Chapter 13
At two seventeen Friday afternoon, my ex-fiance walked into Tide & Timber carrying fourteen thousand dollars of camera equipment and the expression of a man who had just discovered that consequences were not subcontractors.
I saw him through the storefront window.
For one second, my body forgot everything I had learned in Cape Mercy.
Heart up.
Shoulders tight.
Brain already inventorying the problem.
Evan wore the charcoal button-down he liked for rehearsal dinners, sleeves rolled exactly twice, dark pants, expensive sneakers, and the leather dual-camera harness I had bought him for his thirty-first birthday because his old one made his shoulder hurt after ten-hour weddings.
There was a camera clipped to one side.
The other side was empty.
Interesting.
I was standing behind the counter with my laptop open, backing up that morning’s Tide & Timber shoot to two drives while Rafe argued on the phone with a bachelor party that no, eight adults could not add three more adults to a six-person paddle excursion merely by promising to be “chill about weight distribution.”
Gray was in the repair bay.
Cole was somewhere on the dock doing a fuel check before his four o’clock charter.
Nobody had noticed Evan yet.
Good.
I had approximately five seconds in which this could still belong entirely to me.
Evan opened the door.
The little brass bell above it rang.
He stopped when he saw me.
I had imagined this moment more times than I wanted to admit.
In some versions, I looked devastating.
In others, he looked ruined.
Occasionally there was rain because apparently my subconscious had been educated by inexpensive television.
Reality gave me a Tide & Timber T-shirt, denim shorts, hair twisted up with a pencil because I had lost the clip again, and a smudge of sunscreen on one knee.
Evan looked tired.
Not destroyed.
Not evil.
Just tired.
That was almost insulting.
“Hey,” he said.
I closed the folder I was copying and checked that the transfer was still running.
“Hi.”
His eyes moved around the storefront.
Surf wax. Charter brochures. A rack of rash guards. Mango’s empty travel perch beside the register. Three children’s drawings taped to the wall behind me because apparently my workplace now had a rotating gallery department.
Then his eyes came back to me.
“You look good.”
There it was.
The first old key inserted into the first old lock.
My nervous system rattled the handle.
I did not open the door.
“You’re supposed to be at Mercy House.”
His mouth tightened.
“Eventually.”
Rafe, still on the phone six feet away, looked over.
He recognized Evan immediately.
I knew because every trace of comedy left his face.
Then, to his credit, he turned away and kept talking to the bachelor party.
“No, man. I understand that one of you played college football. The paddleboard remains emotionally unmoved by your resume.”
I almost laughed.
Evan looked toward him.
“Rafe?”
So he’d done research.
Or looked at social media.
Probably both.
Rafe lifted one finger in acknowledgment without turning around.
Evan’s eyes came back to me.
“Can we talk?”
“We are.”
“Privately.”
I glanced toward the open door behind the counter that led to the tiny office.
Then I looked at Evan.
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
Not dramatically.
That was worse.
Evan had always been excellent at looking reasonable while I became the person making things difficult.
“Piper.”
“What do you need?”
His jaw moved.
For a second, I saw the old studio conference room.
Same expression.
Same inhale.
Same moment before he explained why the thing I had already said no to was actually different once I understood all the details.
“Our replacement second shooter is stuck in Charlotte.”
I said nothing.
“Flight cancellation. Crew issue, apparently. She’s trying to rent a car, but every agency near the airport is either sold out or quoting six hours before pickup.”
Still nothing.
Evan shifted the camera harness against his shoulder.
“We have the welcome dinner tonight. Rehearsal in an hour and a half. Wedding tomorrow. Brunch Sunday.”
I knew.
Of course I knew.
I had once seen the Sutton-Reed planning file.
Three hundred guests.
Multiple locations.
Two families with enough money to have opinions about charger plates.
A bride who wanted documentary coverage but had also attached a thirty-eight-image inspiration board to her inquiry.
My brain began building the day automatically.
Evan could cover rehearsal.
He needed somebody at the dinner venue early for details and candids.
Tomorrow was the real problem.
Getting ready happened in two places. Bride and groom coverage overlapped. Family formals would be brutal if the coordinator had not protected the timeline. Reception probably had at least three major rooms.
I knew exactly how badly he needed help.
That was the trap.
“I emailed you two weeks ago,” I said.
“I know.”
“I said I wasn’t available.”
“I know what you said.”
My laugh came out once.
Small.
Sharp.
Evan’s face changed.
“What?”
“Nothing. Continue.”
“This isn’t what I emailed about two weeks ago. I had coverage then.”
“You had a staffing problem then.”
“Now I have an emergency.”
I looked at him.
There it was.
The word that used to transform my calendar into public property.
Behind him, a family came through the marina gate carrying life jackets and enough tote bags to establish a small inland colony.
Cole stepped off the dock to meet them.
He saw Evan through the window.
He stopped.
Our eyes met.
Cole did not come inside.
He greeted his clients.
Something in my chest loosened.
Evan followed my gaze.
He saw Cole.
Then looked back at me.
“I’ll pay you.”
“I assumed.”
“Double your old day rate.”
My old day rate.
Not even my current rate.
The number assigned to me when I had been half owner, half employee, and full-time emergency infrastructure.
“I have work.”
“You can’t possibly be booked all weekend.”
“That isn’t relevant.”
“It is if you’re telling me you can’t help.”
“I’m telling you I won’t.”
He stared at me.
I let him.
The transfer bar on my laptop reached eighty-four percent.
Rafe ended his call.
“Six,” he muttered to the phone as he disconnected. “The number remained six for almost seven consecutive minutes. I feel powerful.”
He set the phone down.
Evan looked at him.
Rafe looked at me.
Not Evan.
Me.
“You good?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Then he picked up a stack of liability waivers and started sorting them.
No joke.
No claim.
No performance.
Evan watched him for a second.
“You seriously live with these guys?”
“Sometimes.”
“Piper.”
“What?”
“I’m asking you a question.”
“And I answered it.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
I also knew the version of me he expected.
Embarrassed enough to explain.
Defensive enough to provide details.
Eager enough to prove this was not evidence that the breakup had made me unstable.
I leaned one hip against the counter.
“If you’re here because you need a photographer, the answer is no.”
“I’m here because I need you.”
The sentence landed exactly where it had been designed to land.
My throat tightened anyway.
Bodies were irritatingly slow learners.
Evan took a step closer.
“We were good together.”
I looked at him.
“Professionally.”
He said it quickly.
Too quickly.
“Very professionally.”
“We built a company.”
“Yes.”
“Half the reason people hired us was your work.”
“More than half some weeks.”
He blinked.
That was new.
I would once have softened it immediately.
Instead I waited.
Evan rubbed the back of his neck.
“I know I screwed this up.”
“Which part?”
His eyes hardened slightly.
“Come on.”
“No. Which part?”
“The affair.”
I nodded.
“That was one part.”
“Piper.”
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“My name in that tone. Like I’ve wandered off the agenda and you’re bringing me back.”
His mouth opened.
Closed.
The backup completed.
I ejected the first drive and connected the second.
Normal work.
Mine.
Evan looked at the laptop.
“You’re backing up JPEGs for a surf company while I’m offering you a major wedding.”
“RAW files.”
He stared at me.
“Sorry. If we’re being condescending, accuracy matters.”
Rafe made a choking noise behind the waivers.
I did not look at him.
Evan’s cheeks colored.
“I’m not being condescending.”
“You are a little.”
“I’m trying to remind you what you’re capable of.”
“I know what I’m capable of.”
“Then why are you here doing this?”
The question hit harder than I expected.
Not because I believed him.
Because three months ago, I might have.
Here.
This little marina office.
Tourist brochures.
Charter families.
Commercial photography.
Small family sessions.
One anniversary booking six months away.
Nothing that looked impressive enough from thirty thousand feet.
I looked through the window at Cole fitting a child’s life jacket and adjusting the strap while the father listened.
Gray appeared from the repair bay wiping his hands on a rag.
He saw Evan.
His whole body went still.
Then he looked at me.
I gave him the smallest shake of my head.
Not yet.
Gray stayed where he was.
I turned back to Evan.
“I’m here because I took a contract I wanted.”
“You took it because you needed to get away.”
“That too.”
“You were wrecked.”
“I was.”
His expression softened.
It would have worked once.
Maybe he even meant it.
That was the dangerous thing about Evan.
He did not have to be lying to be wrong.
“I hated what I did to you,” he said.
I believed that too.
It did not change anything.
“I know.”
“I miss you.”
Rafe stopped moving behind me.
Outside, Gray dropped the rag onto his workbench.
Cole’s charter family was boarding.
Nobody came inside.
I looked at Evan.
“I missed you too.”
His whole face changed.
Hope was cruel when you did not intend to feed it.
So I didn’t.
“I missed you for months. I missed the studio. I missed knowing exactly where every battery was. I missed our Tuesday takeout order. I missed having somebody beside me who understood why a bride crying over a centerpiece can become a real emergency if you don’t handle it right.”
Evan swallowed.
“I missed the life I thought we had.”
“Piper.”
“But the affair isn’t why I can’t go back.”
He went completely still.