Chapter 33 #2
I raised the camera again before either of us could rethink it. Morning light spilled around him in uneven lines, catching along dark fur and sharp angles while he stood there watching me with quiet patience.
He didn’t pose, didn’t try to become something more photogenic.
He simply existed exactly as he was, and somehow that made the photographs feel more honest than anything I’d captured in years.
That made him impossible to look away from.
I took another shot.
Then another.
One more when he turned slightly, attention catching on something outside, and the movement changed everything about the angle.
“Don’t move,” I instructed.
“I was not aware that I was.”
“Exactly. Stay like that.”
Click.
I glanced at the screen and groaned. “Nope.”
“What occurred?” Calder asked.
“You moved.”
Calder looked genuinely puzzled. “I adjusted one ear.”
I stared at him. “Why?”
He frowned. “There was movement.”
“You heard something?”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the trees outside the window. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“You would not.”
“Was it important?”
He considered the question. “No.”
I snorted. “Well, whatever it was owes me another picture.” I lifted the camera again. “Try not to listen to the entire forest for five seconds.”
“That seems inadvisable.”
I took another shot, this one closer.
And yeah—there it was.
That feeling again.
Not just getting the image.
Capturing him.
We moved outside not long after that, the transition easy, unspoken, like it had already been decided somewhere between coffee and the camera. The air was cooler out here, fresher, carrying the scent of damp earth and early growth.
“Is this better?” he asked.
“Oh yes, it is,” I agreed, moving around him, testing angles, light, space.
“You are still attempting to document me.”
“I’m doing a pretty great job so far.”
“That remains unverified.”
“Trust me,” I said, lowering the camera again. “You photograph well.”
“You appear unusually certain of this.”
“It’s because I am.”
That got me a look. Subtle, but there.
And yeah, I took that shot too.
“Stand still for two seconds,” I added, already repositioning.
“I am standing still.”
“You’re breathing like you’re about to bolt.”
“I am not going to bolt.”
“Great. Prove it.”
“I do not need to prove—”
Click.
Got it.
He exhaled, as if he were annoyed, but I caught the twinkle in his eye, and it dawned on me that Calder was indulging me in this spontaneous photo shoot because he wanted to please me.
God this man… this beautiful thing wanted to make me happy.
He interrupted my thoughts. “You are exploiting moments of distraction.”
“That’s literally the job.”
I approached before he could retreat, angling the camera upward as I leaned lightly into his side. “Okay. New plan.”
“What plan?”
“This one.”
I flipped the camera so both of us fit into frame.
Calder studied the screen briefly before looking back at me. “You are photographing yourself.”
“With you,” I corrected.
“That seems unnecessary.”
“Good thing you don’t get a vote.”
I took the picture before he could continue arguing. The result was honestly ridiculous. Calder looked enormous beside me, all dark fur and impossible size, while I was grinning at the camera like I’d somehow convinced a mythological creature to take school picture day seriously.
Which… technically, I had.
Laughing softly under my breath, I turned the screen so he could see it properly. “That’s us,” I said.
Calder studied the photograph much longer than I expected him to.
His attention remained on the image quietly, carefully, like he was trying to understand something beyond the picture itself.
And maybe he was.
Because for the first time, he could see himself beside someone instead of hidden from them.
“You are small,” he murmured eventually.
I barked out a laugh. “Wow. Rude.”
“It is accurate.”
“Yeah, well.” I bumped my shoulder lightly against his arm as I lowered the camera again. “You’re huge. We all have our struggles.”
That finally pulled something close to a smile from him. It was small and brief, but real enough that my heart skipped a beat.
Standing there in the middle of the trees with morning light filtering around us, this suddenly stopped feeling fragile–it felt real.
I let the camera rest against my chest, the familiar weight grounding me as Calder turned toward the trees.
He paused after only a few steps and glanced back at me. “Come,” he instructed simply.
That did something embarrassingly warm to my entire nervous system.
A few weeks ago, following a seven-foot cryptid deeper into an unfamiliar forest without hesitation would’ve sounded like the opening scene of a documentary narrated by someone with concerns about my survival instincts.
Now?
I adjusted the camera strap against my shoulder and followed him into the trees.
Calder slowed enough that I could fall easily into step beside him once I caught up, his attention flicking briefly toward me before settling forward again.
“Where are we going?” I asked, ducking beneath a low branch.
“Further.”
“Super helpful,” I muttered.
His head tilted slightly, like he was registering the tone more than the words, and I nudged him slightly as we walked, the contact brief but deliberate.
We ventured deeper into the forest, the trees thinning slightly as the terrain changed beneath our feet. The air felt different too—lighter, carrying something faintly sweet that hadn’t been there closer to the cabin.
Calder stopped near a cluster of low shrubs, their branches still bare in places but dotted with early growth, small buds and the first signs of fruit beginning to form.
“These will be ready soon,” he said, crouching slightly.
I stepped closer, adjusting the camera strap absently as I looked down. “Berries?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know they’re safe?”
He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly along one of the branches, not picking anything yet, just indicating. “Color. Scent. Structure. Growth pattern. There are similarities across species that indicate whether they sustain or harm.”
“That sounds like something I should’ve learned in school instead of… whatever I actually learned.”
“You rely on external systems for knowledge,” he replied. “I rely on observation.”
“Yeah, well, one of those systems had Wi-Fi, so I stand by my choices.”
That earned me another one of those almost-reactions from him—subtle, but there.
He straightened again, giving me space, but his attention didn’t leave me as I lifted the camera again, catching the way the light filtered through the branches behind him now, framing him differently than before.
“You are doing it again,” he stated.
“Absolutely,” I replied, snapping another shot.
“You are persistent.”
“You’re interesting,” I corrected.
He was far from uncomfortable, but attentive in a different way now, his focus lingering on me for a second longer before he glanced back toward the trees.
Desire curled low in my gut before I could stop it.
We started walking again a moment later, falling naturally back into step beside each other.
The forest felt different this far in—denser somehow, full of small sounds that layered together beneath the branches.
Leaves stirred softly overhead while movement flickered now and then through the underbrush, more alive than threatening.
Calder slowed slightly.
I noticed immediately, not because of anything obvious, but because everything in him changed at once. “Wait.”
I stilled, lowering the camera instinctively.
A rustle sounded off to the right.
Then another.
And then—
Our raccoon popped out of the brush, its ringed tail flicking once as it paused at the edge of the clearing, small dark eyes locking onto Calder like it had been expecting him.
“You’ve got a fan.”
“It is persistent,” Calder replied.
That raccoon—had to be the same one from before—waddled closer with absolutely no sense of self-preservation, stopping a few feet away before sitting upright with its tiny paws tucked against its chest like it was waiting for table service.
“You’re kidding me,” I murmured, already lifting the camera again.
More noises rattled the brush, and two more smaller raccoons emerged from opposite sides of the trail, lingering briefly at the edge of the clearing before trotting closer once they spotted Calder.
“This is a thing,” I muttered under my breath. “This is actually a thing.”