“There are some really good ones.” She pulled another envelope from her bag and started placing prints on the counter for him to see. “I think you have a natural talent. See that one there? Look how well it was framed. You did that naturally.”
Cal leaned over the photos to examine the one April was pointing to. It wasn’t bad, really. He had spotted a doe across the clearing, reaching up to eat some leaves hanging high off the ground. The way the branches surrounded her made a natural frame. He hadn’t been thinking about it at the time, but now that he saw it, he did rather like it. “That’s a good one,” he agreed.
“Right?” April set out a few more for him to look at. “While I was developing your photos, I had this crazy idea. If you hear me out, I’ll share it with you. But you can’t freak out on me.”
“Have I ever?” he said.
She shook her head. “No, but I know it’s not going to be something you look forward to. So, you don’t have to answer right away, but think about it because it might be great.”
Cal narrowed his eyes at her. “Spit it out.”
“OK, OK.” She offered him a smile. “So, there’s this art festival next week. They hold it every summer here for local artists. My friends got together this year and helped me pay for a boothwhere I can sell some of my best prints. I wondered…” She hesitated but then shrugged and asked, “Would you like to go with me this year? Sell a few of your prints? I really think someone will buy these. They’re beautiful, and you’re technically local. These will look awesome once they’re framed. What do you think?”
She wasn’t wrong that Cal’s first instinct was to refuse her. He was being made to participate more and more with the very town he wanted to avoid, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for it. But if he wasn’t ready now, when would he be? And was it really the best thing for Owen to stay up at the cabin and rarely interact with people other than his father? Somehow, April was getting him to reconsider everything he once believed to be true. Maybe Owen did need more out of life. Maybe he would enjoy an art festival, even if Cal might not. Forcing Owen to live Cal’s preferred lifestyle because of some nonspecific phobia Cal had seemed less fair the more he considered it.
“OK,” Cal said under his breath.
April leaned in, clearly questioning her own ears. “What was that?”
“I said OK. It sounds like it could be a lot of fun. Owen would love it anyway.”
She took his hand and squeezed it under the table. “I want you to love it, too, though. I really think you will. It feels good to make something with your own hands and then watch people assign it value by being willing to spend their hard-earned money on it. I can’t describe it, to be honest. It’s not the same as working a job. It feels like more of a contribution, if that makes sense.”
Cal knit his brow. “But you’re a nurse.” He couldn’t think of a more worthy career than she already had. “You already contribute far more than most other people do.”
She blushed but responded, “You make a good point, but you’ve got to trust me. It really is such a fulfilling feeling. Maybe because it’s creative. I don’t know. But you’ve got to try it. If you hate it, you can go right home, and I won’t say a word.”
“That sounds reasonable enough,” he said. “All right. I’ll come hawk my wares with you.”
“Yes!” She punched the air triumphantly. “I hoped you’d come with me. It’s going to be so much fun. You just have to trust me.”
“Oh, April.” He shook his head with a smile. “I don’t trust anyone. But I do believe you. Let’s see if anyone wants to hang my snapshots on their wall.” He laughed.
“They one hundred percent will.” She gathered the prints back into an envelope, from which she then pulled a single sheet with all the photos Cal had taken displayed on it. “Just pick your favorites, and we’ll find frames for them. Do I have permission to pick a couple, too?”
“Sure,” he said. “I’d trustyouto pick the good ones over myself.”
She cocked her head at him. “I thought you said you don’t trust anyone.”
He tipped the last of his coffee into his mouth and slipped back into his jacket. “I did say that, didn’t I? Well, maybe it doesn’t have to stay true.”
The art festivalwas on a Friday, but April had explained that her boss had given her the festival day off. Having a booth this year meant a lot to her, and she’d explained that to her boss when she requested the day off. April had two passions, as Cal understood it, medicine and photography, and she didn’t want to sacrifice one of them for the other. Cal admired that about her. She stood her ground and wasn’t afraid to fight for what she wanted. She wasn’t a doormat, and he was extremely attracted to that aspect of her personality.
He watched her in a state of awe as she greeted each person who approached her booth. She clearly knew many of them, calling them by name and asking them personal questions about their lives and families. She had a little story for each picture, telling them all of the things she had to do to get each shot. “I waited in a bush for five hours for this one,” she’d say. And the person browsing her pictures would be all the more impressed with them.
She quickly sold several prints, and Cal was convinced it wasn’t really the prints the customers were buying. They were buying her charm, her stories, and the memories they evoked. They were all buying little pieces of her. Then, April started selling Cal’s pieces.
It hadn’t been a lie when she’d told him it would feel different, fulfilling in some way, to sell his own work. Cal watched each potential customer listen to April’s stories about how the piece came about, which necessarily included their meet-cute love story and Owen’s role in getting them to a place where those photos were even taken. Because of this, severalof the customers included Cal in the conversation, asking him questions about his perspective on all of this. He answered with the fewest number of words he could manage until April finally pulled him aside.
“Do you want to take the next one?” she asked.
“Only if you want me to talk people out of buying anything,” he said. “I’m not nearly as charming as you are.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” April said. At first, he assumed she was joking, but the more he stared at her, the more he realized she meant it in earnest. “You have a quiet charm about you. I fell for you. Other people will, too. People love a no-nonsense mystery man.”
“Is that what I am?”
“Sure.” She stepped behind the chair he was sitting in and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. For a moment, he felt her hair brush against the side of his neck and his cheek, and he was all hers. “You’re the most lovable lumberjack that ever lived. At least… that’s what Nathan says.” She laughed. “Try talking to people. You may be a little awkward at first, but I promise, they’re going to love you. I think people have been curious about you for a while.”
