Home to You (12 page)

Two hours later, I stood in front of the upscale café downtown and shifted my gear bag to my other shoulder. I hadn’t been sure what to bring this morning, so I decided on everything. Now with my camera bag on one arm and portfolio in the other, I was worried it might be too much.  

I set my portfolio to the ground, balancing it against my leg as I simultaneously tried to open the heavy door. The hostess must have taken pity on my struggle, and she rushed to the entrance, holding the door wide so I could fit through with all my stuff.
 

My cheeks bloomed with embarrassment as I nodded my thanks, stepped inside, and glanced around the café looking for Rick Henderson—the brilliant photographer I hoped to assist for.
 

The restaurant was unlike anything I’d never seen. Soft light streamed through a wall of windows and made the indoor space feel like I was still outside. The gray textured walls were covered with boughs of ivy, and small tables with mismatched chairs sat on the polished cement floor. The whole scene looked like something from the streets of Europe, instead of a small shopping center in downtown Los Angeles. Not that I would’ve known. I’d never been anywhere outside of the US.
 

The smell of freshly ground coffee and sweet pastries hit my nose at the same moment I saw him. He sat at one of the far tables in the corner, leaning back in his chair, and looked exactly like his profile picture online. Handsome, probably mid-forties, and even though I was still over ten yards away, I felt the confidence radiating
 
off of him.
 

A waitress approached his table, and something he said caused her to blush and drop the menu. He picked it up, seeming amused, then handed it to her as she rushed away.
 

 
His brown hair was on the long side, but very fashionable. And the long legs stretched in front of him were covered by faded designer jeans. I had to admit, he was sexy. But he knew it. His button-down white shirt was left casually open at his throat, and he looked every bit the artist I knew him to be—it was intimidating.
 

“Mr. Henderson?” I asked as I approached the table, even though I knew exactly who he was.
 

He glanced my way, pulled himself to stand, and eyed me up and down.
 

I had decided on black slacks and white bohemian top, but as I took in his brown flip-flops, I wondered if I’d overdressed.
 

“You must be Ms. McGregor.” Amusement turned his lips as he took in all my stuff. He slipped my gear bag from my shoulder and gestured toward one of the chairs. “Please, sit down.”
 

I awkwardly placed my portfolio under the table and smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Henderson.”

“Call me Rick.”

I nodded. “Rick.” Then sat.
 

He set my bag on the table and took his place across from me. “I looked over your resume.” He leaned back in his seat again. “But I have to ask—why are you applying for this position?”

I blinked, feeling like a kid who just jumped in the deep end without floaties.
 

“Why the change of direction?” he clarified.  

Crap. I was drowning. I pulled myself a little straighter while I tried to think of my reason. I had one—I’d gone over a million different questions on the drive over, but now sitting across from this confident man, my mind went blank.

Don’t screw this up, Katie. You need this job.

After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only about thirty seconds, I spoke. “I like to tell stories.” My tone rushed and tight.  

He seemed to enjoy watching me squirm, and smiled as he leaned back in his chair. “I gathered as much. Considering you were a
photojournalist
.”

Oh God, I’m going to die.
Would he notice if I just crawled under the table and hid?

“You have a lot of talent, there’s no denying that fact.” He considered me from across the table. “Why weddings?”

I took a deep breath, then moistened my dry lips. “Because it’s the happiest time of a person’s life.”
 

He seemed to be intrigued by my answer, which gave me confidence to continue.

“There are so many emotions wrapped up in that single day. Hundreds of hours have gone into meticulously planning each detail. Months—sometimes years—yet when it comes down to it, there are no guarantees. Life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan, and that’s where
we
step in.”
 

I made eye contact, looking for signs of boredom, but he seemed interested, so I continued. “It’s our job to tell their story. The hopes, the dreams—the good and bad—to deal with the stuff that goes wrong, and to be there for the things that go
right
. To capture the emotions, the fears, and the love…”

“Ahhh. So you’re a romantic.” He leaned forward again, his arms braced on his knees, and pressed his fingertips to his lips. “I like that. I like
you
, Ms. McGregor.”

His tone made me uneasy, and I sat back in my chair. “Thank you.”

“Are you willing to travel?”

“Of course.”

“Out of the country?”

I considered this for a moment. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, obviously detecting my apprehension.

“Yes,” I replied with a little more confidence.

“What do you shoot with?”

I’d sent a list of my equipment with my resume, but I wasn’t about to point that out. I reached for my gear bag, but he stopped me with a wave of his hand. “Just tell me, Katie.”

My heart picked up speed, and I rattled off my less-than-stellar list. So much of what I was accustomed to had been on loan from the paper—all returned when I quit.
 

He listened, his fingers once again pressed to his mouth.   

“You’ll need to add a 70-200mm 2.8. Can you handle that?”

I swallowed. That was a twenty-five-hundred-dollar lens, but I had the money. I nodded.
 

He smiled, seeming pleased. “I’ll be needing an assistant next weekend. Will you be ready by then?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good.” He leaned back in his chair once more. “I’ll have you know, I don’t give second chances. One mistake and you’re out.”

“Yes, I understand. Thank you for the opportunity, I’ve been a fan of your work for years.”

He nodded, like he’d heard the words a thousand times.

“Okay, that’s enough business for today.” He smiled across the table and signaled for the waitress. “What would you like to drink?”

“Just coffee please.”
 

When the waitress approached the table, Rick ordered for both of us, then turned his attention back to me. “Tell me about yourself, Ms. McGregor.” His tone softened, and he once again leaned back and got comfortable.
 

I straightened. “What do you want to know?”
 

The rest of the meeting carried on more like an awkward blind date than an interview. A date I would have walked out of. The way he watched me sent a creepy feeling up my spine, and I reminded myself this was only temporary. I was using this job to learn the business and pay the bills. That was all. As soon as I got settled, I never had to see Rick Henderson again.
 

An hour later, seated in the waiting room of the obstetrician’s office, I dialed Shelly’s extension. She had been my partner at the paper and the only reason I held any regret for my less-than-optimal exit. I needed to explain what happened, or at the very least, say goodbye.
 

“Shelly Hanson,” she answered in a rushed tone.

I cringed—she was obviously stressed. Stressed because
I
had left her alone with double the work.

“Hey Shell, it’s me.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and waited for her response.
 

The phone muffled, like she was cupping it with her hand. “Katie? Where are you?”
 

I took a deep breath. “LA, I—”
 

“Oh my God. You don’t know!”
 

Bile crept up my throat, and I pushed back against the textured upholstery of my seat. “Know what?”

“Shit, Katie…
 
Hold on a sec.”
 

More rustling noises came through the receiver, and my stomach twisted with anxiety. I heard the sound of a door closing, then Shelly picked up the phone again. “Katie, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Kevin’s been cheating on you, honey.”
 

I adjusted in my seat and let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, Shelly, I already know. We broke up. That’s why I’m in LA.”
 

“Shit. I’m so sorry.”
 

My brows furrowed. “How did you find out?”
 

 
There was a pause, followed by more rustling. “When I came into work this morning, there were photos of Kevin
in bed
with Mr. Olson’s wife plastered as everyone’s interface,” she whispered.
 

My eyes bulged and the texts from Kevin that morning ran through my mind. “How?”
 

I barely got the word out before she continued. “I think Olson’s wife did it. She came in about an hour ago with her lawyer. She said something about making a fool of him the way he made a fool of her.”
 

“Holy shit,” I muttered, then immediately regretted my foul mouth when I locked eyes with a toddler jumping up and down on his mother’s lap. They were seated across from me, her stomach hard and round with pregnancy, her eyes drooping with exhaustion. But she still smiled and sang into the ear of the boy who reminded me of a cherub, both seemingly unaware of my inappropriate language.
 

I lowered my voice. “What about Kevin?”

“He was fired and gone before most people got in this morning.”
 

Wow!
He must have thought it was
me.

“Katie,” her voice softened, “are you okay?”
 

I nodded, then realized she couldn’t see me through the phone and swallowed the lump that always formed when people asked that question. “Yes.”
 

“He got what he deserved. Don’t you dare feel bad about this.” She knew me too well. She knew I’d internalize everything and blame myself.
 

I let out the breathy laugh, knowing she was right. “Thanks, Shell. I’m gonna miss you.”

A commotion of voices sounded from the other side of the receiver, and Shelly cupped the phone again. “Hey babe, I hate to do this, but I really gotta go. The shit has hit the fan around here. You keep in touch, okay?”

I smiled. “Okay, I will.”
 

“Bye, babe.”
 

I clicked off the phone and picked up a magazine from the coffee table. Mr. Olson’s wife did what I was too chicken to do. Made Kevin look like the fool he was—yet I was being blamed for it.
Figures.

 
My phone began to vibrate beside me and I jumped. But it wasn’t Kevin like I’d expected; it was Mom.
Great
. I hadn’t told her about Kevin, and I knew she’d have questions. Questions I didn’t really feel like answering in that moment. But I took a deep breath, swiped open the screen, and let out a sigh.

“Hi, Mom.”
 

Her clipped voice came immediately. “I called your house, but it was disconnected. Is everything okay?
”

I shook my head, wondering why Kevin had disconnected the phone. Probably to avoid reporters—which was both ironic and hilarious. “Everything’s fine, Mom. Kevin and I broke up.” I crunched up my face, waiting for her reply. She wouldn’t like this. She was always fond of Kevin.
 

“
What?
” she screeched.
 

“It’s okay.” I paused. “It’s for the best.”

“But weren’t you guys going to get married?”

“No,” I shook my head, “we were never getting married.” I just hoped we would. Big difference.  

“Where are you now, honey? Do you need to come stay with me and Paul? You know things are crazy here, and he’s in a lot of pain from his back, but there’s always the couch...”  

She continued on about doctor’s appointments, work, and her busy life—all reasons I hadn’t called her in the first place. But how could she think I could possibly move in with her and Paul? She knew how I felt about him. Sleazy, gold-digging Paul.
 

Okay—so he wasn’t
that
bad, but he hadn’t worked a day of the five years they’d been together, and Mom still did
everything
around the house. But if I was being honest, and as childish as it might seem, the reason I didn’t like Paul was because he took my mom away when I needed her most.
 

I stared into the center of the room, remembering the worst days of my life, while Mom went on about Mary Lu, and how she was jealous because Mom was promoted before her.
 

“...so I guess we could clear out a space in the front room. Get a blow-up mattress. What do you think?”

“Mom, it’s okay. Really, I’m fine.”  

“Oh, okay…” Her voice lowered, but I could tell she was still worried.