A laugh bursts free from my throat, and she giggles next to me. When it finally stops, my eyes are a little teary.
“It’s not. Nothing to do with dead animals, don’t worry.”
She’s still smiling when I park in front of the large building, but her smile wavers when she sees it.
“What’s this place?” She asks warily.
I look at the large concrete building. “It was built two years ago and cut into smaller spaces for people to rent. There are a few startups and offices, a Karaoke, a dance studio, even a little community library.”
“Oh,” she relaxes. “Sorry, it looked a little like the beginning of a horror story for a second. I was scared your hobby was kidnapping and cutting up people in your spare time.”
I grab her hand and start walking towards the front door of the space I own, arching a brow.
“Still listening to too many creepy podcasts, and weird audiobooks, I see.”
“Can’t help it,” she says, walking next to me. “Jack likes to put it on in the car, and I used to drive him around a lot.”
“Not sure Ikram will enjoy that,” I chuckle, picturing the look of horror on his face. “He’s definitely more of a rom-com guy.”
We stop in front of the door. I unlock it quickly and we both step inside.
The button I press next to the door opens all the electric shutters,lighting the large open space. Prue looks around, studying everything, and I wait anxiously, standing behind her, my hands in my pockets.
“I really hope that camera in the middle of the room, turned towards a blanket on the ground is not meant to film porn, because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at myself having sex,” she says, turning just enough to glance at me, and I can see she’s joking but also slightly concerned.
“It’s not,” I laugh, taking a few steps towards it. “I’ve been into photography for about four years. You were probably too drunk and then too hungover to notice them, but all the landscapes hanging on the walls in my house are from me.” I grab the camera from the tripod and turn it on. “But I like photographing people more.”
Our eyes clash when I lift my gaze to study her reaction. But she’s just looking at me, maybe studying mine…
I clear my throat and turn around, walking towards the table in the back of the room where I keep my lenses and memory cards. Above it, against the wall, are a few of my favorite framed shots. Portraits or other landscapes I took, people and scenes I captured on the street.
I feel her stop next to me and I force myself not to look at her, focusing instead on replacing my lens and changing the memory card. The silence stretches, and I wonder if maybe I’ve somehow messed up again. Does she really think I’ve brought her here to—
“Those people didn’t know you were taking their photo,” she whispers reverently.
“They did not. I showed them afterward, though. Sent it to them when they wanted me to.”
“They’re beautiful.”
She turns back towards me, and I can’t help but step a little closer, her shoulder touching my bicep.
“They were surprised when I showed them the shots, like they didn’t recognize themselves. When you pose for a portrait, or look at yourself in a mirror, you always look different than when a stranger snaps a picture of you unnoticed.”
“It’s the same with drawings… I used to draw people in the bar when I worked back in Seattle.”
I watch her in silence. She left her purse by the door, her arms crossedover her chest. “I’d like to take pictures of you. So you can see yourself howIsee you.”
She chuckles awkwardly. “Well, if you take pictures of me, and I know that you are, that would simply be a portrait…”
“Do you trust me?”
She narrows her eyes in suspicion, her deep multicolored eyes boring into me.
“The jury is still out.”
“Fair enough,” I chuckle, but grab her arm to interlace our fingers, leading her towards the blanket I’ve set up this morning. She follows a little reluctantly, but doesn’t fight it. “What’s your favorite food?”
We stop next to the blanket and I instruct her to sit. She rolls her eyes in silent protest, but does as I ask, removing her shoes and ankle socks.
