Chapter 31
Chapter thirty-one
Tom
The only sound in the room is the rapid, rhythmic clack of Sam’s keyboard across the plywood table.
Sam is in the zone.
We successfully checked Thursday's Board presentation off the list a few hours ago, but she hasn't slowed down.
I’ve been watching her for the last ten minutes instead of reviewing my contact sheets.
She’s sitting across the makeshift plywood table from me, her posture perfect, making notes on the slides for the final Board deck.
Her untouched coffee is pushed safely out of the spill zone. She looks completely in her element.
A notification drops into the top right corner of my screen. Subject line: "Harbor District—Image Revision Request."
I click it open. It’s from Castellano. He wants new images.
He wants proof the project will make money.
How the shops work. How people get there. Why anyone would choose this street.
He thinks we’re leaning too heavily on the community angle. He wants to completely alter the visual story we’ve spent a month building.
I look back at Sam. She’s still typing, completely unaware that a corporate wrecking ball just landed in my inbox. My first instinct is to just handle it. To go out, shoot the extra angles, and drop them in a folder so she doesn't have to stress about it.
But we have a rule now.
"Sam."
She raises one finger without lifting her eyes from the screen. "Give me thirty seconds."
A small smile tugs at my mouth. I wait, listening to the rapid fire of her keystrokes. She finishes her thought, hits a final key, and looks up.
"Okay. What?"
I turn my laptop around and slide it across the plywood. "Castellano."
She leans in. Her eyes track back and forth across the short paragraph. When she finishes, she doesn't sigh or complain. She just sits back and exhales sharply through her nose.
"Of course he does."
"It's annoying," I say. "But not impossible. I can reshoot the commercial angles this week."
Sam’s expression tightens. She doesn't take the out I just offered her. “We should review the shots together. Whether the project makes money depends on how the neighborhood works. It’s not just storefronts—it’s why people would choose to walk that street.”
"Right." I nod, mentally adjusting my solo-mission plan. "Let's meet tomorrow morning."
"Ten o'clock?"
"Works for me."
She closes her laptop, wraps both hands around her coffee mug even though the ceramic is cold. "Castellano's been focused on the bottom since the beginning. I knew he'd circle back to this eventually."
"You want to call it for today?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "I need to finish the programming section tonight. If we're adding new visuals, the story has to support them."
I close my own laptop. "You're going to work all night."
"Probably." She stands, gathers her things. "But that's what deadlines are for."
She walks me to the elevator.
"Thanks for not fighting me on the review session," she says.
"Why would I fight you?"
She smiles, just barely. "Because you like working alone."
The doors close before I can answer.
***
Friday morning, I'm still in bed when my phone vibrates on the nightstand. I reach for it without opening my eyes. Email notification. I squint at the screen.
Subject: "Harbor Site Access—Production Schedule Update."
I sit up and open it.
Utility work on the north corridor. Site access restricted starting Monday. Weekend crew available Saturday 7 AM to 11 AM. Confirm if you need access.
I forward it to Sam: "Looks like we have to shoot Saturday morning if we want Castellano's images. I can handle it—you've got Board prep to finish."
I hit send and toss the phone on the mattress, get out of bed and make coffee.
***
By the time I reach the site office at ten, Sam's already there. Computer open, site plan spread across the table, her jacket still on like she just walked in.
She looks up when I push through the door. "I got your email."
"Morning to you too." I set my bag down, pull out the chair across from her.
"You're planning to shoot Saturday solo?"
"It's just the main street. Foot traffic, storefronts, ways in and out. I know what Castellano wants."
Sam leans back in her chair, crosses her arms. "But you don't know how those shots connect to how the building is supposed to work."
I pause. "I can figure it out."
"A project doesn't work just because people show up," she says. "It works because there's a reason they're there.
“It's parents at the morning daycare drop-off, or commuters shopping on their way home."
Her eyes are bright now, the way they get when she’s deep in an idea.
She taps the site plan with her index finger. "Every building here has a job," she says. “You can't photograph how the place works if you don't know the plan."
I exhale. "I can shoot all of that."
"Not without me."
Her shoulders square, spine straight, hands flat on the table.
"You have the Board deck to finalize," I say. "I'm trying to give you time to focus on that."
Her expression doesn't shift. "I'll work on it tonight. Saturday morning, we shoot together." She pauses. "Don't sideline me, Tom. I know when I need to be there."
She's not budging.
"Okay. Seven AM?"
Her hand settles briefly over mine on the table, "I'll bring coffee."
I nod. The site plan sits between us, marked with her handwritten notes in the margins.
"You're not going to bench me for that?" I ask.
"For what? Trying to be helpful?" Sam slides both hands towards me. "No. But we're partners. That means we show up for the work. Both of us."
"Let's walk through what Castellano actually needs."
She slides the site plan between us.
We lean over the same corner of the table, marking the shots Castellano wants.
Our shoulders touch again while we work.
Neither of us moves away.
***
Friday night, I'm alone in my apartment with my camera bag open on the floor.
The plan for the shoot is open on my laptop. Seventeen shots. Four different spots along the main street. Specific times of day to catch how people will move through the area.
I could do this faster alone.
I pick up my phone. Open the text thread with Sam. Type: "Actually, I can handle tomorrow solo. You focus on the deck."
My thumb hovers over send.
I stare at the message. Read it three times.
Then I set the phone down and pull my camera bag toward me.
Unzip the main compartment. My hands know this routine—wide-angle lens in the padded center pocket, telephoto wrapped and nested on the left, filters in the mesh sleeve on the right.
I lay them out on the hardwood floor in order of likely use.
I'm packing for a solo job. The same way I've packed for ten years.
She said "partners." She said "we show up for the work."
I pick up my phone and delete the message.
***
The sky is still half-dark when I arrive at 6:58 AM, breath fogging in the cold air. The construction fence casts long shadows across the gravel lot. Two minutes before the weekend crew gets us access.
Sam's already there, standing near the south gate with two coffee cups in her hands.
"You're early," I say.
"So are you." She hands me one of the cups. "Black, no sugar."
"Thanks."
We stand there for a second, steam rising off the coffee between us. Sam bumps my shoulder with hers. "So how many times did you almost text me last night?"
I stop mid-sip. "What?"
"Telling me I didn't have to come." She's smiling, just barely. "I figured you convinced yourself you were saving me the trouble of an early morning. Or that you could handle it alone."
I look at her. "What are you, psychic?"
"No. I just know you."
I exhale, shake my head. "Guilty. On both counts."
"You're gonna make me pay for that, aren't you?"
She tilts her head, considering. "No. You didn't text me."
We start walking toward the commercial corridor. The gravel crunches under our boots. I bump her shoulder back as we walk, and she doesn't pull away.
We cut through the corridor while she points out nodes and sightlines, and I start seeing the story in geometry instead of shots.
We move to the fabrication shop loading zone. Sam stops, scans the empty concrete pad, then walks ten paces east and turns back toward the street.
"The loading zone isn't dead space," she says. "Workers cut through here to get to lunch." She traces the invisible path with her hand. "If you shoot from the east corner looking west, you'll catch the bottleneck where people have to weave around the delivery trucks."
I frown, lower my camera. "That's going to look like congestion. Castellano wants efficiency."
"It is efficient." She walks back toward me. "The design forces interaction. Slows people just enough to see the storefronts."
I look through the viewfinder again. Frame the angle she's describing. I adjust my position. Crouch lower. The perspective shifts.
"There," I say quietly.
Sam steps closer, looks over my shoulder at the framing. "Yeah. That's it."
I shoot the sequence. Wide establishing shot, then tighter on the passage, then a third angle showing the retail corridor in the background.
When I lower the camera, Sam's still standing next to me.
"I was going to shoot this straight-on," I say. "Show the loading zone as functional space. It would've been clean, but it wouldn't have told the story."
"And I wouldn't have known the light was better from this angle." She picks up her coffee from where she set it on a sawhorse. "That's why we're both here."
***
By 10:45, we're back in the site office. Sam scrolls through the images. "This is exactly what Castellano needs."
"That was your idea."
"You framed it."
She looks at me. "That's what partners do."
Sam closes the laptop. "You want to grab lunch before we both have to dive back into work?"
I don't hesitate. "Let’s go.”
We both order pastrami on rye and sit in a booth in the back corner. We eat without talking about the presentation.
When we're done, Sam gathers her coat. "I'll see you Monday?"
"Yeah. Monday."
On the sidewalk, she turns to face me, "Thanks for not texting me."
I smile. "Thanks for coming today.”
She disappears into the crowd. I adjust the strap on my camera bag and start walking.
We’ve gotten good at this when it’s just us.
It doesn’t feel fragile anymore.
What happens when it isn’t just us anymore?