19. Zoe
NINETEEN
ZOE
I had forgotten how damn picturesque my hometown was.
In the years since I’d been away, downtown Poplar Springs had been revitalized and welcomed in more small businesses, so the formerly floundering Main Street was now bustling.
I got down on my knees, then brought my trusty Nikon up to my eye and snapped another beautiful shot of the bright blue sky peeking from behind a historic red brick building.
The overflowing window boxes filled with yellow blooms made the image pop.
The ranch’s website was so close to perfect, but I still had a few sections I needed to punch up, like the “Visit Poplar Springs” page.
But everything was falling into place perfectly, and my morning photography session was proving to be super successful.
I paused to flip through my camera roll.
The long shot of the horse “parked” outside the pharmacy showed how quirky the town could be, but the images of people enjoying Prosecco outside The Bite and Brew sold the idea that it also had something sophisticated to offer the discerning traveler.
Then there was the series that showed how seamlessly Poplar Springs had woven nature into the town center, with photos of trees in bloom and the impressive park that anchored the place.
Hell, if I hadn’t grown up here and only had my photos to go on, I’d consider moving to the picturesque town!
I waved as the sheriff drove past. I vaguely remembered him from school—Brian Thorne.
Shannon used to have a bit of a crush on him back in the day, even though he was a few years younger than us.
I watched him park in front of the police station and saunter inside.
Yep, I could totally see that. I moved to a new spot and dropped to my knees again to snag a shot of a gigantic cow painted on the side of a brick building.
I peeked at the image and realized that I needed to get even lower to frame the cow with the mountains in the distance.
I dropped to my belly, fully aware that the small rip along the pocket of my jeans was slowly morphing into a bigger one.
“Excuse me,” a voice said from behind me.
I turned awkwardly from my splayed out position on the ground and saw a gray-haired woman in bright flowy clothing smiling at me. I stood up quickly. “I’m sorry, am I on your property? I can leave, I just wanted to?—”
“No, no, please don’t stop what you’re doing!” the woman said, waving her hands at me. “It’s fine, I just wanted to ask if you’re a professional photographer.”
I frowned. Was I supposed to get a permit to take photos?
“Um…yes?”
“Oh, that’s wonderful! I’ve been looking for a photographer. Would you mind if I took a peek at what you’ve been shooting today? I was over at Carly’s Coffee and Treats watching you from the window. You’re very… focused .”
I smiled. That was one way to put it.
“What type of project? ”
“My name is Carol and I’m a real estate agent.
I’ve always taken my own photos for listings.
” She reached into her purse and fished out a business card.
“They’re dreadful, but they usually manage to get the job done.
I’ve got this one house, over on Deacon Drive…
I just can’t capture it. It’s the sweetest little cottage that’s been empty for months.
The problem is it seems tiny in photos, so no one wants to look at it.
Watching the way you contorted yourself to get your photos made me think that you might have some ideas for the place that hadn’t occurred to me.
” She paused and gestured toward my camera. “Do you mind if I take a peek?”
“No, of course, have a look.” I smiled. “But they’re raw right now. I always play with the color and framing to optimize the images.”
I showed the woman how to flip through the photos and handed my camera over. I watched Carol’s face as she scrolled through them and saw her eyebrows raise with each successive image.
“Wow. These are beautiful, you’ve got such an eye! You’re a talented photographer.”
A distinguished looking man in a fitted navy suit passing by stopped in his tracks.
“I’m sorry, did you say she’s a photographer?” He pointed at me.
“I am,” I answered, straightening my back.
“Wow.” He looked visibly relieved. “This has to be fate. I work at Cornerstone Bank and we’re getting ready to take our employee headshots for our annual report, but the photographer I hired backed out.
I’ve been trying to find someone but since it’s wedding season, everyone is booked.
Any chance you have space on your calendar? ”
“Um, how soon would you need them?” I hoped he’d throw out a date that was before I had to leave .
“In two weeks. I don’t even know your rates and of course I’d like to see your portfolio before I sign anything, but if you’re available, I definitely want to talk next steps with you.
” He reached into his jacket pocket and handed me his business card.
“I’m Andrew Bridger, President of Cornerstone.
Honestly, usually my assistant handles this stuff, but we’re all scrambling to find someone. Can I get your card?”
“Sure,” I answered as I jogged over to my camera bag.
I dug through, hoping I still had a few of the generic business cards left that I’d made ages ago.
They were black with just my name, old portfolio website, and contact info printed in clean white lettering.
There were two nestled in the side pocket.
“Here you go,” I said as I handed them out. “You can call, text, or email, I answer to anything.”
“You really are talented,” Andrew said as he flipped through the images. “Looking forward to talking soon.” He handed my camera back and walked away like he was late for a meeting.
“Would you be willing to help with the forgotten cottage too?” Carol asked with hope in her voice. “It’s not as fancy a gig as bank headshots, but it’s easy and I pay well.”
“Of course, I’d be happy to help out,” I said, still in shock over how much had changed in the past ten minutes.
We made plans to connect and look at schedules later that day, and as Carol walked away, it struck me that I’d just interacted with two strangers in my hometown who were absolutely lovely.
Neither one had judged me for wearing a faded band T-shirt and ripped jeans despite the fact that they were both dressed for work.
And they’d loved every single photo I’d taken, even the quirky ones of panting dogs.
It was the first time since being back that I’d interacted with people other than the Caffertys, who didn’t make me feel out of place. I looked around the revitalized town with fresh eyes. Maybe old Poplar Springs wasn’t so bad after all?