“No,” he says quietly. “And I wish I’d never said it.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because I'm terrified.” The admission breaks something open in him. “I'm terrified that I'll never be worth the risk to you. That you'll always choose safe over me. That I'll spend the rest of my life loving someone who's too scared to love me back.”
“I'm not scared to love you.” The words rip out ofme. “I'm scared of what it costs. I'm scared of losing my brothers. I'm scared of blowing up the only family I have left. I'm scared that if I choose you and it falls apart, I'll have nothing.”
The sob that comes out of me is ugly and raw and eleven years in the making.
“I want to tear down the walls between us, Sierra. Put the initials back together. Do what Eleanor never got to do.”
My breath catches.
“But I can't do it alone,” he continues. “I need you to stop keeping that camera between us. And I need you to choose.”
I don't turn around. I can't.
He steps in close. Close enough that his chest brushes my back, his breath stirs the hair at the crown of my head. “Choose me, Sierra.”
My eyes sink shut as my heart pounds through my chest.
“Choose us.” It’s a whispered plea that breaks my heart clean through.
And when my heart is breaking, I do the only thing that makes sense. The only thing I know to do to keep me safe.
I gesture to the enlarger. To the equipment waiting in the red-tinted dark.
“Do you remember how to do this?”
He stills behind me.
I don't explain. Don't elaborate. Just wait, my heartpounding against my ribs, wondering if he'll understand what I'm really asking.
He steps in behind me. Close. So close that his chest brushes my back and his breath stirs the hair at my temple.
“I remember everything,” he murmurs.
Strong, warm hands envelope mine over the enlarger controls.
My breath hitches.
“First…,” he says, a breath shuddering from his lungs. “You check the focus.”
His fingers guide mine to the dial I was pretending to adjust.
“Make sure the negative is sharp. Crisp. You taught me that details matter. Getting it right at the start saves you pain at the end.”
I didn't get it right at the start. I was seventeen and terrified and I didn’t know how to fight for what I wanted.
His body heat seeps through my clothes. His heartbeat pulses against my spine—slow, steady, certain.
“Then you set the exposure time.” He moves my hand to the timer. His thumb traces over my knuckles. “Long enough to capture the image. Short enough not to burn it. It's about balance.”
Too long. We nearly burned it all.
I can barely breathe.
“The aperture matters too.” His other hand joins in, adjusting the f-stop while his fingers remain laced with mine. “Too open and you lose depth. Too closed and you lose light. You have to find the sweet spot.”
