Chapter 3
The next morning, I pull out my new camera. Photography is a hobby I packed away years ago, along with the other parts of myself. Excited to get back to it, I go down to the beach.
It’s a clear day, perfect for getting some shots of the waterfront. With the afternoon sun glittering off the powdery snow and scattering wide rays of light over the lake, I change the camera settings and adjust the lens until I’m satisfied with what I see through the viewfinder.
When I crouch down to capture the different angles of the white shore against the slate blue of the water, I hear a dog barking in loud, rusty woofs behind me.
Alarmed, I turn around and see big paws chopping through the snow, charging toward me.
With a screech, I stumble back, trying to keep my balance but land smack on my butt.
A sharp whistle brings the dog skidding to a halt in front of me, its large, wrinkled face inches from mine.
“Nice, doggy,” I whisper, my breath growing shallow as I stare at the dripping jowls.
Over four million people are bitten by dogs every year.
I know this because one of my quirky coping mechanisms is reciting trivia.
My head is filled with all kinds of random information that sometimes helps ground me in a stressful situation.
Although this particular statistic isn’t helpful right now.
But looking into those big, brown, droopy eyes, I’m pretty sure I’m not about to be mauled—slobbered on, maybe.
“Bitsy, heel!” The owner jogs up, his command firm yet gentle. Bitsy immediately sits on her rump. He extends a gloved hand, helping me to my feet.
Great! I’ve once again made a graceless spectacle of myself in front of Chaz Delgado.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m okay. Just startled.” I dust off my snow pants. I’m not used to dogs that don’t fit neatly inside designer handbags.
“Bitsy’s excitable but very friendly. Aren’t you, girl?” She looks up at him with adoration, which I’d wager is his usual effect on women. He smiles at her and scratches her head. “I’m dog-sitting today.”
“Oh, she’s not yours?”
“I’ve known her since she was a pup, but no. She’s part of the Vargas family. They’re away visiting friends.”
They must have a sense of humor as there’s nothing bitsy about a St. Bernard that, on its hind legs, would be nearly as tall as me.
However, it’s not her size that has my attention.
I become acutely aware of just how big Chaz is.
I don’t usually need to look up at a man.
But it’s not just his height; it’s the way he fills the space.
I’ve never thought about size in an intimate way before. But standing this close, I wonder what it would feel like to have all that broad, thick strength against me, around me.
“Are you a photographer?” He glances at the camera.
Thankfully, his question cuts through my wayward thoughts—so unfamiliar to me.
“It’s a hobby.” Then, on impulse, I ask, “Would you mind?”
“Mind what?”
“If I got some shots of you and Bitsy.”
“Sure. What do you want us to do?”
“Nothing.” He looks perfect there, outrageously handsome in a dark olive parka that stretches across his wide chest, accompanied by his furry companion against the backdrop of the waterfront.
I focus my lens on them, and Chaz flashes me a smile that does that twisty thing to my stomach.
He really should come with a warning label: Getting too close may cause choking, tingling, and tummy flutters.
Sensing the attention, Bitsy tilts her head to the side in a comical pose that makes us laugh.
“I’m getting some great shots,” I say, clicking away. “I figured you’d be comfortable in front of the camera.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Videos of your performances.” I didn’t mean to let that slip, so I rush on to explain. “After being impressed with the song I heard you sing yesterday, I checked out some of your other music online.” I’m understating the fact that I stayed up to the wee hours stalking him like some fangirl.
“And?” he asks, regarding me with anticipation. “What did you think?”
“Your sound is unique. I like the soulful play of R&B infused with Latin. It’s modern with hints of old-school. Like the best of Marc Anthony, Miguel, and Giveon combined with your own flair.”
“Thanks, that’s high praise. You really gave it serious thought.”
“Well, you asked, and I didn’t just want to say that your music’s fantastic. I’m sure you already know that.”
“It never hurts to hear it from a beautiful woman.”
I give him a withering look. “Turn toward the water for a sec.”
Chaz obliges me, and I capture him in the sun’s reflection, clicking away. Once again, I get that strange feeling that I know him from somewhere. But it’s still so vague, and I have nothing concrete to pull from.
“Thank you,” I say, finally lowering my camera. Without it, I feel more exposed, and the nerves come back.
“Paw,” Chaz says, and Bitsy lifts one large paw off the ground. “She’ll stay like that until you shake it.”
“Oh.” I gingerly shake her paw. “It was nice to meet you, Bitsy.”
“When do I get to see the photos?” he asks.
“I’ll probably have them developed in a day or two. That way, I can see what I did well and where I need to improve. I can make copies for you to share with Bitsy’s family.”
“I don’t want to put you through any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. Just keep in mind that I might be a little rusty. It’s been years since I picked up a camera.”
“Why did you stop?”
“That’s a long story.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
Skilled at looking at a woman like she’s the most vital thing in the world, I force myself to shake away the feeling. “Maybe another time.”
“How about over the best seafood on the bay and a bottle of wine?”
A date? I slip my hand inside my pocket and squeeze. I could not possibly go on a date with him. “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“The seafood or the wine?”
“Both.”
“Is there someone back in Chicago?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m here on a solo retreat of sorts.”
“And that doesn’t include eating?”
“It does, but alone.”
“Six weeks is a long time to eat alone,” he notes.
“Time by myself is what I need.”
“Why’s that?”
“Part of that long story,” I hedge.
“Looks like I’m striking out here,” he whispers to the dog then gazes back at me. “It’s a standing offer in case you change your mind. Like, Bitsy, you’ll find me pretty harmless.”
My heart gives an excited, nervous thump as I climb up the embankment toward the boardwalk, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
When I’m several yards away, I can’t quite resist glancing over my shoulder to take one last look at him, still standing there with Bitsy. I swear she’s grinning.
He waves, and I squirm inside my jacket. Harmless? Try telling that to my jangled system.