“I just rub it on there?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yep.”
She did so tentatively at first and then, seeing that nothing bad was happening, completed the job back and front. Without thinking, I grabbed her hand and started moving it back and forth to dry the negative. Her hand froze as her eyes focused on mine and I quickly stepped away.
“Sorry—just shake it a bit until it dries. Good,” I said, watching her movements. “That should be good.”
“Now we put it…?” she questioned, looking around, until she found me pulling out the carrier—a large black frame with handles.
“Slide it in this way.” I pointed as she carefully put the negative down.
“But won’t it be upside down?”
“No, it will be great,” I promised with a warm smile.
And it was. As soon as it was loaded and focused, I had her look down at the photo.
“Wow—is this from the backyard?” she asked.
“Yeah—I hiked down a ways today and got some really great shots. I printed several earlier. This was my next in the set.”
Since I’d already done so many like it, and played around with f-stops and aperture, I already knew approximately how long to expose the photo, so I skipped test strips and decided to just go ahead with the entire photo.
“I don’t see anything,” she said softly, as if the sound of her voice would disrupt the process entirely.
“Ahh—this is where the magic happens,” I explained, handing her the tongs for the first tray. “Place our photo in here.”
She looked down the line of trays. “That’s a lot of steps.”
“Just trust me.”
Her eyes met mine and she hesitated. “Okay.”
She slowly dropped the white paper in the agitator solution. “Move it back and forth,” I said, resisting the urge to touch her again.
“There it is!” she exclaimed, as the scene came back to life underneath the liquid.
“Now, the next tray,” I instructed, standing so close to her I could feel the heat from her body meshing with mine. She was so entangled with what she was doing I don’t think she even noticed just how close we were standing to each other.
She went through the process, placing the photo in one tray after the other, with me closely beside her until it was set.
“Now we use this,” I said, grabbing the squeegee from the table. She took it from my hand, brushing the outer curve of my palm as she retrieved it. Every accidental touch or fleeting graze from her body felt as if an atom bomb were igniting in mine. My heart raced, my stomach tightened and I fought for every ounce of control not to return the favor.
She’s not mine.
She’s chosen someone else.
Move on.
But no matter how much I reminded myself of those simple facts, I knew that as many times as I’d kissed Magnolia goodnight on our dates, as I’d pushed her against the door of her luxury apartment her father had bought her, I’d never once felt an ounce of what I felt from just a brush of Everly’s hand.
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly, holding up the finishing photo.
“Yes,” I answered, my eyes never wavering from the real beauty in the room. Even without a speck of makeup on, she lit up a room. Fiery red hair, milky white skin, and those captivating blue eyes that seemed to sink directly into my soul.
I would give everything I had and more for a single moment with her. A single second when she looked at me with those eyes and I felt loved.
“Where do we put it now?” she asked, separating me from my distant thoughts.
“Here,” I answered, pointing to the area across the office where I’d strung some wire and clothespins. I heard her giggle slightly as she pinned the photo up and stepped back.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“I just remembered a time when I came in here and you had a million suits all lined up right here in this very spot—trying them all on for a gala. And now you have clothespins and fishing wire strung up in their place.”
I stared at her, trying to gauge her mood.
“Hmm—I’m pretty sure a bunch of suits would be pretty dirty in here now.”
She choked out a laugh, covering her perfect smile from me. But it was a smile nonetheless.
I’d done that.
Made her happy—for once.
Even for a second.
* * *
After cleaning up in the darkroom, I found her back in the living room, looking out at the dark water as tiny flecks of light caught on the waves that washed ashore. She didn’t say anything when I entered the room, just stood there, quietly observing…waiting.
“We had a fight,” she finally said, after I’d made my way across the large room to stand next to her. I resisted the temptation to look over, to soak in her expression. Somehow, I gained her trust in that moment, and I knew it was a heavy burden to bear.