Page 27

chapter

thirteen

Lovesong – The Cure

CAMPBELL

Aside from Kit, Campbell had zero experience with children and even less experience teaching.

But somehow, the class went okay.

And, big shock , he actually enjoyed it.

He brought a box of old cameras to the Children’s Center, enough for every kid to have one to mess around with.

As they clicked the shutter button and fiddled with the focus ring, asking questions both astute and absurd, he watched their faces—the curiosity, the wonder—and realized he’d forgotten what it was like to hold a camera for the first time.

The solid weight of it. The thrill of looking through the viewfinder and seeing the world from a much different, much-needed perspective.

His grandfather’s cast-off Nikon had been his savior, his spark when he’d questioned having one—because baseball, which everyone said should be his spark, wasn’t. He’d found it confusing, being told what to love instead of having the freedom to find it himself.

He still carried that beat-up camera to every shoot. His talisman. His good luck charm.

He wondered if anyone here would feel that same spark.

There were eight kids in the class, ranging in age from ten to thirteen. Children with nowhere to go after school, at loose ends, their parents working multiple jobs or perhaps not as involved as they should be.

Fontana believed this, and he agreed: too much free time and the trouble started.

She laughed easily in this setting, eyes bright, smile transforming her face from guarded to accessible, making it damn near impossible for him to look away.

He figured, to hell with it, and let himself drink her in like the desperate man he was.

Faded jeans worn at the knee and tight in the seat, ragged hem brushing the floor.

Converse sneakers with a hole in the toe.

A Braves sweatshirt that had seen better days but hugged her breasts so well he wished she’d wear it every day.

His traitorous body leapt to attention as he wondered how she could look so amazing without trying—because he knew she didn’t try very hard.

When she caught him staring and held his gaze, focusing on him like he was the only person in the room, heat shot through him as surely as if she’d skated a finger down the zipper of his pants.

His dick had no qualms about admitting fascination.

Or defeat.

But he couldn’t quite forget the awful accusations they’d thrown at each other. Or how much she seemed to dislike him. Maybe doubt was the better word. There was too much in her gaze for him to accept.

Since their encounter, he’d decided that when it finally happened, he wanted someone in his life who made him feel—well, good about himself.

Because he thought he might be okay at taking care of someone if given half a chance.

He understood this meant treading into relationship territory, but fuck, he was exhausted and lonely and sick to death of playing games.

For a split second that night with Fontana, he’d imagined it could be her .

So, he was the one to duck his head, shy away, and focus on the kids who seemed sincerely interested in photography.

They lit up when he told them they could take the cameras home—on one condition: they had to come to class each week prepared to discuss the lesson plan he’d thrown together.

Next week, they would cover aperture settings and shoot on film.

He wasn’t sure why Fontana felt such a personal connection to this place, but after talking to Hannah, he was beginning to suspect her childhood had included something like this along the way. A refuge.

Protection, the way his camera had been for him.

If they quit dodging each other like one of them carried the plague, maybe he’d ask. In a friendly , non-sexual, absolutely-not-a-come-on way.

Campbell flipped a canister of film between his hands and pondered this proposal to himself as a breeze ripped through the open window, carrying the scent of burning leaves, paint, and glue past his nose.

A friend. Honestly, he needed one of those more than he needed a lover. And for some goddamn reason, Fontana made him want to spill his guts. And he liked her, he really did, even if she didn’t like him.

Smiling, he popped the cap off the canister with his thumb and jammed it back in place. Maybe this was his 2 a.m. solution. He and Fontana could be friends .

He shook his head at the internal argument. The masturbation issue would sort itself out .

The person you fantasized about wasn’t always appropriate. Lascivious thoughts about a friend? Old news for a guy. He’d seen what Fontana had to offer—and liked it way more than he should.

Hard to forget a mind-blowing night like that.

Harder still to forget the laughter they’d shared. The way her body seemed made for his, combined with her—he didn’t know the exact word for it— sincerity? —in bed. Which made him want to be himself, too. Not the most normal of occurrences.

All combined, a rare experience that— hell , he’d admit it—had shaken him to the core.

Anyway, he could worry less about it now. He had a plan.

At the sound of his name, he shook himself from his thoughts .

Luca, a boy in the class, stood fiddling with his camera, looking like he wanted to talk—but not in front of the entire group.

He was tall for his age, which Campbell guessed was twelve or so, his energy sending his legs and arms into nervous tremors he seemed unable to control.

His clothes were clean enough, though faded and a size too small.

“My dad’s Puerto Rican; my mom’s Black,” Luca said, tilting the camera in his hand and giving the dials a determined study. “But I’m in foster.”

Campbell did a one-handed push off the wall he’d been leaning against. “Okay…but what ?”

“This,” Luca said, pointing to a button as if he hadn’t just dropped personal information on a virtual stranger without being asked. “What’s it do?”

“Lens release.” He tapped the boy’s wrist. “Don’t go there. Yet. We’ll change out lenses—maybe. More advanced topic than we’ll likely get to.” And he didn’t have spare lenses lying around like he did shitty old cameras he’d rebuilt for fun.

“Huh.” Luca ran his finger along the metal plate on top, glanced up in question. His eyes were dark orbs rimmed with pale blue. They’d be amazing in a photograph.

“Hot shoe.”

At the boy’s silent request for more information, Campbell laughed, walked across the room, dug through his bag, and came up with his trusty Nikon.

When he got back to Luca, he handed him the camera and pointed to the attached flash unit.

“A hot shoe is a mounting point for accessories. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Luca balanced both cameras, one in each hand, as if weighing them against each other. Tilting his head, he nodded, handed the Nikon back to Campbell, and smiled. Campbell smiled back. He liked this kid.

And he thought he’d found the one who would feel the spark.

Luca scratched his nose, then did the camera balance again—this time with just one—getting a feel for it in his hand, Campbell could tell. Much like you’d palm a basketball. “Aperture next week, right?”

Campbell nodded, then stared inside the lens of his Nikon.

The boy did the same with his. “See those? Aperture blades. We’ll learn to stop down, or close, and open up, or widen.

And why, depending upon the shot you want.

How much light passes through the opening affects exposure.

” He clicked the shutter and watched the blades snap shut like teeth.

“Think of it like your pupil, expanding or contracting with the amount of light. It’s the best tool you’ll ever have to capture the image in the way you want to. ”

Luca whistled as he danced from one foot to the other. “Cool.”

Campbell nodded, felt a grin split his cheeks. “Yeah, cool.”

FONTANA

Fontana found them like that, heads bent until they nearly touched, cameras in hand, conspiratorial smiles on their faces. She halted in the doorway, tugged her gardening gloves off, one leisurely finger-pull at a time.

Long enough to watch them interact.

Long enough to take Campbell in from head to toe.

He looked a little rumpled today in a T-shirt and jeans, stubble lining his jaw, hair messy from his ride over in the dream machine. His loafers left behind, replaced by dirty Vans the same color as Jaime’s. Sexy without effort, an easier thing for men than women.

He said something to Luca, who laughed as Campbell tapped the lens, shrugged a broad shoulder, and gestured to another part of the camera.

This boy was one Fontana had lost sleep over. In a foster home after being removed from his mother’s care, Luca wore the bewildered expression she recognized from her mirror all those years ago. One he tried to cover with the hardest veneer he could find.

That she understood, too.

Wouldn’t you know Campbell would be the one to crack the boy’s icy facade?

While trying—without trying—to melt hers.

She walked toward them, slapping her gloves against her thigh, pleased they hadn’t noticed her yet. She wanted Campbell unprepared, his expression open for that brief second before he slammed it shut.

“Hey,” she whispered when she reached them.

Campbell shifted, startled, and there it was. Pleasure and white-hot heat, his brown eyes going almost black with it before he echoed her greeting and looked away. She wanted to touch him so badly, she curled her hands around her gloves to keep them occupied.

Luca’s glance bounced between them, then he coughed, like he’d walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to witness.

“The class?” Fontana asked to break the tension.

Campbell and Luca shared a look, then a grin.

“Oh, man,” Luca said, with little of the detachment he’d shown since he started coming to the center, “it’s going to be amazing.”

Campbell swallowed forcibly, color sweeping his cheeks before he reached to rough up Luca’s hair like she’d seen him do to Kit’s.

Fontana’s heart did a somersault in her chest. A breath-stealing, absolute, pull-the-rug-out fall .

Well, well. Campbell True was great with children, and he didn’t even know it.

“I’m sure it will be amazing,” she said once she recovered. “Have you seen his photographs?”

Campbell darted a surprised glance at her. “Have you ?” he asked, a smile twisting his lips and his words. His eyes had settled, amber creeping in at the edges, long lashes shadowing the crescents beneath when he blinked.

He’s flirting with me , Fontana thought in wonder, and almost forgot to flirt back. “I actually have your latest and greatest.” She paused for effect, tilting her head, drawing it out, toying with him.

“Huh.”

“In fact, I read it last night in bed.” She pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to let out a forbidden church-laugh.

Campbell took a quick step forward, then shook his head and glanced at the boy beside him.

Oh, yeah, she had him.

Heaving a huge sigh, he raked a hand through his hair, sending it into even worse disarray. “Checkmate,” he mouthed—just for her.

“I play to win,” she whispered back—just for him.

He gripped his camera and turned to Luca. “You need a ride?”

“Okay. Yeah, sure!” Luca said, bouncing slightly on his heels.

At the door, Campbell halted, tipped his head to stare at the ceiling, as if debating with cracked plaster was a thing.

When his gaze swung back to her, amusement flickered alongside some pointed emotion she couldn’t quite name.

“There’s a party tomorrow at the Rise. It’s a ridiculous idea of John Nelson’s, but?—”

Luca punched his arm. “Since when is your birthday ridiculous? Best party ever! I’m developing pictures in a darkroom with some kid named Kit!”

She gave her gloves a hard twist.

Worst. Timing. Ever.

Now was not the moment to notice the rip in the butt of Campbell’s jeans or the teeny-tiny hint of green peeking through. Her brain screamed: He’s wearing green underwear.

She forced herself to breathe slowly and ask rationally, “Birthday?”

His lips twitched, gentle enough to reveal only a single dimple. “You know, those annoying yearly occurrences that move us closer to death. ”

“Gross,” Luca mumbled, making a face as he stumbled out the door.

Campbell’s gaze dropped to his camera as he adjusted a setting she was pretty sure didn’t need adjusting. “I just thought…” He motioned inanely, sighed—for the second time in recent memory—then stepped toward the door. “Never mind.”

“I would love to come, if that was an invitation,” Fontana whispered, trying to keep her eyes off that rip.

He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “It was.”

“Then, yes, I’ll be there.”

He looked up then, his eyes overflowing with too many emotions to gather—like a basket of flowers she couldn’t quite get her arms around.

She had no answer for everything she saw in them.

“See you tomorrow, Hellcat.”

“You bet, Atlanta.”

With a laugh, he pointed the camera at her. “Don’t forget to bring your fiancé.”

The joyful glow that hit her as she watched him walk out stayed with her all night.