Page 6 of An Imperfect Truth


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“Oh, she’s not yours?”

“I’ve known her since she was a pup, but no. She’s part of the Vargas family. They’re away visiting friends.”

They must have a sense of humor as there’s nothing bitsy about a St. Bernard that, on its hind legs, would be nearly as tall as me. However, it’s nothersize that has my attention. I become acutely aware of just how big Chaz is. I don’t usually need to look up at a man. But it’s not just his height; it’s the way he fills the space.

I’ve never thought about size in an intimate way before. But standing this close, I wonder what it would feel like to have all that broad, thick strength against me, around me.

“Are you a photographer?” He glances at the camera.

Thankfully, his question cuts through my wayward thoughts—so unfamiliar to me.

“It’s a hobby.” Then, on impulse, I ask, “Would you mind?”

“Mind what?”

“If I got some shots of you and Bitsy.”

“Sure. What do you want us to do?”

“Nothing.” He looks perfect there, outrageously handsome in a dark olive parka that stretches across his wide chest, accompanied by his furry companion against the backdrop of the waterfront.

I focus my lens on them, and Chaz flashes me a smile that does that twisty thing to my stomach. He really should come with a warning label:Getting too close may cause choking, tingling, and tummy flutters. Sensing the attention, Bitsy tilts her head to the side in a comical pose that makes us laugh.

“I’m getting some great shots,” I say, clicking away. “I figured you’d be comfortable in front of the camera.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Videos of your performances.” I didn’t mean to let that slip, so I rush on to explain. “After being impressed with the song I heard you sing yesterday, I checked out some of your other music online.” I’m understating the fact that I stayedup to the wee hours stalking him like some fangirl.

“And?” he asks, regarding me with anticipation. “What did you think?”

“Your sound is unique. I like the soulful play of R&B infused with Latin. It’s modern with hints of old-school. Like the best of Marc Anthony, Miguel, and Giveon combined with your own flair.”

“Thanks, that’s high praise. You really gave it serious thought.”

“Well, you asked, and I didn’t just want to say that your music’s fantastic. I’m sure you already know that.”

“It never hurts to hear it from a beautiful woman.”

I give him a withering look. “Turn toward the water for a sec.”

Chaz obliges me, and I capture him in the sun’s reflection, clicking away. Once again, I get that strange feeling that I know him from somewhere. But it’s still so vague, and I have nothing concrete to pull from.

“Thank you,” I say, finally lowering my camera. Without it, I feel more exposed, and the nerves come back.

“Paw,” Chaz says, and Bitsy lifts one large paw off the ground. “She’ll stay like that until you shake it.”

“Oh.” I gingerly shake her paw. “It was nice to meet you, Bitsy.”

“When do I get to see the photos?” he asks.

“I’ll probably have them developed in a day or two. That way, I can see what I did well and where I need to improve. I can make copies for you to share with Bitsy’s family.”

“I don’t want to put you through any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. Just keep in mind that I might be a little rusty. It’s been years since I picked up a camera.”

“Why did you stop?”