21. Teddy #2
My fingers twitch slightly against the table before I even realize it. I have the urge to shoot these two laughing, but that would be weird. Right?
“You’re doing that thing again,” Dannica says suddenly.
I blink. “What thing?”
“The staring thing.”
Mildred hums knowingly into her coffee.
“I’m observing,” I defend.
“That sounds creepier somehow.”
“It’s literally my profession.” I defend.
“That doesn’t help your case.” Dannica retorts with a mischievous smile so wide on her face my cock twitches. Not now, please not now.
I glance around the diner again to distract my body. The guy in the corner reading yesterday’s paper looks content. The cook yelling in the kitchen sounds like he needs a coffee break, but the next second he’s laughing again.
This diner teems with life. Real life. Messy and ordinary and more interesting than anything I’ve shot in ages. Suddenly, I want to see if it’s just her, if this feeling follows me outside the diner too. I push to my feet, grabbing my camera bag.
“You’re leaving already?” Dannica asks, and there’s something in the question that lands warm in my chest.
“For now.”
Mildred points at me with her coffee spoon. “You’ll be back.”
It’s not a question. The strange thing is…I think she’s right. “I’m gonna wander a little,” I say, sliding the strap over my shoulder. “See if this town has anything else worth shooting.”
Dannica’s smile curves slowly.
“Oh, it does.”
Later, I head to the print shop. The bell above the door jingles as I step inside, the scent of paper and ink welcoming me like a warm embrace.
It’s a small space, but every inch feels used, lived in.
There’s nothing polished about it, just function, just craft.
The owner looks up from behind the counter, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“You here for a pickup?”
“Yeah,” I say, setting my camera bag down. “And maybe something else.”
He hands me the prints I ordered, and I flip through them, expecting that familiar disconnect, that feeling of almost but not quite. It’s not there. They’re not perfect. But they feel closer to it. More honest.
“You do this all yourself?” I ask, nodding toward the machinery behind him.
“Been doing it thirty years,” he says with a shrug. “You learn a thing or two.”
I study him for a moment, the way he moves, the way it’s just him and his work. “Mind if I take some photos?” I ask. “Of you? While you’re working.”
He blinks. “Me?”
“Yeah.”
He hesitates for half a second, then shrugs again. “Sure. Why not. I’m Paul, by the way.”
I hold out my hand and he shakes it. “I’m Teddy.”
And just like that I’m in it. Not chasing something. Not forcing it. I capture the way his hands move. The way the light hits the press. The quiet focus in his expression. It’s simple.
It’s everything.
I stop by Luke’s place next. The bell above the door rings as I step in, a small basket tucked under my arm. He looks up from behind the counter, one eyebrow lifting when he sees me. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite accidental attacker.”
I wince. “Yeah. About that.” I set the basket down in front of him. “Peace offering.”
He eyes it, then me, before letting out a short laugh. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“But you did anyway.”
“Felt right.”
He nods once, like that’s enough. “All right,” he says, pulling the basket toward him. “I’ll forgive you.”
“Generous.”
“I am.”
He reaches behind the counter and pulls out a container. “Muffin?”
I blink. “You just carry muffins around now?”
“A customer made them,” he says, as if that explains everything.
I take one, biting into it, and I say “Okay, yeah. How do we get her to keep coming back for more repairs?”
He grins. “Right?”
We talk for a while after that and at some point, I find myself asking the same thing. “Mind if I take a few shots of you working?”
He snorts. “What, like I’m some kind of model now?”
“Trust me,” I say, already pulling out my camera, “you’ve got the vibe.”
“Damn right I do.”
And again I’m in it, catching the way he moves around the space and interacts with customers. There’s a rhythm to it that’s real and unpolished. It’s perfect.
I end up taking the long way back to the Jeep, because for the first time in months, I don’t feel like I’m chasing something.
I’m just looking. The park sits a few blocks from Main Street, tucked between a church and a row of oak trees that have probably been here longer than most of the town.
Kids dart across the grass while a couple of retirees occupy a nearby bench, arguing about something that looks serious until one of them starts laughing.
Ordinary life. The sort of thing I used to overlook.
My camera is already in my hands when I spot Shelly.
She’s sitting on a blanket beneath one of the trees with an older man.
The resemblance between them is unmistakable.
He must be her father. A golden retriever sprawls across the grass at their feet, tongue hanging out as if life has exceeded all expectations.
I almost keep walking, but then the man says something, and Shelly throws her head back laughing.
The sound carries across the park, and before I even think about it, I’m lifting the camera.
The dog tears after a tennis ball. Shelly points at something in the distance.
Her father follows her gaze. Neither of them notices me, neither of them poses.
They’re simply together, a daughter spending time with her father on a sunny afternoon.
It’s the sort of moment most people would forget by the next morning.
Then he reaches over and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.
I click the shutter even as my chest swells at the tenderness of it.
I lower the camera and glance at the screen.
The dog in the foreground. Shelly laughing.
Her father’s hand resting lightly against her cheek.
The whole thing wrapped in late-afternoon sunlight.
Real.
A few minutes later, Shelly finally notices me. “Teddy?”
I look up from the camera. “Hey.”
Her eyes narrow. “Were you taking photos of me?”
“Maybe.”
“I knew it. Fame has finally found me.”
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Actually, I wanted to show you something.”
Curiosity replaces the mock outrage. I turn the camera around and hold it out. Shelly takes one look at the screen and goes completely still. The teasing expression disappears. Her eyes stay fixed on the image for several long seconds.
“That’s my dad.”
Her voice comes out softer than usual. I glance between her and the screen.
“It’s a good photo.”
She swallows. “He’s having a really good day today.”
Something in her voice keeps me quiet.
“He has dementia.”
The words are matter-of-fact. Like she’s said them enough times that they no longer surprise her. I look back at the photograph. Suddenly, it feels more important than it did thirty seconds ago.
“He still knows who I am,” she says quietly.
“Most days anyway.” A small smile touches her lips.
“Some days he forgets where he put his keys. Some days he forgets why he walked into a room. Some days he forgets when my birthday is.” She studies the image again.
“Today he remembered my favorite ice cream.” The smile trembles slightly. “And he remembered the dog’s name.”
My chest tightens. Because I know exactly what she’s really saying. Today was a good day, today he was still here.
I look back at the photograph. “I’m glad you got today.”
Shelly nods. “So am I.”
For a moment neither of us says anything, then I hold the camera out again. “Want me to send it to you?”
Her eyes soften. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I’d really like that.”
I nod and glance back at the image. Funny, a few weeks ago I’d have walked right past this moment, looking for something bigger. Now, I can’t imagine anything more important.
By the time I head home, my camera is full.
Not of celebrities. Not of curated moments designed to impress.
But of people. People working, living, existing without trying to be anything other than what they are.
And it hits me somewhere along the drive back.
This is it. This is what I’ve been missing.
Not the scale. Not the status. This. The quiet moments.
The honest ones. The ones that don’t need to prove anything to anyone.
I pull into the apartment’s parking lot and sit there for a moment, my hands resting on the wheel, the weight of that realization settling in.
I don’t want to leave this. I don’t want to leave this town.
Most of all, I don’t want to leave her. Dannica.
I dial her number before I can overthink it. She picks up on the third ring.
“Miss me already?” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
I huff out a quiet laugh, leaning back in my seat. “What are you doing Sunday?”
“Working. Like a responsible adult.”
“Don’t you close early?”
There’s a pause. “Suspicious question.”
“Come over for dinner,” I say, my heart racing slightly.
She sucks in her breath. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“Yeah,” I say, because there’s no point pretending it’s anything else. “I am.”
I can hear her smile again, radiant and warm. “Okay,” she says.