Chapter 6
Every moment of light and dark is a miracle.
Walt Whitman
“Where’s your camera?” Noah asked.
Scarlett didn’t answer.
When she walked past him, a hand shot out to grasp her wrist and twirl her in a circle to face him.
His raised eyebrow indicated he wondered something.
“Yes?”
“Did you hear me?” he questioned, grinning at her while shaking his head.
“No.”
He chuckled at her flat response.
“I was just asking, where’s your camera?” he repeated.
She had been so focused on deciding how best to place the last two strands of twinkle lights that she hadn’t realized he’d spoken to her.
“Why?”
“You need it.”
“What for?”
“To take a picture.”
“Of what?”
“The sky.”
“Why?”
“Just trust me.”
Scarlett debated her options: keep working or do as he asked? Working was easier, but trusting Noah was more tempting.
Noah himself tempted her the most.
He never took flirting too far. Yet. . .nor did he hide the fact that he enjoyed being with her.
He hadn’t tried anything. But he found reasons to hold her hand in assistance, brush her arm with his when they passed one another, or pull a twig from her hair when they’d been stringing up lights.
Scarlett enjoyed being with Noah, too. She’d grown quite fond of his quiet confidence and his ever-present smile. And his touch — yes, she liked the warm, gentle caress of his touch, too, innocent as it had been.
She found his contentment contagious; a sense of peace and happiness accompanied Noah wherever he went. Scarlett basked in his attention and reveled in the way she felt when they were together.
How bizarre, considering she’d known Noah for all of one day.
But it had been a busy day, and they’d spent every waking moment of it together.
. .with Noah moving square hay bales while Scarlett supervised their placement, then tackling tasks side by side, like rummaging bins and tubs and boxes, meeting with the church’s youth group members, and sorting through the pumpkin and flower invoices to see what the festival committee had ordered for the big event.
They’d earned a break.
“Okay,” Scarlett acquiesced. “I put both cameras back in your truck after we tested the lighting earlier.”
“Perfect. Let’s go,” Noah said, reaching for her hand.
She hesitated.
He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at her.
“What about these last strands of lights?”
“They’ll be our first task tomorrow,” he answered with a pointed look at his empty hand, which remained extended and waiting for hers to hold.
She relented, setting the lights on the worktable they’d constructed from two sawhorses and an old wooden door. “We’ll have to—” she started, thinking out loud about the next round of items on their to-do list.
Noah silenced her by placing a soft finger against her lips.
“Tomorrow,” he reminded her with a deep, quiet voice.
“Tomorrow,” she repeated, murmuring against his finger.
“Tonight, we picnic.”
“Picnic?” she asked, shifting her weight onto her heels to put space between her lips and Noah’s gentle heat.
“I never knew parrots lived in this part of Twin Oaks,” he mocked.
Scarlett bumped her shoulder against his in response to his teasing.
Noah seemed pleased with his clever wit and his picnic plan.
He switched her hand to his other one and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
They walked that way to the truck, where Noah opened her door and didn’t release her hand until she’d settled in her seat.
Then he walked around the bed of the truck, closed the tailgate, and took his seat to start the engine.
He flashed her a quick — and sexy — smile before putting the truck in gear.
Noah made life feel easy — uncomplicated. Things she’d never known.
He also made the little things feel intentional. . .important. In ways she’d never experienced.
“Where are we going?” Scarlett asked, forcing her thoughts away from Noah and what drew her to him.
“Daisy Lake with a detour through the Fish Scarlett decided she’d be smart to savor every second.
Noah carried the food bags and a quilt from the back seat of his truck, and Scarlett held her cameras as they walked to the end of the dock.
Together, they folded and laid out the quilt to sit upon.
Noah handed Scarlett a box of fish and chips — but not the one she’d stolen French fries from — and took the other for himself.
She claimed to see an owl flying over the lake, and when he looked in the direction she’d indicated, Scarlett tossed a handful of fries into his box.
Noah noticed right off but let her get away with it without a word.
They ate in the not-quite silence of the lake, alive with the distant sounds of fish jumping and splashing, birds singing and calling, insects chirping, and cicadas buzzing.
As the sun’s descent lit a bold and brilliant fire in the sky, Scarlett traded her food box for her camera bag. She chose the best lens and exact settings for the style and composition she wanted to create and turned her attention to the vivid display of color.
Molten gold filtered through steel-gray tufts of padded clouds.
Swaths of pink, purple, and orange wrestled for prominence.
The smooth surface of the lake reflected their battle in the faintest of ripples, set in motion by the imperceptible flutter of a butterfly’s wing.
The dichotomy between the violently changing sky and the still waters beneath it staged a powerful drama.
Scarlett snapped frame after frame until the burning yellow disk sank into the horizon, leaving the world in inky darkness, its only relief a sliver of the waning moon and a billion stars staking claim to the night.
“The water won,” she said, setting aside her camera and leaning back on her elbows to gaze up into the nothingness.
“How do you figure?” Noah asked.
“It’s still here,” Scarlett replied. “The sun and the light fought a valiant fight, but in the end, they succumbed to defeat. The waves keep rolling. And underneath, stillness prevailed.”
“Until tomorrow,” Noah added.
“After all, tomorrow is another day.”