27. Teddy
TEDDY
THE FOCAL POINT ALL ALONG
“Teddy, where are we going?”
“You ask that every time we get in the Jeep.”
“Because every time we get in the Jeep, you refuse to tell me.”
I glance across at her and smirk. “Almost like it’s working.”
Dannica crosses her arms, but the smile tugging at her mouth ruins the effect.
Ten minutes later, I pull up outside the old community hall.
She looks at the building, then back at me. “This is your surprise?”
“You’re very judgy for someone who hasn’t seen it yet.”
“I reserve the right to judge community halls on sight.”
I get out and walk around to open her door. “Come on.”
Inside, she slows to a stop. At first, I don’t think she understands what she’s looking at. Then her gaze moves from one wall to the next. Photographs cover every available space. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.
“Teddy...”
She barely breathes my name. I don’t answer. I don’t want to interrupt whatever she’s seeing. She wanders deeper into the room, moving from frame to frame.
Mr. Davenport on a park bench, smiling at something outside the frame.
Shelly and her dad laughing together. Luke, covered in flour and looking horrified that I caught him singing to bread dough.
A little girl crouched in the grass watching a ladybug crawl across her finger.
Mrs. Holloway carrying flowers home from the market.
Beverly talking with both hands while the poor bastard standing opposite her looks like he’s forgotten how to escape. The whole town is here. Living.
Her hand lifts to her mouth. “You photographed everyone.”
“Not everyone.”
She turns to look at me.
“I photographed the town.” A smile tugs at my mouth.
“Yeah.”
She turns back to the walls, taking it all in. The laughter. The quiet moments. The tiny things most people would walk straight past without ever noticing.
“They’re beautiful.”
“They are.”
Something in my voice makes her look back at me. I haven’t taken my eyes off her.
“You know what I realized after I got here?”
She shakes her head.
“For years, I thought I’d stopped loving photography.” My gaze drifts back to the photographs. “Turns out that wasn’t it.”
Silence settles between us.
“I stopped seeing people.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“When I first picked up a camera, it wasn’t because I wanted famous clients or gallery exhibitions. I wanted to capture moments. Somewhere along the way, everything became bigger. More expensive, more important.” I let out a quiet laugh. “At least that’s what I convinced myself.”
“You photographed celebrities.”
“Yeah.”
“You won awards.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re saying none of that mattered?”
“It mattered.” I meet her eyes again. “Just not for the reason I started.” I gesture around the room. “This does.” She follows my hand across the photographs. “You did this, Dannica.”
Her head snaps toward me. “What?”
“You.”
She laughs softly. “I definitely didn’t take these.”
“No.” I close the distance between us. “But you reminded me what I was looking for. The way you see people, actually see them, is the reason why I started looking again. You notice people, Dannica. You always have. You see the things everyone else walks past, and somehow you make them matter.”
Her smile disappears.
“I thought I came to Boudica Springs to find photography again.”
I look around the room before settling on her.
“Turns out I just needed someone to remind me what was worth photographing.”
When I turn to face her, she’s crying. I move in and wipe the tears gathered on her cheeks with my thumb. She steps in closer and kisses me, her tears salty on my lips. “Thank you. This is the best gift ever.”
“No, Dannica. Thank you.”
I dip down and kiss her again, deepening it this time. I break away before our mugshots are in the local paper for indecent exposure. We’re both a little breathless.
“Oh, and I have this.”
I hand over the little booklet Mary helped me make for her.
She smiles as she takes it, running her fingers over the cover before opening it.
The first page has a headline.
brEAKING NEWS: MR. DAVENPORT SAVES DUCKLINGS FROM DRAIN. DECLARES THEM “GOOD KIDS.”
Underneath, in smaller writing, it says:
You wrote this after I climbed into the storm drain to rescue them. I’d forgotten all about it until Teddy asked if you’d ever made up one of your headlines about me. — Mr. Davenport
Dannica lets out a tiny laugh and turns the page.
LOCAL BAKER REFUSES PAYMENT FROM LITTLE BOY BUYING HIS MOTHER A BIRTHDAY CUPCAKE. CLAIMS HIS SMILE WAS ENOUGH.
You said kindness should always make the front page. — Mrs. Ellis
She blinks, turns the page.
brEAKING: SHELLY O’DONAGUE PRETENDS SHE DOESN’T LIKE KIDS. IMMEDIATELY MAKES ELEVEN PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICHES FOR THEM.
You caught me. — Shelly
A smile tugs at her mouth.
MARY JOHNSON CROWNED UNDISPUTED CHAMPION OF MAKING EVERY LONELY CUSTOMER FEEL LIKE FAMILY.
I’d never thought anyone noticed. — Mary
Dannica’s smile falters.
QUADRI OSMAN SOLVES TOWN’S FUNDRAISER BEFORE FINISHING HER COFFEE. DECLINES TO TAKE CREDIT.
You always noticed the quiet things. — Quadri
She swallows.
brEAKING NEWS: LOCAL TOWN SECRETLY LOOKS AFTER ITS OWN. FILM AT ELEVEN.
Beneath it are dozens of signatures.
She slowly looks up at me. “Teddy...”
I rub the back of my neck. “I asked everyone if they remembered one of your headlines.”
“You... what?”
“I thought maybe a handful would.”
I smile. “Turns out nearly everyone had one.”
She looks back down at the booklet. There are more pages, more headlines. Small moments she’d forgotten almost as soon as she’d said them.
A father helping his daughter learn to ride a bike.
Mrs. Newberry quietly paying someone’s overdue library fines.
A teenager shoveling old Mrs. Carter’s driveway before school.
Mr. Davenport fixing a little girl’s kite with fishing line because it was all he had.
None of them were world-changing, but every single one had mattered to someone.
A tear slips down her cheek. “I thought nobody remembered these.”
“They did.” I gently close the booklet with my hand resting over hers. “They didn’t remember them because they were funny.”
She looks at me.
“They remembered them because you saw them.”
I glance around the room. While she’d been preoccupied with the book, the town had slowly crept in. I don’t know how they did it, but they did. Every face is turned toward her. Smiling. Waiting.
“You’ve spent years making people feel seen, Dannica.” My voice softens. “You just never realized they were seeing you too.”
She looks around the hall.
At Mr. Davenport.
Mary.
Shelly.
Quadri.
Mrs. Newberry.
Grandma Mildred.
All the people she’d spent years serving. People she’d seen.
“I thought...” Her voice breaks. “I thought I was just making silly headlines.”
“They were never silly.” I squeeze her hand. “They were stories.”
Another tear rolls down her cheek as she clutches the booklet to her chest.
For years, Dannica believed becoming a writer meant leaving this town behind. Standing in this room, surrounded by the people she’d unknowingly written about, she finally understood.
She hadn’t been waiting to become a writer.
She’d been one all along.