The Distance Between Us(21)

“So these will be on flyers and things?”

“Mostly on our website, but yes, flyers, too.”

A website. Why didn’t we have a website for the doll store? I smile and put the camera to my eye. “All right, hot stuff. Work it.”



Looking at Xander through the lens of a camera is rewarding. I can do it without worrying about staring. As the day progresses I learn how to zoom in, focus on his smile or his eyes. His skin is amazing. His hair the perfect amount of shine and body. It’s just a little wavy, which, although it’s on the short side, makes it stand up perfectly.

I get to set up a few shots. I play with the light coming through the windows. First overexposing him, bathing his face in light. And then reversing the effect and backlighting him so he is like a dark shadow, all edges and curves. I get a few with the ocean in the background. The hotel room has the perfect view.

“Loosen up, Xander,” I say at one point.

“What? I’m loose.”

“You’re just so formal. You’re supposed to be on vacation in these shots, right? Act like it.”

“I’m in a suit. I’m probably actually at a business meeting or something.”

“A business meeting for uptight employees?”

“Hey now.” He laughs, and both the real photographer and I snap more pictures.

Just when I think the photographer has gotten all the pictures (and more) that he could possibly need, the hotel room door opens and a handsome middle-aged man walks in. I don’t need Xander to curse under his breath to realize it’s his father. The resemblance is obvious. They both have the brown eyes and the light brown hair, the high cheekbones and full lips. And they both carry themselves in exactly the same way: like they own the world. Xander’s father scans the room and stops on me.





Chapter 15



Mr. Spence pauses on me for a full thirty seconds, taking me in from my six-month-old at-home haircut to my ratty Converse. Then he gives me a small nod of acknowledgment. I sense he thinks I’m an assistant to the photographer, and if Xander wants to play along with that, I don’t blame him.

Xander looks between his father and me. If I was so hesitant to introduce Xander to my mom, I can only guess how he feels about introducing me to his father. I keep my mouth shut and maintain a tight grip on the camera.

Mr. Spence spots the open laptop in the corner. The photographer, most likely realizing what that means, says, “They are the raw, unedited shots, but you’re welcome to look at the ones I’ve captured so far.”

Xander stands. “But either way, we’re done.” He walks to the bedroom, and right before he gets to the door, he looks back at me and says, “Caymen,” almost like he had expected me to know to follow him. I give him the Are you sure? look and he holds out his hand. My heart flips and I take a deep breath and walk toward him, but am not stupid enough to grab his hand when I reach him. I just walk past him and into the bedroom. He follows me in and shuts the door.

For some reason I’m out of breath.

The clothes he came here in are hung nicely over a chair in the corner and he walks over to them muttering something I can’t understand. As he slides out of his suit coat and starts to unbutton the shirt underneath, something hits me. What if I’m his signal: another one of the messages to his dad to show that he doesn’t want to be part of his father’s world, a pawn in his game of rebellion? Is that why he started coming around? Hang out with the poor girl. That’ll really get under his father’s skin. I turn to face the wall while he changes.

I slip the camera off my neck and trace my finger over the silver button on top.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m not changing in here. I’ll go in the bathroom.”

But when I turn back around, thinking I’m safe, his shirt is all the way unbuttoned. Regardless of the fact that his clothes are resting over his arm and he’s heading for the attached bathroom, my face reddens at the sight of his bare, nicely defined chest.

Even after the bathroom door clicks shut, my heart continues to beat an accelerated rhythm. I walk slowly around the room, trying to calm it. Xander will not have this effect on me. I won’t let him.

The furniture and bedding in the room are nicer than anything in my house. I let my hand trail over the rich material. When he comes out clothed I ask, “Xander, is this your camera or the photographer’s?”

“It’s mine.”

“Do you think I can borrow it for a few days?”

“Of course. For what?”

“I have a porcelain doll fetish. Thought I could take some high-quality pictures of them.”

He shakes his head. “And let’s try that again. For what?”

“I kind of like the website idea. Maybe it’s time our store has one.” It could possibly save us from financial ruin.

“Hmm. That doesn’t sound like the best way to show your mom you have no interest in the store.”

I shrug. “I’ll just set it up and have her run it. Bring her into the modern world.” Maybe a website could eventually take the place of me. People could place their own orders, we could make more money . . . then my mom could afford to hire a part-time employee. I try not to get my hopes up, because it could take months, but I like the idea.