating. “You can get rid of all of them. I doubt they’re any good.”
“No, no, no,” he says, offended. “Only good thoughts. I’ll forward them to your work email when they’re ready.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.”
More than he’ll ever know. Even if those photos never see the light of day, they’ve already done what they needed to. They’ve brought some of my long-lost passion back.
By the time I’m off work, the next note is no longer a want so much as it is a need. I give myself some grace. It’s Friday, after all. Truthfully, I’m impressed I managed to wait a whole forty-eight hours.
“Took you long enough,” Tony says, pulling out the piece of paper from the drawer. “Patience is one of the best qualities a man can have.”
A woman calls him over from the other side of the bar. I nod, assuring him I’m all set, and he goes on serving drinks.
I tell myself it’s paper and ink. But my fingers grip it like it’s something more. For a second, the noise quiets down, and people start fading away until it’s just me.
I’m not wondering when it comes to you because, as you so nicely stated in your last note, my chances are nonexistent. Hence, debunking the ulterior motive theory.
Also, it’s been nice not being treated as a celebrity 24/7. Usually? It’s pretty terrible. When I was in college, I was really passionate about acting—still am—but I never wanted any of the fame that comes with it.
Nothing we experience in life is a waste—not if you take it as an opportunity to learn and grow. Whatever happened, it got you here, didn’t it?
Now that I know there’s a countdown on your time here, and as much as I’m enjoying this strange form of communication we’ve got going… it isn’t enough. I trust you’ll keep this safe: 204-577-1306. You don’t have to. But I’ll be waiting.
x Josh.