The Obsession(78)
“From where I’m standing you do.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Watching him still, she tipped the pan, gave it a gentle shake. “I’m taking the gamble.”
Before his astonished eyes, she jerked the pan so the egg flew up, flipped over. She caught it neatly back in the pan, smiled in satisfaction.
“I’ve still got it.”
“Impressive.”
“Could’ve been a disaster. I haven’t made a serious omelette in a couple years.” She used the spatula to fold it. “Bread’s in that drawerpop some in the toaster.”
She slid the omelette out, set it in the oven she had on warm, and did the whole thing again. Including the flip.
“I officially love this pan.”
“I’m pretty fond of it myself.”
She sprinkled a little paprika over the plated omelettes, added the toast. “I still don’t have a table.”
“We aren’t far off sunrise.”
“My thought, too. Take the plates, and I’ll bring the coffee.”
They sat on her glider, the hopeful dog sprawled at their feet, and ate while the stars went out and the sun began its golden burn over the water.
“I thought the library was the only thing I was going to envy here. But that . . .” Red, pink, and pale blue joined the gold. “That’s another one.”
“It never gets usual. I’ve taken dozens of pictures of sunrises here, and they’re all their own. If this place had been a dirt hut, I’d have bought it, just for this.”
“And this is where you eat your cereal.”
“Or whatever. I probably will even after I get a table. I need to look for one for out here, and some chairs.”
“You need books. That library needs books. I haven’t seen any around here.”
“I use my reader when I’m traveling.” She arched an eyebrow. “Do you have something against e-readers?”
“No. Do you have something against actual books?”
“No. I’m sending for mine. I don’t have anywhere close to what you do, but I have books. And I have the room now to collect more.”
It made him think of the book on his wall, the one that told him things about her she didn’t want anyone to know.
“Do you still want pictures of minethe books?”
He caught the hesitation, though it was brief and well covered. “Yeah, I would. It’s a statement.”
“What will you do with them?”
“That depends on how they look, if they work the way I see. For the gallery, most likely. And I may do some as notecards for my website.”
“You do notecards?”
“It always surprises me how well they sell. People still use notecards. Plenty of book lovers out there to buy them. The wall of bookssome angles on that. And a stack of them beside a lamp maybe. One open, being read. I could use your hands for that.”
“My hands?”
“You have big hands, big man hands, rough and callused. That’s a good shot,” she murmured, already seeing it. “Rough hands holding an open book. I could do, say, six shots for cards. One big, arty one for the gallery.”
“Do you have anything going tomorrow?”
“Why?”
Always cautious, he thought.
“You could take the pictures tomorrow, and since you’d have your equipment anyway, you’d be in the mode, I should be able to get the guys together. You could take the shot for the CD.”
“I don’t know what you want there.”
“Something that sells some CDs. You’re the doctor.”
“I’d want to see what you used before.”
He boosted up a hip, took out his phone. He noted that he had a half a dozen texts to check, then scrolled through for the CD shot.
The five men, with instruments on the stage at the bar. Done in moody black-and-white.
“It’s good.”
“She says without enthusiasm.”
“No, it’s good. It’s just not particularly interesting or creative. Nothing here to set you apart.”
“What would you do?”
“I don’t know yet. Where do you practice?”
“The garage, one of the back bays.”
“Well, I’d start there.”
He wanted, seriously wanted, to see where she’d start, where she’d finish. What she’d do. “Is tomorrow too soon?”
“No, I guess not. At least I can get a sense. The black T-shirts are okay, but have everybody bring a couple other choicesand some color.”
“I can do that. That was a hell of an omelette. I’ll get things washed up.”
It wasn’t much, and easily done. So he still had time to . . .
“Does the shower work up there?”