He made a sound that was half laugh, half groan. Then his hand found the edge of the bench between us, steadying himself, and his pinky finger brushed against mine.
Neither of us moved.
“We should probably look like we’re actually using the booth,” Samuel said after a moment. “In case they notice the curtain is closed.”
“Good point.” I fed money into the machine. “Might as well commit to the farce.”
The screen lit up, counting down from five. We both turned toward the camera, trying to arrange ourselves into something that looked normal and not like two people actively fleeing from deranged fans.
Flash.
The first photo caught us both looking startled and too close together, my shoulder pressed against his.
“That’s going to look terrible,” Samuel muttered.
“Absolutely terrible.”
Flash.
The second caught us both trying not to laugh at how ridiculous this was.
Flash.
The third—we’d both given up trying to look normal and were just grinning at the camera like idiots.
“One more,” Samuel said, and I heard the smile in his voice.
Flash.
The fourth photo caught something softer. Both of us still smiling, but quieter now. More real.
The machine whirred and spat out two strips of photos. I grabbed them both before they could fully emerge and shoved them in my coat pocket.
“Are they still out there?” Samuel asked.
I checked again. The women had moved closer to the booth but were now debating amongst themselves, apparently convinced we’d somehow escaped.
“I think if we go now and you smile really nicely, we can get out of this with minimal photo obligations.”
“Minimal?”
“You’re Dr. Brock Blaze. There’s no getting out of this with zero photos. But we can negotiate down to ten minutes instead of twenty.”
He sighed. “You’re good at this.”
“Publishing prepared me for hostage negotiation.”
“Ready?”
“No. But let’s do it, anyway.”
“Ready?” I asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
We emerged from the booth to find all five women staring at us with expressions that ranged from knowing smiles to outright glee.
“The booth’s broken,” I announced, projecting confidence I absolutely did not feel. “But Mr. Bennett would be happy to take individual photos with each of you using your phones. Right, Samuel?”
