Chapter 5

5

N erves rattled through Finley as she climbed from the truck and moved toward her front door. She hadn't brought a guy home in… forever.

Holden Scott wasn't just any guy, though. He was a famous novelist. He traveled in circles she read about in People . No way was he interested in her. She doubted he'd felt the same spark she had when they'd shaken hands. And when he'd guided her through the coffeehouse, his hand at the small of her back, she'd almost passed out.

"Get a grip," she muttered under her breath as she dug in her purse for her keys.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, once again resting his hand on her back as she produced her key ring.

"Nothing. Just talking to myself," she said, shrugging, embarrassed.

He smiled. An achingly beautiful, wonderful, impossible smile. "And here I thought only writers did that kind of thing. Maybe it's all creative people who do so."

Inserting the key into the lock, Finley said, "I wouldn't put myself in that category."

She started through the door, but he grabbed her elbow, impeding her progress. It caused her to look up at him. His gaze pierced her, seeming as if he saw into her soul.

"You have talent. Don't ever doubt yourself, Finley."

He released his hold on her. Shakily, she turned back to the door, stepping in and slipping off her coat. She hung it on the coat tree.

"Can I take yours?" she asked as he shrugged out of his.

He handed it to her, their fingers brushing.

Fire…

She sucked in a quick breath. He did the same. Their eyes met, and Finley quickly looked away.

"Come into the kitchen," she said, walking briskly, trying to put distance between them.

Because she didn't trust herself.

Flipping on the kitchen light, she went to the cupboard and removed two dessert plates.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"I noticed you drank tea tonight."

"Ah, the observant writer," she said lightly. "I don't do caffeine after noon. If I did, I'd be wide awake at three in the morning. I've got herbal teas I can offer you. Regular and decaf coffee pods. Bottled water."

"I'll take tea. That sounds good with a cupcake."

Glad she had something to do, she filled two mugs and placed them in the microwave. Seeing he still stood, Finley said, "Please. Sit. I'll get my tea caddy."

She brought the caddy to the table. "I've got orange spice. Raspberry. Chamomile. Peach. Apple cinnamon. Decaf Earl Grey."

"Peach for me."

She opened two packets. "I don't have sugar. Emerson and I use stevia in our drinks." She chuckled. "We get enough sugar when she bakes."

"You mentioned the bakery. Does she work there?"

The microwave dinged. Finley retrieved the cups and placed them on the table, dipping both teabags into them before taking a seat.

"She used to. Emerson and I teach together. We met at UT in Austin. Roomed together our first year and stayed friends. She did weekend shifts at The Bake House until recently. Harper— Ivy's sister —started Weddings with Hart. Emerson bakes wedding and groom's cakes for receptions held at the winery. She also does other desserts for different events. Anniversary parties. That kind of thing. I'm Harper's photographer."

Holden dunked his teabag a couple of times. "That's interesting. You have both people and landscapes as your subjects."

She stood again, returning with the bakery box and plates. Opening it, she placed one of the German chocolate cupcakes on a plate and pushed it toward him, seeing his eyes light up.

"You didn't tell me I'd be getting German chocolate. I can't remember the last time I had it."

"Emerson is a master baker, but she really excels with anything having to do with chocolate. These are my favorites." She plated a cupcake for herself and took a bite, sighing.

"When did you start pursuing photography?"

"High school. I took a class. Served as a photographer for the newspaper and yearbook staffs. My specialty was sports. Actions shots can be tricky. You have to capture a certain moment before it vanishes. A forward springing into the air, dunking a basketball. A runner leaning, trying to cross the tape first. A golfer in mid-swing."

He smiled, making her heart skip a beat. "You have a true passion for it."

"I photographed a lot of events for my sorority in college," she continued. "I'm also the unofficial photographer for my elementary school. And I have a side business, beyond what I do for Harper and Weddings with Hart."

"Is that where your landscapes come in?"

"Oddly, no. What you saw at the library is my first attempt at that. Up until now, I've focused on people."

She went on, explaining how she did engagement and bridal portraits and told him about the newborn shoot she'd completed yesterday.

"Could I see some of those shots?" he asked, genuine curiosity on his face.

"Sure. Work on your cupcake while I'll get my camera."

As she left the kitchen, he said, "You better move fast, or I'll finish yours, too."

Finley laughed, feeling excited and yet relaxed in Holden's company. She claimed her camera and went through the series of pictures with him, explaining about the different props she used with the baby.

"These are fantastic," he praised. "I like the black and white ones the most."

"I'm partial to those myself. I love the play of shadows and the contrast in shades. I've started offering packages with color and black and white, even with my senior portraits."

He cocked his head. "Seniors as in old people, or seniors in high school?"

She laughed. "Teenagers. I do some of the up close, cap and gown pictures since parents always seem to want those, but my favorites are taking the kids outside. Lost Creek has so many pretty places to use as backgrounds. The hills. The lake. Several bridges which cross the actual creek. Even the gazebo in the town square."

"They wear mortarboards in those?"

"No," she said, laughing. "I pull in what's important to them. They can bring a few changes of clothes. I'll do action shots on the football or baseball fields, with players wearing their uniforms. But I'll also take kids into nature and shoot them there, wearing their band or drill team uniform. Here, I'll show you."

She flipped through her camera, letting Holden see a cheerleader with her pompoms, jumping high off the ground, Lost Creek Rock in the background.

"We talk about their passions before I plan the shoot. I've captured seniors who enjoy art sketching." She showed a girl sitting atop a rock, sketchpad in her lap, drawing a cactus.

"These are really good, Finley. I'm not blowing smoke either."

"I enjoy working with seniors. Here's the captain of the soccer team, holding a ball. That's Lost Creek in the background. This is a kid who's had a starring role in drama productions. I had Ivy create this movie poster with the girl's name on it and placed it in the glass case in front of the theater. Who knows? She might really be famous someday."

"You really have a way of capturing a piece of a person on film." He shook his head. "And these are so different from what I saw at the library. Relating it to my world, it's the difference in writing a thriller versus writing someone's biography. Or a novelist trying to write poetry." He grinned. "Or a screenplay."

"I'm just beginning to experiment with non-people subjects. The Hill Country is full of so many amazing landforms. Full of variety. I hope to do more."

"How do you have time to teach and work at another job? Writing consumes a lot of my waking hours. I can't imagine having to do something else alongside it."

Finley paused. "I'm going to treat you like a stranger on a plane. Someone I'll never see again."

He reached and took her hand, surprising her. "I hope I do see you again," he said huskily.

She swallowed. "Maybe that wasn't exactly what I meant. What I'm trying to say is that we don't really know one another. And how in some situations, you might share things with a person you've just met. Simply to get their perspective."

His eyes lit with understanding. "You want to leave teaching, don't you?"

Holden's thumb caressed the back of her hand, making rational thought barely possible.

"Yes," she whispered. "I've talked to Emerson about it. She gets it. I… I think I've done all I can in teaching. Even though I thought I'd spend my entire adult life in education, I'm finding my passion for photography is pushing everything aside."

"I taught high school for two years," he told her. "I had applied to get into the University of Iowa's Writers' Workshop after I graduated from college. The workshop is a two-year program where you earn your MA in Fine Art and come out with a finished product. In my case, it was Capitol Crimes . I liked teaching. I think I was pretty good at it. But I had a burning desire to write. To tell stories. To challenge myself and entertain readers."

He squeezed her hand and then released it, leaving her bereft. "I don't regret the two years I taught. I learned a lot about myself as a person." He grinned. "And had to learn how to exercise patience I never knew I had. But when the opportunity presented itself, I made a beeline to Iowa and never looked back. What I'm saying is you need to follow your heart."

"That's what Emerson told me," she said softly.

"Then I already like her. She's right. Obviously, she's known you far longer than I have, but I feel we're kindred spirits."

Holden looked deeply into her eyes. "I saw something in your photographs, Finley. Something magical. Your art spoke to my soul. Anyone can take a picture. You capture an image. A snapshot of a moment in time. Those images tell a story that move others. If you don't chase this dream— if you keep teaching —you'll slowly shrivel inside. You might be a great teacher, but staying in the classroom when you want to be challenged and fulfilled in other ways will eventually suck your soul dry until nothing is left. Let instinct guide you. Try making photography your profession and not your hobby.

"Believe in yourself."

Finley slowly nodded. "You're right. If I don't do this, I'll always regret not stepping outside my very comfortable box. If I find I can't support myself or I realize I'm not as good as I'd like to be, I can always go back to the classroom. That's the beauty of teaching. With education, I'm not making my way up some corporate ladder and will lose out if I step away for a year or two."

"You're talented," he said firmly. "I don't think you'll need to teach again."

"I'll definitely finish out this school year," she told him. "I owe it to my students. And myself. I'm invested in them, and I know they are in me, too. But you've inspired me, Holden. I'm going to speak to my principal on Monday and tell her that I'll be resigning at the end of the school year."

She stood, ready to take her camera back to her room. Holden stood, too, taking her wrist. He slipped the camera from her hand and set in on the kitchen table.

The air between them was so electric, Finley thought if she lit a match, they might go up in flames.

His thumb caressed her wrist. "I need to kiss you, Finley. Can I do that?"

No man had ever asked her that question. She liked being given a choice. Having control. Being able to say yes or no.

But there was only one answer.

"Yes," she told him, resolve in her voice. Just as her gut knew it was right to give photography a chance, it also told her to explore whatever was between Holden and her.

He slipped off his glasses and cradled her cheek with one hand, his other still holding her wrist. Then slowly, he lowered his lips to hers.

Magic…

From the moment his mouth touched hers, Finley knew this was different. He was different.

Holden didn't rush things. Slowly, he brushed his lips against hers, lips which were soft yet still firm. Then he pressed his mouth to hers for a light kiss. Once. Twice. Three times. His hand released her wrist, and his arm went about her waist. He stepped closer to her, their bodies brushing. Her heart raced as she caught his clean, masculine scent. No cologne. Just a fresh male scent that made her knees weak and her blood sing.

Finley slipped her arms around him, feeling the muscles in his back. He tilted his head to the right, the pressure increasing. He continued kissing her, each kiss lingering a bit longer than the one before, causing her to cling tighter to him. She felt his smile against her mouth as he kissed her again, this time much longer than before. Desire flickered through her, and she experienced an emotional intimacy as never before because he didn't rush things between them.

Then his kiss grew more intense as he deepened it, the pressure greater, the urgency ramped up now. She had never been more turned on by a kiss— and they were still kissing with closed mouths. Her senses were on high alert, a prickling awareness of him coursing through her. She moved her hands from his back, pushing them into his hair, tightening her fingers in the thick locks as she held him close.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing across her cheek. Along her jaw. Down her throat. He licked her pulse point, beating in overtime now. Finley whimpered.

Holden's mouth returned to hers, and the long, drugging kisses continued. She could have kissed this man all night— but he pulled away, his lips hovering just above hers, their breath intermingling.

"Thank you," he rumbled.

"Thank you," she echoed. "That was… memorable."

He cradled her face, his hands warm. "Memorable?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I was going to say nice. But nice didn't cover it. It seemed… lame. And there was nothing lame about kissing you, Holden," she said, her breath still uneven, her voice shaking.

He leaned in again, kissing her softly. Briefly. "Memorable, it is. Maybe we can go for earth-shattering next time. That is, if there's a next time." Holden paused. "The ball's in your court, Finley."