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It’s easy to see where Tathan’s passion lies. Photography.

It’s in the simple aspects of it too.

When the bride says I do.

When the groom lifts her veil.

When they kiss for the first time as husband and wife.

It’s all moments he captures for them, as a little memory in time they will have forever.

“Dance with me?” Tathan sets his camera down when “Dare to Believe” by Boyce Avenue comes on. A very well-placed song and a very well-placed question, just when I’m daring to believe he might be someone I can take a chance on.

“Just don’t sing,” I tease, taking his hand.

He smiles, his hands wrapping around my waist gently, holding me to his chest.

I smile back up at him, hooking my hands around his shoulders.

“You know,” he begins as we gently sway, and he turns his gaze down to me. “I held up my end of the deal.”

“And so I owe you that date now,” I finish.

Tathan nods. “You made a deal.”

“Yes, I did.” As we dance, I can’t help but watch my best friend and how happy she is. It seems all her life she’s waited for this day where she could call Bryan her husband.

I stare at Casey, nearly in tears. “She’s absolutely beautiful.”

Tathan leans down and presses his lips to my temple. “You are too.”

My eyes continue to watch them, happy and content as Casey smiles at me nearly in tears.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Tears collect along the rims of my eyes, and I give her a wink and lay my head on Tathan’s chest.

“No, thank you, Casey,” I return, knowing she can read my lips. If it wasn’t for her, I’d probably be at home with Oliver eating Cheerios. Instead, I’m daring to believe this deal just may be a good one.

When the dance is over, I pull away and take a few steps back. Tathan reaches over to the table and retrieves his camera. The sun is setting behind me. Deep orange hues surround him in his black tux. I raise my hand and touch his chest, just a little feel.

“Pick me up at seven tomorrow,” I tell him and turn so I can’t see his face, literally walking off into the sunset.

Cliché, huh?

I think so, too, but it’s fitting for the day. When I turn back around, about twenty feet from him, he snaps a photograph of me. Unlike him, I won’t need a photograph to remember this moment. It’s etched on the very fiber of my soul because I’m pretty sure I’m so far past the point of no return with Tathan. . . and it scares the ever-living hell out of me.

He doesn’t look at me long and then stares at his camera, studying the image he just took, remembering the moment I assume. I wonder what he sees right then, a man so keen on capturing the true essence of a subject. Does he see me? Does he see exactly what he’s done to me?

I hope he has.