Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Edie hadn’t picked up her camera in over a week.
Even now as she held it in her hands, it felt unfamiliar and bulky. Cumbersome, like a weight dragging her down.
Where had that creative energy gone? Honestly, she’d been too tired to harness any of it, too exhausted from the countless hours she’d spent organizing this gala. She was depleted and wasn’t sure how to regain any of that lost energy and drive. It was nowhere to be found.
Back when Josh had originally told her about the fundraising project, she’d been all in. It was an exciting opportunity that she might not otherwise have the chance to participate in. Josh had connections, and she was beyond grateful for them.
But it hadn’t occurred to her that a brand-new venue hosting their very first gala—without their own dedicated project manager—would be an enormous amount of work.
She wasn’t so sure she would have volunteered had she known the sheer number of hours they would need to dedicate to the endeavor.
And it wasn’t like she would even feel good about being paid considering the ultimate goal behind the entire event was to raise money for charity.
But she needed to start being compensated financially in one way or another.
Her stint at the aquarium had come to an end.
She had provided them with all the images they would need for their new marketing campaign and finished up that contract last month.
Every once in a while, she would stop in to visit with her friends that still worked there, or to sit near the jellyfish exhibit—her favorite—just to relax to the pulsing sway of the languid creatures.
But she no longer had a job with a consistent income, and with a new house and all of the bills that came along with that, she needed to find something that could generate some extra cash.
Photography was it. Every egg was in that basket.
But as she stood in her family room, angled her camera toward her window and pressed her eye to the viewfinder, she couldn’t find focus. It was all a blur with nothing to grab her attention.
And yet, there always was one tried and true source of inspiration.
She pulled her cellphone from her back pocket and punched out a text.
Cal responded immediately.
Camille would have her head if she knew Edie planned to drive over to Cal’s art gallery. She’d given strict lockdown orders. But Edie was a grown woman for heaven’s sake, and if she wanted to venture out in the storm, that was her prerogative.
Plus, today’s forecast was much of the same: inches of rain with thirty to forty-mile an hour winds.
A large storm by any measurement, but not what they’d been predicting.
That was supposed to change come nightfall, so in the meantime, Edie decided not to squander the day while things were currently still manageable weather-wise.
She grabbed her keys, her camera, and a little bit of courage and drove to Cal’s art studio.
It wasn’t too far from the beach houses, and the drive was just up Highway 1, taking her along the curve of the coast. From her periphery, she could see the large expanse of dark ocean, its gray-blue hue deeper, richer, with frothy swells that whitecapped its surface.
Usually, there were rows of surfers vying for the perfect pipeline wave, but today, the waves didn’t have a consistent, chaseable rhythm.
Just chaotic colliding and pummeling against the rocks and sand.
It seemed like even the ocean was out of sorts, and that made Edie’s stomach churn.
As she put her car in park after pulling up to The Dock, she drew in a breath. Was it a mistake to come here? Maybe, but she didn’t know where else to look. She’d tried to summon some creativity for far too long on her own and came up empty at every turn. It was time to look elsewhere.
Her eyes moved to the studio and the hanging flower basket where that very first subject once filled her lens. Hank the Hummingbird had been some sort of lure, a magnet pulling Cal and Edie together and into one another’s lives.
She remembered trying to capture the little creature, attempting to freezeframe those wings that vibrated furiously as he fluttered from petal to petal.
And she remembered the way her own stomach fluttered when the handsome—and much younger—artist appeared in the doorway, smirk on his face and a spark of challenge in his eyes.
Today, when she glanced through the windshield and caught sight of Cal standing there in a similar manner—shoulder leaned against the doorjamb, ankles crossed nonchalantly, face full of expectant hope—her pulse skittered into a faster beat, that nostalgia taking her thoughts for a ride.
She desperately needed to jumpstart her creativity but hadn’t counted on doing the same with her heart. It beat wildly, but for what reason?
Cal flicked two fingers to his forehead in a wave that was more irresistible than she wanted it to be.
She’d forgotten how attracted she had been to this man, mostly because she’d spent so much time with Cal and Josh together recently.
And there was nothing attractive about the way those two duked it out. The opposite, in fact.
But like that first day when a tiny hummingbird ignited a burst of creativity within her, Cal’s studio did the same. As she walked up the pathway to The Dock, she could already sense a buzzing within her being, this force that grew stronger with every step.
This had been the place where she’d had her first official exhibit. Where she sold her first painting. Where she gained her confidence as a new artist.
And the place where they’d shared their first kiss.
Was it the man standing in the doorway that evoked this creative energy within her? Or was it the space that was dedicated solely to producing and showcasing art that manifested it? Honestly, she couldn’t be sure.
When she had texted Cal for help, she’d assumed it was the latter. But as she stood in front of him now, his tousled hair sweeping across his forehead as the wind ran its fingers through the strands, she felt a different sort of inspiration.
On impulse, she pulled her camera from her bag and began to click.
Cal didn’t paste on a cheesy grin in response to being in front of her lens.
No, he just continued to look at her—look into her, almost—with those penetrating eyes and coy smirk.
There was an intensity in the gaze he gave her.
It made her thankful that she had her camera up to her face, separating them.
Because she needed a barrier when it came to Cal.
Some way to block this incredible pull that roared to life every time they were alone.
She finally lowered her camera to her hip once she’d captured him from every angle.
“Did you get what you were looking for?” He pushed off from the doorframe, that smirk shifting into a full-fledged grin.
“I’m sorry.” Edie shook her head. “I don’t know why I took those of you just now.”
“I’m happy to be your inspiration, Edie.” When she came up the steps, he moved to the side to let her pass through the doorway and into the studio first. “Always.”
Those words made her feel light, airy. Maybe it was the memory of their more intimate times together.
Maybe it was the way he always encouraged her in her artistic feats.
Maybe it was the familiarity of The Dock, all the way down to the very smell of the place.
But being in this space, in such close proximity to Cal, caused Edie to experience a rush of something.
Excitement, maybe? Anticipation? She wasn’t entirely certain.
“I got what I needed,” was all she said in reply before stowing her camera into its bag and adjusting the strap on her shoulder.
Cal closed the studio’s door, then led Edie to the room where the real creativity took place. “I have something I want to show you.”
At one point in their relationship, Cal had confessed that Edie was the only woman to ever step foot in the back portion of the studio.
The only one to see his works in progress, canvases half-full of color and composition.
Was that still the truth now? She wanted to ask but knew she didn’t have any right.
She also wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
Cal was allowed to share his art—this portion of himself—with anyone he well pleased.
“I’m working on my piece for the gala.”
He led her around the butcherblock table, taking her gently by the elbow to guide her through the labyrinth of easels and upright canvases. There was one canvas larger than herself, with the front of it pointed away from them so she couldn’t fully glimpse it.
He maneuvered so they stopped right in front of it.
“Oh, Cal.” Something prickled in Edie’s throat when she caught sight of the art piece with its rich oranges and blues, painted, blended, and smeared into what she could only describe as the perfect sunset over the bluest sea. “That’s beautiful.”
“I’m calling it The View by the Shore.”
A perfectly fitting title for the piece, considering its content.
She tilted her head and narrowed her gaze to take it all in.
There was something wholly familiar about the scene, even in its abstractness.
Sure, it was a painting of the ocean and the sky—two enormous, almost overwhelming entities—but it felt so much more intimate than that. Narrowed down and almost personal.
“Do you recognize it?” he asked.
She couldn’t be sure. The Southern California coastline stretched for miles and miles. It could be any number of beaches or shores.
“It feels like I do, but I can’t pinpoint it exactly.”
“It’s the beach where you took your first starfish image. The macro one.”
She turned to look at him.
“I wanted to capture the place where you first unlocked that true creative confidence of yours.”
That image was the one that effectively changed her life. She’d sold it—along with a series of other sea-life inspired macro shots—to a buyer at top dollar, launching her career as an up-and-coming photographer and helping her with the down payment on her beloved beach house.
Her original goal had been to photograph the ocean seascape, but Edie quickly recognized she was much more drawn to work where the physical subject was smaller in scale.
She loved portrait photography, and it turned out that taking portraits of starfish, shells, and even sand crabs was much more her speed. She’d found her niche.
But what she’d failed to capture—that full landscape style of photography—Cal had managed to encompass on a single canvas.
Despite the blur of paint and the flurry of brushstrokes, Edie could almost feel the warm sand between her toes, smell the tangy ocean air that brought her right back to that day when she’d snapped that life-changing shot.
She stood back on shaky feet. “It’s perfect.”
“You recognize it now?”
“Not only visually, but in here.” She pressed a hand to her chest, right above her heart. “I can feel this image, Cal. Relive it like a memory.”
He blew out a breath like he’d bottled up all his worry and it came rushing out with relief. “That’s what I was going for. I’m so glad you get it. Art doesn’t always translate.”
“But yours does.” She blinked up at him. “For me it does, at least.”
“And you’re the only one that matters.”
He said the phrase in passing as he collected a brush from the table and a tube of cobalt blue paint from nearby.
Even as he got to work adding strokes here and there, Cal acted like those words weren’t a truth bomb.
But they were. They rocked Edie so hard, her reaction was physical.
She slumped against the butcherblock, needing something to keep her upright.
“Cal?”
“Hmm?” He stayed focused on the canvas, answering without turning his head toward her.
“What are we doing?”
“With the gala?” He just shrugged as he swept another brushstroke of paint across the center of the piece where the ocean met the sky. “Good question. Doesn’t feel like much, other than a lot of bickering and disagreement about every last detail. Not on your end, but—”
“I don’t mean with the gala. I mean what are you and I doing? What is this?” She waved a hand back and forth in the space between them.
He paused. Set down his brush and paint. When he turned around, there was a purely helpless look pulling at his features, one she hadn’t ever seen this typically confident man wear.
“I don’t know, Edie.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “At least, I don’t know what it is on your end. But on mine, it’s me trying to let you know that I want another chance. That I’m willing to fight for you. For us.”
“Can I be honest?” She sucked in a breath that filled her whole chest.
“Of course. Always.”
“I don’t want to be fought over,” she said. “I don’t want to be some prize to be won. Maybe some women like that, but I don’t.”
Cal dipped his head in a single nod. “I get it. And it’s never been my intention to put you in the middle like that. It’s just obvious Josh likes you, and I don’t know.” His shoulders lifted to his ears. “I guess I’m kind of threatened by that.”
“Are you worried I like him?”
“Do you?”
She paused, unsure how to answer honestly. “Yes. I do.”
Cal’s hopeful look dropped from his face. “I know. And it shouldn’t bother me the way that it does. But I’m in love with you, Edie, and to watch you fall in love with another man—”
“I’m not falling in love with anyone,” she interrupted, knowing the statement was only half-true. Because she had been in love with Cal not all that long ago, and it would be a lie to say some of those feelings hadn’t resurfaced recently.
But was she fully in love with him now? She couldn’t be sure, and that was something she needed to figure out. For the sake of their relationship—working and otherwise—and for the sake of her creative spirit.