The Absence of Olivia(67)

I’d seen the set up for weeks now. Heck, I’d designed it. But seeing the show in full swing, lighting up, people milling around, drinks in hand, pointing to my photos, well, it seemed like a dream come true.

I grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing server, giving her a smile, and then slowly strode through the open gallery showroom, trying to take in bits and pieces of what people were saying to each other about my photos.

“Breathtaking,” “beautiful,” “soulful,” and “exquisite” were some of the words floating through the air as I passed by, and the smile that spread across my face was genuine and pure. This was what I’d worked so hard for these past years.

I spotted Sylvia and made my way to her, grateful for a friendly face. Her eyes lit up when she saw me and greeted me with an excited smile.

“Oh, my gosh, Evelyn, so far everyone is in awe of your work.” She placed her hand on my arm just below my shoulder and gave me a gentle, supportive squeeze. A few heads around us turned at Sylvia’s words and once people’s eyes found me, I was suddenly surrounded by people – fancy, glamorous people – who all wanted to talk to me about my “talent.”

Over the next two hours, I was happily cornered by some of the most impressive people I’d ever hoped to meet, let alone talk with about my photographs. Someone from Time Magazine spoke to me for ten whole minutes about using my photos for a regional edition and I nearly stopped breathing. Whose life was I living?

Shelby found me, champagne in hand, and gave me another enthusiastic hug.

“Evie, these photos are incredible. You’ve done such phenomenal work in LA,” her eyes continued to wander around the room, taking in all the photos that hung from the wall.

“You saw that one, right?” I asked, pointing to the wall on the east side of the building. Hanging there was a large print of the photo I’d taken of her at the falls just weeks before I left town.

“I did see it,” she said with a smile. “I also saw the little sticker next to it that indicated it had been sold.” Her voice was nearly at a squeal.

A new wave of emotions rushed over me. While talking with all the exciting people about what my next step as a photographer would be, and where my art would take me, I’d totally forgotten that my work was for sale. If I sold even a few pieces at the prices posted, I would be set for months.

“Are you serious?” I balked.

“Totally. I saw quite a few stickers already. You’re doing fantastic!”

Another server walked by and we grabbed more champagne, quietly toasting, my smile growing wider by the minute. I kept Shelby near me, glad to have a friend there, and we slowly made our way through the gallery. I accepted compliments with as much grace as I could muster, feeling my cheeks heat every time someone said something I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear.

“You’re a magnificent artist.”

“The way your photographs capture light, it’s amazing.”

“Where have you been hiding? Your work is incredible.”

I was floating on a cloud of realized dreams and bubbly champagne when I suddenly felt the hairs on the nape of my neck raise, standing straight up, and goose bumps spreading across my skin.

“You’re a difficult woman to get ahold of.”

I heard his wonderfully deep and gravelly voice from behind me and my breath caught in my lungs. My mouth parted, waiting for words that weren’t anywhere near ready to come. I registered Shelby’s wide eyes, but I was too focused on all the exciting responses my body was having to his voice to care.

My heart rate thundered through my veins, my breath started moving in shallow pants, and every nerve in my body was tingling with just the sound of his voice. I felt him step up closer, his front barely brushing my back, and I had to fight every instinct to lean into him.

“This one is my favorite,” he said, his voice a low whisper, his hand coming up, finger pointing toward a photo on the wall a few feet in front of us. My eyes were trained on his hand. His skin was tanned, palms looking rough and worn, but he was obviously strong. Then, my gaze moved to the photo he was pointing at and I felt a small smile pull on the corner of my mouth.

It was one of my favorites too.

A black and white image of a man, standing atop an unusual, yet amazing, formation of naturally fallen logs. Even though it was a black and white image, the sunlight was flooding the frame, making his face impossible to see, but illuminating every other part of him.

“That was one of my most favorite days,” I managed to whisper. I remembered that hike, remembered him fondly, and thought of him often.

“Mine too,” he whispered so close to my ear I could feel his breath passing over my cheek. I turned my head slightly, and took in his incredibly handsome face with bright eyes smiling down at me. He was just as I remembered him. Dark hair, a little unruly, deep brown eyes, arresting smile.

“What are you doing here?”

“My favorite photographer announced on her website a few months ago that she was going to open her own gallery. I made it a point to come and support her. She’s an incredible artist.”

“Nate,” I whispered, unable to make it past his name, overcome by his sweetness and the absolute shock of seeing him again. Something in my belly flipped at the thought of him looking at my website, of him thinking about me after not seeing each other for years.