Page 19 of Beach Cottage Kisses

Working from home Thursday, Iris tried to get lost in the three monitors that arced around her on her workspace. The week’s output surrounded her from different angles as she edited. One photo at a time. Scrapping some attempts. And way more edits.

She couldn’t seem to get anything right. Couldn’t create anything that gave her the feeling she got when an image worked. Nothing was grabbing her. The internal guidance that normally led her choices was absent.

Once she’d acknowledged the anomaly, she put it down to having had an exceptionally good week, photographically speaking. Because her work had been saving her from the near relapse she’d had over the weekend. Of all the shots she’d kept, she’d managed to catch the image perfectly first time through. Nothing needed editing.

She almost believed herself for a minute or two.

No matter how good someone was at something, no one was perfect.

The photos were good enough. Likely she’d be the only one who’d see they were lacking at some point. But she couldn’t turn in inferior work. Not and live with herself.

Her ability to publish pictures that spoke to viewers,photographs that people remembered, was the one thing she counted on.

The part of her soul that had survived the ravage, speaking to the world in the only way it could.

When Angel nudged her forearm for the fourth time that morning, Iris finally got the point and left the desk. Grabbing her camera, she took Angel out to the beach. Caught the girl at every angle. Running. Sitting. Digging in the sand. Standing still as a wave came in and wet her paws. She caught sunshine on the water behind her housemate. Got a shot where Angel, with a slightly open mouth, was clearly smiling.

With every tap of her finger against the shutter button she released some of the panic that had been barreling her way.

And gained confidence from the steadiness of waves washing to shore. Backing off. And coming in once again.

Right up until Angel tore off down the beach in the direction of Scott’s cottage and her stomach leaped, her heart rate picking up.

He wasn’t home. Scott never came home at lunchtime. He had an arrangement with Dale to let Morgan out on weekdays.

Fact replaced reaction and she followed her girl down to say hello to Morgan. Waved to Dale, who was up on his porch with Juice. She filled with relief, while her mind reeled with implication.

Something was going on with her. More than just finding a friend attractive. It had started before that. When Sage said her vows.

Right after Iris had walked up the aisle in her formfitting dress, heels and professional makeup, with Scott’s tuxed arm holding her hand against his side.

Before he’d left her at the altar to head back and walk his sister in.

Yeah, but Iris had been fine then.

Herself. For the most part. As much as she could be trussed up as she’d been.

The first time she’d ever been such.

Had that been it?

The fact that she used to dream about feeling beautiful, in fancy clothes, on the arm of a faceless handsome stranger.

Back when she was still naive enough to dream.

And suddenly found herself a part of an event, wearing them, in real life?

Made sense. Good sense.

And explained her completely out-of-character and damned weird reaction to Scott since, too.

Her psyche had been subconsciously thrust into an old fantasy.

It wasn’t reality.

She really was fine.

After years of counseling, Iris knew what professionals were going to say before they said it. Had learned, from their teaching, to rely on self-analysis, and complete honesty, to keep herself mentally and emotionally healthy.