The Absence of Olivia(42)
I swallowed hard, tried to smile, but then succumbed to the roll of shivers sent through me at the sound of his deep and throaty promise to see me again. I didn’t even follow him to the door, which was rude, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. I just wanted the entire encounter to wash over me, make me believe that there was something more than the prison I’d been living in for the last ten years.
“I think it would look incredible in an antique frame. You know, something shabby chic.”
Shelby and I were standing in my studio, both looking at an immensely large print of a photograph I’d taken of her in front of a small waterfall a few weeks before. The canvas had come in and I wanted to display it, but I was torn about what kind of frame to use.
“So, white?” I asked, crinkling my nose up, not liking the visual I conjured up in my mind.
“It doesn’t have to be white. But something light. Maybe a very pale mint green.”
I imagined the photo hanging on the wall with a nearly white, mint green frame and I smiled. The hint of green would complement the foliage surrounding Shelby, and the airiness of the hue would lend itself to the almost mystical feeling of the photo.
“You’re a genius,” I said, turning to her and smiling.
She shrugged. “Colors are kind of my thing.”
I laughed and moved to my desk. I pulled open the bottom drawer and then pulled out a giant catalogue from my favorite framer. I could order a frame in the correct size and have it shipped, then mount the photo myself. I sat in the desk chair I’d splurged on. It had been an expensive purchase, but I knew the horror of sitting in an uncomfortable chair while editing photos, and when I opened my own studio, I knew I needed a great chair. It was like sitting on a cloud, only a cloud that had great back support. I loved it. Shelby came to stand behind me, peering over my shoulder at the pages and pages of available frames.
Like two kids in a candy store, we flipped pages, pointing to frames we loved and frames we hated, debating with each other when we didn’t agree. We were so engrossed in our task, neither of us noticed when the door opened, and we both startled at the sound of a deep voice.
“You’re a difficult woman to get ahold of.” The voice was playful and gravelly. Entirely sexy. My eyes snapped toward the door where I saw Nate standing right inside. His frame filled the doorway and my eyes struggled to stay locked on one part of him, roaming over his body, too greedy to focus on one single aspect.
“I’m actually pretty easy to get ahold of. Just a few drinks really…” Shelby said, not missing a single beat. Before I could contain my reaction, I gasped and turned to her, a little mortified that she’d say something so brazen to a complete stranger. I saw the way she was looking at him, her eyes hazy, a lazy but sexy smile on her face. Immediately I was moving.
“Nate, hi,” I said lamely as I stood, walking around my desk. “Wow. You actually came.”
“I said I would. When I say I’m going to do something, I always follow through.”
“Okay,” I said, my voice more breathy than I would have liked, but something about his words had my lungs working overtime. I watched as his eyes left me and started moving around my studio. I looked around, trying to see what he might see, wondering what he would think of my little corner, a studio that meant more to me than brick and mortar should.
“You took all these?” he said as he walked by a wall displaying my work. Usually, I would mentally roll my eyes at this question. Why would I hang someone else’s work in my studio? But when he asked, the question made me nervous, as I desperately needed him to like my photos, to connect with him in that way.
“Yeah.”
He looked at me, with one side of his mouth quirked up, and then looked back to another photo. “They’re amazing.” He stopped as he approached the large print Shelby and I were discussing. He peered down at it and then turned his head to look at me again. “You took this photo?”
I made it all the way around the desk and went to stand next to him, my eyes taking the photo in, wondering again what it might look like to him. “I did. And that’s Shelby in the photo.” I motioned back to Shelby, noticing she was standing behind my desk, still looking at us.
“It looks like something out of a fairy tale,” he remarked, his eyes looking wistful. I turned back to the photo and tilted my head while I contemplated his words. “The way she kind of looks like she’s part of the water, like, rising from it. It’s remarkable.”
Wow. Okay. He got it.
“Thank you,” I managed, turning an obvious and embarrassing shade of red.
“You’re really talented,” he added, facing me.
“It’s a mixture of luck and knowhow.”
“Are you trying to be humble?” he laughed. “It’s cute, but it’s not going to work. You’re really good at what you do. You shouldn’t brush off your abilities like that.”
“Hello there,” I heard from behind us. Turning, I saw Shelby with her hand stretched out toward Nate. “Since Evelyn here is being rude, I’ll introduce myself. I’m Shelby,” she said the words in a playful way, but I could tell she was irritated I’d forgotten about her altogether.
“I’m sorry. Nate, this is Shelby. She’s one of my favorite models and is also a great beautician.”