The Snapshot Bride_A Cobble Creek Romance_Country Brides & Cowboy Boots Page 5

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” she said. “I like knowing there’s a decent-sized city not far off from Cobble Creek. It makes me think I might actually be able to live in a small town.”

  He nodded. “Good to know.” In truth, it caused that spark of fear to flare up in him. Was he a fool to get involved with a woman who might be here today and gone tomorrow? It brought his mind back to their plan to talk more about their pasts while they bowled. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten about it. And he was pretty sure she hadn’t either. It was just … sometimes it was better not to know. If things between them were destined to fail, it wouldn’t be such a crime to delay that knowledge for now and have a little fun. It’d been a long time since he’d given in to the urge to kiss a woman like that. It felt good.

  “Man,” Kira said with a yawn. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day. Oh, and I forgot to pick up some coffee grounds.”

  “We can stop and get some at the market,” he offered. “I’m not pressed for time.” He glanced at the dash, noticing it was already after midnight. There wasn’t a market open in Cobble Creek that late, but there were two options in Duckdale. Riverside might be an option too …

  “No thanks,” she said. “I’ll just go after church tomorrow.”

  Anthony glanced over, guessing she planned to attend the church Angelo went to, which was his too. “You going to the one up there by the Country Quilt Inn?” he asked. “They have really good coffee there. I should know; I’m the one who provides it.”

  She glanced over. “Is it the same as what you gave me at the diner this morning?”

  He nodded, hoping that’d be a good thing. “You can even bring your own mug and fill her up. Lots of people do that.”

  She looked satisfied. “Hmm. Maybe between the diner and the church, I won’t have to brew my own coffee.”

  He liked that idea. “I’ll give you the same deal I gave Angelo,” Anthony said.

  “And what’s that?” she asked.

  “Free coffee. Just for coming in to see me.”

  She scrunched her face up. “You mean I have to actually come in and talk to you? I can’t just, like, call ahead and have a busboy rush out for curbside delivery?”

  Anthony shot her a glare. “You’re terrible.”

  “I know,” she admitted with a laugh. “I hope you don’t mind that we sort of skipped the whole reveal-all-the-crap-from-our-past talk tonight. I’d kind of like you to get to know me first. You know, who I am now, not who I was. Since I’m making efforts to change.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” he said. “We’ve got plenty of time.” At least, he hoped they did. Still, Kira’s words were—to Anthony—a marching army of red flags, urging him to retreat. His mother had tried to change plenty of times. The irony would be if the one thing that actually stuck was the life she’d chosen away from them. But it wasn’t just her. Elsie and Ruth—they’d been seeking change too. And inevitably it separated them from him.

  But Kira’s change was different. Her efforts were what brought her there in the first place.

  Just take things slow. That calming advice, heard in the sound of his father’s deep voice, reminded Anthony that this wasn’t a war. And it wasn’t a race either. He was dealing with a very beautiful woman who had moved to Cobble Creek. One who may or may not be a good match for him. He’d take things one encounter at a time and try—very hard—not to lose his heart too soon.

  Chapter 8

  Kira scrolled down one row of pictures after the next on her computer, her heart aching as something horrible sank in: She’d been shooting in the wrong setting. The images were promising. Decent lighting, acceptable cropping, and if she said so herself, beautiful portrayals of the willing volunteers who’d taken time to let her photograph them.

  Each photo had looked perfect on the camera’s display screen, but sadly, the dimensions had been set for previewing only. Kira looked at the thumbnail-sized portrait of Harper on her screen, clicked and dragged out the corner, and cringed as the girl’s lovely face began to pixilate, making the photo look more like a scrambled puzzle than a portrait. She scaled back, wondering if perhaps a wallet-sized picture could work, but it was no good; all the shots she’d taken on that day were unusable.

  “I can’t believe I did that.” She scooted her chair away from the small kitchen table before striding toward one end of the dining area. And then back. Arms folded, lips and jaw tight, Kira resisted the one thing she knew she had to do. Call them. Call Cam and Kate and Frankie and her stepdaughter, Harper, who could probably go on Broadway, she had so much charm shining through her face. Kira needed to thank them for their time, assure them that the sitting had served its purpose, giving her a refresh course and all, but that she wasn’t able to give them the digital images like she’d hoped. At least she hadn’t charged for any of the sittings. Perhaps she could at least give them a gift certificate, since she had no photos to offer in exchange for their time.

  She reminded herself that even Gramps suffered his share of mishaps. The worst being the time he’d shot at a family reunion. People had flown in from out of town, were together for just a small space of time. He was shooting with film then, and when he went to switch out the roll, he noticed the back of the camera had a hairline crack. Enough to expose the roll of film and ruin the pictures. But a miracle had happened, because the very first slide had escaped exposure. And luckily, it was a picture of the entire group. Kira could nearly hear him now, retelling the way it had been a perfect picture. The little ones were looking at the camera, most smiling, even. The great-grandmother, a woman in her nineties, had struggled to keep from hunching during the shoot, but even she looked poised and ready. The woman’s dog, who’d been kenneled during the remainder of the shoot, had somehow run right in front of the group as he snapped the picture. And the family loved it.

  The recollection made her breathe easier. She only wished she could salvage a few of the ones she’d taken. Anthony’s pictures came to mind as Kira shuffled back to her laptop. She plopped into her chair and scrolled down to the final round of pictures she'd shot that day. If the images were life-sized, they could likely sell at every mall in the country, advertising anything from tattered jeans, beat-up boots, hair gel, or cologne. Heck, digitally place a motorcycle beside him and he’d sell that too.

  Kira lingered over her favorite one of the bunch. Anthony wasn’t exactly smiling, but there was a spark of amusement in his dark eyes. The slightest hint of a dimple in his roughly shaven cheek. And something that made Kira’s limbs turn hot and melty. The word dreamboat came to mind, making her laugh at memories of Grandma Moretti using that word to explain Gramps.

  She thought back on the last few days, recalling Anthony’s kiss in the bowling alley parking lot. In the days that followed, he’d offered a cup of hot coffee each time she strode inside the diner. He’d been as sweet and flirtatious as he’d been on their date. But—and this was a big but—he hadn’t asked her for another date. What was she supposed to make of that? She’d decided to skip the diner this morning and brew her own coffee, which paled in comparison like she knew it would. There was something else bothering her, too, something that indicated he might not be so into Kira after all: When Anthony walked her to the door after their perfect date, he’d simply given her a hug and kiss on the cheek. Like he might do with a friend or one of the girls who’d tried hitting on him that night.

  Kira knew she was forward, that she shouldn’t be the one initiating kisses on first dates, but the knowledge only frustrated her more. That’s simply who she was. Playful and impulsive. If that scared Anthony away, he wasn’t right for her. A conclusion she’d already come to dozens of times since their date.

  She groaned and allowed her body to slump off the chair, where she spread out over the sun-drenched rug like a starfish. “Why am I the way I am?” she asked the ticking clock and dancing dust speckles. Couldn’t she just be like Prissy Marissy, who wouldn’t dream of initiating a kiss if her life depended on it? Who never even
had urges to wink or flirt or smack a guy on the arm while joking with him?

  Guilt caught up with her before she entertained those thoughts further. It wasn’t fair to call her sister names. Especially when Marissa was like most women out there. Kira was the one who stood out like a sore thumb.

  She pushed her mind back to the photo dilemma she faced. It was a good thing that—since the test shoots—she hadn’t shot more than prop arrangements and scenic ideas. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t enlarge those; she could take what she needed from the small images. See what settings gave her the best lighting for the environment. At least she’d caught the problem and knew how to fix it. She needed to start making money off the studio, and quick.

  The distinct vibrating of her phone rumbled the dining room table, causing Kira to sit up in a blink. She shot to her feet, shoved past her growing to-do list, and snatched up the small device. A text glowed bright on the screen.

  Is this Studio Click?

  Kira grinned as she replied with a simple yes.

  I saw your sign about the studio reopening, and I’d like to come speak with you about an idea I have. When will you be in the studio?

  Kira tapped out a quick reply. I open today at eleven.

  Great. The reply came. I’ll see you then.

  Kira shot a fist into the air. “Woo-hoo!” She might get her first paying job.

  She glanced at the wall clock, realizing it was time to leave already. The laptop was warm against her fingers as she snapped it closed and zipped it back into its bag. She set her planner on its designated corner of the counter, her to-do list glaring at her as she moved. While she’d crossed a few things off like buy groceries and update the storefront marquee, she had yet to introduce herself to the tenants next door or pull out their lease and see what the terms were. She also hadn’t looked into the payment details of the studio lease. Of course, it was mid-month and probably wasn’t due until the beginning of April. Same with rent. But she needed to make that a priority. Tonight. When she got back.

  Still, as she gathered her coat and keys, Kira couldn’t help but think the people next door were awfully quiet. Especially since it was a single mom and her kid. Of course, Kira listened to music a lot, so they’d likely gone unheard for that reason. Yet as she started up the car and retrieved the ice scraper Anthony gave her in the church parking lot, she realized the car in the tenant’s driveway hadn’t moved. No tire tracks had been made since it snowed.

  A shot of fear tore through her as she wondered if something horrible had happened to the pair. Kira stopped scraping the frosty windshield and rested the bar across the hood of her car. In mere seconds she was pulling open the screen door and ready to knock. But a note on the door stopped her short: a page ripped from a spiral-bound notebook, the tattered fringe waving in a ripple from the breeze.

  Had an emergency and were forced to move. Keep the car in lieu of rent. It’s worth two months’ worth. The title and keys are in the apartment.

  Whoa. Kira was really going to have to step it up now. The title and keys may be inside the duplex, but the weight of that four-door sedan was right on Kira’s chest. No more test shots and nature walks and hopes that people would walk right through that bell-chiming door. Kira needed to go out and get some business. She shuffled back to the car, careful not to slip on the ice patch along the drive, and snatched the scraper off the hood. Before buckling up, she lifted her to-do list off the passenger seat, rested it against the center of the freezing steering wheel, and scratched on yet another chore: Put a for-sale sign on car. Find a new tenant for the duplex.

  By the time she stepped through the back entrance of the studio, Kira’s head was swimming. This was usually the point where she started constructing an escape plan. She’d messed up on the first two hundred pictures she’d taken. She hadn’t had one paying customer walk through her doors. And now she’d lost the only tenants she had. Plus she had some beat-up sedan to sell if she wanted to make the mortgage payment, which—for all she knew—could’ve been due yesterday. She wasn’t used to being responsible for so many things.

  A knock sounded from the front door, reminding Kira she’d forgotten to unlock it. With an odd dose of emotion rearing up to blow, she shoved her hand in her pocket and scurried toward the front. She vaguely made out a pair of denim jeans visible through the glass door as she struggled with her keys. At last she snagged the right one and shoved it into the lock. A quick turn followed by a longer, swinging hitch caused that faithful clank to sound. The bell chimed as she tugged the door open, her eyes finally moving up the potential customer on the other side.

  “Hi there, kid.” With kind brown eyes and a smile more alluring than kittens, Anthony Marino stepped into the studio. Cool air clung to his leather jacket while his spicy cologne added to the reasons she was drawn to him.

  Filled with a sudden gratitude for her only friend in town, Kira flung her arms around Anthony’s solid build. “Hi,” she said. “I’m so happy to see you.” She held him like that for a moment, letting his wonderful energy seep into her soul.

  His arms wrapped around her in return, but soon he let them drop to where he cradled her elbows through her heavy coat. “I’m happy to see you too,” he mumbled, his lips dangerously close to her ear.

  Kira tugged back. “I’m having a bad … a lot of bad days in a row.”

  Anthony shrugged out of his jacket, concern gripping his face already. “What’s the matter?”

  You haven’t asked me out again yet, for one … “Well, I was really happy with the test pictures I took on that first day, right? The ones I took of Harper, Cam and Kate’s family, and you.”

  “Okay …” Anthony helped Kira remove her coat, then motioned for her to take a seat with him on the leather couch in the waiting area.

  She started with the problem she’d discovered with the dimension settings, and continued all the way through the note she’d found on her tenant’s door that morning.

  “I’m sorry,” Anthony said once she’d unleashed. “That would be discouraging.”

  She nodded. “Very. And—” Kira stopped short as she recalled the text that had come in that morning. She shot a quick glance at the grandfather clock and gasped. It was already twenty after eleven. “Someone’s supposed to be here. I have to pull myself together.” She shot to a stand, patted at her pockets, and then her hair while turning to find where she’d set her bag.

  “Kira?” Anthony said, voice low and calm.

  “Yeah?”

  He cleared his throat, cupped a knee with his palm. “I’m the one who texted you.”

  She took that in for a minute. “You are?”

  A half-grin pulled at one side of his lips. “I could have told you it was me, but …” He shrugged. “I do have a business proposal for you.”

  Kira felt herself relax at the knowledge. There was no strange man on his way to her studio. It was just Anthony. “Let’s hear it,” she said.

  “I’d like you to take some pictures of the diner, inside and out. Get shots of my employees doing what they do around the place, you know? Then I’d like to frame some poster-sized pictures and replace the art hanging on the walls. I think it’d look nice, and it’ll get folks interested in what’s new at the studio.”

  Kira resisted the urge to reach out and hug him again. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I’d love to do that.”

  He grinned. “Good. So how much would you like to charge me?”

  “Whatever you want to pay. I’m just happy to have my first job.”

  His smile wavered. “That’s fine to do with me, since you know I won’t take advantage of you, but if someone else comes and asks for a similar service, are you prepared to tell them how much you’ll charge?”

  Kira shifted her gaze, stared blankly outside her window. “This is probably one of the reasons I should’ve stuck around and let my Papa mentor me.” She sank back into the waiting room couch, feeling like someone had just popped her balloon. “I can’t
believe he still left me the studio.”

  “Do you mind if I ask what …” Anthony started to say, but then he left off there.

  Kira gulped, realizing just what he was asking. Or what he’d started to ask. “It was a dumb boyfriend. I moved out here. Planned to stay in the duplex with Gramps until I found a place of my own. He was going to mentor me. Show me everything he knew about photography, digital adjustments and enhancements, and running the studio. And it was perfect, because taking pictures was the one thing I never grew bored of. I floated around a lot. Tried ice-skating, volleyball, piano, and flute. And that’s just the hobbies. By the time I was eighteen, I had worked six different jobs. Cashier, nursery attendant, waitress, hostess, cook …”

  She paused there, waited for his expression to morph into the one her parents always pulled. Or Marissa and her great-aunts. Brows stern, lips puckered in disapproval. That errant headshake teeming with disgust. But it wasn’t there. Not even a hint of it. Of course, Monty never judged her either, but that’s because he was the same way. Anthony, on the other hand, seemed closer to the opposite.

  “But even through all of that, photography was my favorite hobby. My passion versus my job, I guess you’d say. Anyway,” she said, “I dated this guy Monty who changed his name to Python …” She caught a wry grin at the corner of Anthony’s lip, but she couldn’t mind since she was fighting back the same grin. It was humorous.

  “He wanted to take pictures too, right? And before we broke up, I bought him a really nice camera and spent months showing him how to use it. He had connections to a famous designer named Finny Shea. Not sure if you’ve heard of her, but she owns Punkline Fashion and, of course, Finny Shea Magazine.”

  Anthony gave her a nod that said he hadn’t heard of her but he was still following along. Still, no puckered you’re such a mess face.