Chapter 3 #2
Cole took over the dangerous part without making Alan feel stupid. He kept the line controlled, talked him through where to stand, and handled the ray carefully beside the boat rather than hauling it onto the deck for a trophy photograph.
Alan looked disappointed for maybe two seconds.
Then Cole explained what they had caught and why leaving the animal in the water was safer for everyone, including the ray.
By the time he cut it loose, Alan was nodding like this had been his idea all along.
I caught that too.
Competence without humiliation.
I had spent years photographing weddings, which meant I had watched more men fail at that distinction than I cared to count.
The morning warmed. The water brightened from steel blue to something almost tropical.
Sweat gathered between my shoulder blades under my tank top.
I switched lenses, drank water, wiped spray from the front element, checked exposure, and backed up my favorite frames in my head because apparently trauma could turn a woman into a walking checklist.
Beth sat beside me while Alan tried another drift.
“You work weddings too?” she asked.
“Mostly weddings. Portraits, commercial work, whatever pays me to point expensive glass at people.”
“You local?”
There it was.
The harmless question that still had edges.
“Atlanta,” I said. “For now.”
“Vacationing?”
“Working six weeks with these guys.”
She smiled. “Not a terrible office.”
Her gaze went toward Cole at the helm.
I knew that look. I had spent my career reading aunties at receptions.
“The ocean is nice,” I said.
Beth’s smile widened. “That is absolutely what I meant.”
“I photograph subtlety for a living. You’re bad at it.”
She laughed loud enough that Cole looked over.
I did not tell him why.
That restraint qualified as professional ethics.
Maybe sainthood.
By nine, the breeze had started to rise exactly the way Cole had predicted. He checked his phone, then the water beyond us.
“One more drift,” he said. “Then we head in.”
Alan glanced at the clear sky. “Storm coming?”
“Not yet. Wind’s building. Ride gets less comfortable, and I’ve got what I wanted for the morning.”
There it was again. Money left on the table before safety or quality got compromised.
I wondered if he knew how attractive that was.
Probably not.
Cole seemed like a man who could survive a compliment by standing very still until it passed.
On the run back, I crouched near the stern to photograph the wake. The boat hit an unexpected chop at an angle, not hard, but enough to make my balance shift.
Cole’s hand closed around my upper arm before I moved more than an inch.
Strong. Immediate. Gone as soon as I was steady.
“Behind the console,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“I know. Behind the console anyway.”
I looked at him.
His jaw was set.
Not angry. Scared, just a fraction, buried under command.
That changed the frame completely.
I stood and moved behind the console.
“Thank you,” I said.
He nodded once.
For the next few minutes, neither of us said anything.
Beth and Alan sat on the rear bench talking about where they wanted lunch. The engines hummed. Spray lifted white off our starboard side.
I watched Cole’s hands on the wheel.
Not because they were attractive.
They were.
But because one of them had grabbed me like my falling was unacceptable to him.
My chest did something inconvenient.
Back at the marina, the work resumed. Lines. Coolers. A quick rinse. Beth hugged me despite having known me for less than four hours, then made me promise to send the photo with her fish if Tide & Timber used it publicly.
“You get whatever images the company agreement covers for client delivery,” I told her. “I’ll flag that one.”
“Make Alan’s fish look smaller.”
“Marriage is beautiful.”
After they left, I carried my gear into the storefront and set the camera bag on the table.
Cole came in behind me.
“You all right?” he asked.
I looked at my arm where he had caught me. No mark. Nothing except the memory of his hand.
“Yes. I wasn’t going over.”
“I know.”
“You say that a lot too.”
He leaned back against the counter.
The marina was louder now. Phones ringing. A fuel truck somewhere outside. Rafe’s voice floated in from the front lot as he tried to convince somebody that a ten-year-old did not need a paddleboard designed for racing.
Cole looked toward the open door, then back at me.
“Hannah fell off that boat once.”
I went still.
He said it so plainly that for a second I did not understand why it had changed the room.
“Was she okay?”
“Yeah. We were anchored. Water was warm. She was laughing before she hit it.”
His eyes dropped to the floor.
“She’d been trying to take a picture of Nora when Nora was two. Backed up without looking. Camera stayed dry because she held it over her head on the way down.”
I smiled before I could stop myself. “Photographer priorities.”
“That’s what she said.”
There was no pain in his voice exactly. Or rather, there was, but it had been lived with long enough to have furniture around it.
I did not tell him I was sorry. He knew I was sorry. Everyone was sorry. Sometimes sorry became another thing the grieving person had to carry for you.
So I asked, “Did the picture come out?”
Cole looked at me.
Then he laughed.
Not the near-smile. Not the breath through his nose.
A real laugh, low and surprised.
“Blurry as hell,” he said. “Nora’s half out of the frame. Hannah loved it.”
“Then it was a good picture.”
His expression changed.
The air between us went quiet again, but not awkward this time.
“That’s what she said too,” he told me.
I could have stepped away.
I could have filled the space with a joke.
My old reflex would have done something useful. Opened the laptop. Started a backup. Made the moment easier for him so I did not have to risk being inside it.
Instead I stayed where I was.
Cole looked at my face for a long second.
“You don’t do what I expect,” he said.
“That’s terrible news for a man who checks the weather twice.”
“Three times.”
“Of course.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
Every nerve in my body noticed.
This was not Rafe’s bright, shameless flirting. There was no joke waiting nearby to give us an exit. Cole looked at me like a man standing at the edge of something he had already measured and still did not trust.
I wanted him to stop measuring.
That realization landed so cleanly it scared me.
I lifted my chin a fraction.
His eyes came back to mine.
From outside, Rafe yelled, “Cole, I need an adult!”
Cole closed his eyes.
I started laughing.
Rafe yelled again, “Preferably one who understands why tourists think tides are a conspiracy!”
Cole looked toward the door. “I hate this business.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Not usually.”
He pushed away from the counter, then paused beside me.
Close.
Not touching.
“You got the shot you wanted?” he asked.
I thought of Beth’s face. Alan learning without being made small. Cole laughing about a blurry photograph his dead wife had loved. His hand on my arm.
“I got more than I expected.”
His eyes held mine once more.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”
Then he walked outside to explain the ocean to a tourist.
I stood alone beside three thousand dollars of camera equipment and a cooling cup of marina coffee, staring after him like an idiot.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
This time, when I pulled it out, the name on the screen really was Evan.