Chapter 9
Sierra arrived at Bean and Bloom twenty minutes early. Not fashionably early. Not I was in the area early. Full-blown, I-planned-this-with-the-precision-of-a-NASA-launch early.
She ordered a lavender chai latte because it sounded artistic and vaguely romantic. With one sip, she regretted everything. It tasted of flowers and anxiety.
Cradling the warm cup as if it might suddenly reveal wisdom, she sat at her favorite table near the window, then closer to the counter, then back to the window again.
She pulled out her phone. Put it away. Opened her portfolio folder.
Closed it. Checked her hair in the napkin dispenser’s reflection.
Dropped two sugar packets trying to look casual.
“Okay, Sierra. You are calm, composed, and drinking this purple regret tea like a woman who absolutely has her life together.”
The door chimed. Sierra looked up and forgot how to breathe.
Lauren stepped inside, and suddenly the whole café felt warmer.
Cropped denim jacket. Soft gray tee. Black jeans that made Sierra want to write a poem.
Her long black hair looked messy enough to look effortless.
There was shimmer on her cheekbones and a calm in her smile that made Sierra’s stomach forget how to be still.
The tote bag slung over Lauren’s shoulder revealed the telltale end of a brush handle poking out, like a flag announcing she’d come in peace with pigment.
Lauren spotted her, and her smile widened, easy and warm. “I knew you’d be early.”
Sierra stood up, nerves scrambling. “I like to survey the caffeine landscape. Very tactical.”
Lauren laughed. “How’s the survey going?”
“I panicked and ordered lavender chai. It tastes as if regret wore perfume.”
“Bold move.” Lauren said, setting her bag down and pulling out the chair across from her. “I’ll go with an oat milk latte, but I respect the chaos.”
Sierra smiled, the tightness in her chest easing. “Chaos is part of my brand. Right up there with bad impulse decisions and deeply awkward silences. I’m basically a lifestyle influencer.”
Lauren chuckled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing another flicker of highlighter. The light hit right. Sierra had to blink.
“Let me grab my drink. Don’t vanish.” Lauren rose with the same unhurried grace.
Sierra nodded, trying not to vibrate out of her seat. She thought about texting Thalia something dramatic like Abort mission, she’s prettier in natural light, but preserved her dignity.
Lauren returned a few minutes later, latte in hand, and settled across from her again.
“This is for you.” Sierra pushed the small white folder across the table. “A few shots from the shoot. I thought maybe we could go over them?”
Lauren opened it. Her expression shifted as she flipped through the glossy images. Her gaze softened, mouth parting slightly. “These are stunning. You made the shimmer look like stardust, and I look calm here. That never happens. You have a genuine gift.”
Heat rose in Sierra’s cheeks. “I try to capture what’s already there. Most people don’t realize how much they’re saying without words. But you...” She paused, then pressed forward, “You say a lot. In the best way.”
Lauren looked up, lips curled into something amused and knowing. “Do you rehearse compliments before coffee dates?”
“I tried. My cat judged me. Harshly.”
Lauren grinned and leaned in, eyes catching on the charm at Sierra’s collarbone. “That’s a cute necklace.”
Sierra opened her mouth to respond, but Lauren reached out first. Her fingertips brushed the tiny gold pendant, a camera charm, barely grazing her skin.
“A camera. I love it.” Lauren’s eyes still on it.
Sierra forgot how to inhale. The brush of contact was featherlight, but her entire chest hummed as if she’d touched a live wire.
Lauren’s gaze finally lifted. She didn’t apologize. Just smiled. Soft and unbothered. A little dangerous.
Sierra cleared her throat. “It was a gift from me to me after my first paid shoot. Not expensive, but it’s meaningful.”
Lauren nodded. “It suits you. Quietly powerful and intentional.”
They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks as the café buzzed around them. The espresso machine hissed. A barista laughed behind the counter. Morning light filtered through the windows, scattering leafy shadows across the floor.
Sierra glanced up. “What’s your favorite part of your job that no one ever asks about?”
Lauren blinked, clearly surprised. Her shoulders relaxed as she leaned back, eyes thoughtful.
“No one ever asks that. I think it’s when someone looks in the mirror and says, ‘I didn’t know I could look like that.
’ Not because of the makeup, but because of the shift.
Like you held up a version of them they’d never seen before. ”
Sierra felt it. That silent click of something falling into place. Not an attraction. Not even understanding. Recognition.
“That’s what I love about photography. Those moments. The pause. That blink when someone sees themselves differently.”
They sat in it for a while, whatever this was. Whatever it was becoming.
Lauren traced the rim of her cup with her finger. “Can I ask you something? How did your family react when you decided to become a photographer? Like, as a career?”
Sierra’s smile faltered slightly. “They’re... practical people. My parents wanted something more stable. Dad still asks about my ‘backup plan’ sometimes. Mom still introduces me as ‘our daughter who takes pictures’ like it’s a hobby that got out of hand.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“Sometimes, but my siblings get it. Especially my brother Tobias. He’s the one who actually convinced me to take my first paid gig. Said I’d regret not trying more than I’d regret failing.” Sierra’s expression softened. “What about your family?”
Lauren’s fingers stilled on her cup. Something flickered across her face, too quick to read. “It’s complicated. But I love that your brother saw your potential before you did. That’s rare.”
The way Lauren deflected made Sierra want to ask more, but she sensed a boundary. Instead, she asked, “What made you choose makeup artistry? Was it always the plan?”
“God, no.” Lauren laughed, but it held a note Sierra couldn’t identify.
“I was supposed to be a lot of things. But makeup... it was the first time I felt like I could help people see themselves the way I saw them. Like I could give them permission to be beautiful. I was obsessed with watching makeup artists online. Nikkie de Jager was huge for me. Seeing someone who was so confident and talented and herself. She made me believe I could do this, too.”
“Permission?”
“Some people need it. The world tells us we’re too much or not enough, and makeup becomes this armor. Or this revelation. Both, maybe.” Lauren’s eyes met Sierra’s. “Photography does that, too, doesn’t it? Shows people versions of themselves they didn’t know existed?”
Sierra felt that recognition again, deeper this time. “All the time. My art students especially... they’ll create something and look at it like they can’t believe it came from them.”
“Exactly.” Lauren leaned forward. “It’s not about the makeup or the camera. It’s about the moment someone realizes they’ve been holding back.”
Lauren tilted her head. “You’re easy to talk to. Like suspiciously easy. Are you a therapist in disguise?”
“Only if we bill by awkward monologue. I’ve got enough material for a ten-part series.”
Lauren laughed again and glanced at her watch. “I hate this part. I have a client in forty.”
“Real life ruins everything.” Sierra managed a small smile.
Lauren grabbed her bag, then paused. “I liked this. We should do it again. Not only for work.”
Sierra’s heart threatened to break through her ribs. “Yeah. I’d love that.”
Lauren reached out and gently touched her wrist. Her fingers lingered.
“See you soon, Camera Girl.”
Then she turned, walking toward the exit with all the devastating calm of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. The bell over the door chimed. Sunlight poured in, and she was gone.
Sierra sat there, clutching her chai of poor decisions, her brain looping the same phrase over and over.
She called me camera girl.
From across the café, the barista gave her a look that said, girl, yay. With a hesitant smile, Sierra offered an awkward thumbs-up to signal she was okay, and somehow, beneath it all, she was.