Page 38

The Photo Booth Scene

Holland

W e keep it light and fun as we wander around to the different vendors. Vivian cuts in a couple of times, redirecting our conversation. But we mostly focus on our hobbies outside of golf. Books. Music. Movies. That sort of thing.

When we make it to the back of the barn, Mallory points straight ahead and squints. “Is that a photo booth?”

“Sure is.” I lead her over. “Come on.” I step inside first, and she follows me.

One of the MEM cameramen attempts to come in after us, and his effort makes Mallory press into me to try to make space. I don’t hate that, but I shake my head at the guy. “Three’s a crowd, man. How about you film out there? We’re still mic’d up, right?”

“It’s fine, Doug.” Vivian pops her head in by us.

“Wow. It’s a party in here,” Mallory quips.

Vivian smiles. “You two are cute together. Keep it up.”

Mallory and I exchange a glance, and I wag my brows at her as if to say, see? When the cameraman is finally out of our personal space, she makes a face by sticking out her tongue and crossing her eyes, and it’s so out of her usual character that I snort.

I have to work fast if I want to make this happen, so I whip out the tiny notebook I’ve been carrying around in the back pocket of my jeans and flip it open.

I wrote down a series of yes-or-no questions, and I have a little mini-golf pencil.

Mostly I wanted a way to be able to check in on Mallory and see how she’s doing without the camera or our microphones listening in.

Now that I’m sitting here with her pressed against my side and staring at me with wide eyes, I’m second-guessing my plan.

Is it juvenile and stupid? Should I man up and ask her out loud?

I waffle, but she takes the decision away from me when she grabs for the notebook and the pencil.

Her eyes scan the page, and when she looks up at me, she’s smiling. A big one. I feel like the power of that thing could make this entire photo booth take flight.

She goes down my list of questions:

Are you doing okay?

She checks yes.

Still want to be here?

She checks yes.

My heart rate kicks up. I don’t know what I would do if she would have checked no. I mean, I would have let her go. But I wouldn’t have enjoyed that one bit.

As I watch her go through my questions, out loud, I’m prattling on about the different props they have stowed on a shelf off to my right side, covering for the lack of conversation between us. Mallory is humming her responses as she goes down the list.

Still willing to go out on a date with me for real?

She bites back a smile and checks yes.

Can I kiss you on camera?

I realized we never talked about that, so I added that last question so she wouldn’t be blindsided.

Vivian has been on my case about how I’m not being affectionate enough with the women.

There’s no one I want to be affectionate with…

except for Mallory. But I refuse to do anything that makes her uncomfortable, so I’m putting the ball in her court.

Mallory hesitates after reading it and glances up at me. I shrug, even as I say something about how I would make a handsome cowboy. I’m spouting off nonsense at this point, but it’s tough to have a conversation out loud while trying to have a secret conversation on paper .

Mallory holds the pencil over my notebook, and then she checks no . But next to it, she changes the box to read: Not yet .

She looks at the prop bin, glances at the screen in front of us, and hits the button to start the countdown.

She plops a cowboy hat on my head and some cat ears on hers, then as the timer picks up, accelerating toward the actual photo-taking moment, she presses her lips to my cheek.

I’m so startled by her initiative, I freeze. That small gesture makes me feel like she has struck a match and kindled a cozy little fire inside of me.

She leans back, and the next time the camera flashes, we’re staring at each other, me with what I’m sure is a slack jaw and her with a tentative smile lighting her face.

Then she turns to the camera and crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue. I follow suit. She laughs out loud at my expression. “You look like a drunk parrot.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” I tell her. “Come here.”

I pull her onto my lap and tuck my chin on her shoulder, inhaling a lungful of her peachy scent and letting it intoxicate me.

Mallory is still for a minute until she leans her head down against the top of mine.

I smile a big cheesy grin, and as the camera clicks, so does something in my heart, sliding into place.

“All done?” she asks, and she sounds slightly breathless.

I nod, but she doesn’t move off my lap. She takes her pencil and leans forward with the notebook, bracing herself against the wall of the photo booth. She jots down a note with check boxes for yes and no beneath it:

I want our first real kiss to be just us. Is that okay?

She hands me the pencil.

I check yes .

I want to ask her when I can kiss her for real, because I want to now, and tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after that. We don’t have enough time for me to scribble that all out. Besides, she snatches the pencil back and writes another quick line of text.

You’re sweet and thoughtful. Thank you.

She shoves the notebook back at me, smiles, and scrambles out of the photo booth.

I slide out behind her, feeling like a hero.