The cover is broken off and the memory card is gone!
Cold sweat frosts my back as dread floods over me.I celebrated too soon.I shake my head at how stupid I am for not backing up the photos. Who doesn’t do that? It wasn’t an accident, either. In my arrogance, I didn’t want to put them on a computer because I didn’t want the photos to accidentally get leaked. These photos can be highly incriminating to me.
I sigh heavily. I want so badly to impress my dad, and he trusted me with this assignment and this camera.
The one time he gives me a real shot, and I blow it.
There are two things—and only two things—I know: hockey and photography. If I can’t get this assignment right, then I’ll never get anything right. With my deadline looming, this spread needs to be completed and sent to my editor, Steve.If the assignment was to cover people, I could call them up, but I can’t schedule extra hockey games because I lost the shots.
This is bad.
I clasp my hand over my chest, fighting the waves that want to send me into a full-blown panic attack. I set the camera backon my desk and place my hands firmly on the desktop when something rustles behind me, and I raise my gaze.
A man stands in the doorway, his hand propped up on the doorframe. He is wearing a beanie pulled down low, covering his ears. I immediately recognize his deep voice when he greets me, “Hey.”
He’s clearly lost.
Or I’m seeing things.
I squint, like I’m practicing for the optometrist. I’m wearing my contacts, but there is no way this is happening.
Eyes.
Yep, same eyes. Dark. Not scary dark like he’s a shapeshifter or something. Just puppy dog dark but almond-shaped. I like almonds.
Yep, and they are on his face where they were the last time I saw him.
Lips.
He’s got some of those, too.
They are smirking at me right now.
And a dimple right below his smile crease that points back to his smile. It’s the perfect little button that makes it hard for me to be mad at him because it’s just so cute.
That dimple isn’t fair.
My gaze looks behind him for a random clue of why he’s here, but he’s alone. There’s no reason anybody would be back by my office, as it’s strictly out of everyone’s way at the end of a dead-end hall. I speak to him as if he’s no more important than the random fly who is buzzing around my desk. "Are you lost?”
His feet stay firmly on the ground, not moving. “I’m looking for you.”
“Me?” I hike a brow, suspiciously eyeing him. The only other time I had someone down here looking for me was when theyscratched my car in the parking lot, and they got my name after the police looked up my plates. “What did you do?”
“Ah, nothing. I don’t think.” His eyes dart side to side before returning his gaze on me. “I was checking on you. I’m Noah. I guess I should have led with that.”
I slowly raise a brow, contemplating what to do with this experience.“Noah,” I echo as if he’d spoken a foreign language. I heard him quite clearly actually. I have perfect hearing, but I’m still so confused. The earth could split open, and that would be less shocking than this moment.
It’s one thing to accidentally stumble across me three times, but there is no way Noah Miller came to see me on purpose.
His stance seems intentional. He’s here for something. As I pause, I almost slap the side of my face. “Ah, right. Hockey photo. I can delete it if you’re going to make a big deal about it.” I reach for my phone, and I mumble, “I lost all the other photos. It won’t matter if I’m down another one.”
“What are you saying?” He takes an uninvited step inside my office, and he crosses his arms over his chest. His gaze cuts to my camera, and he tacks on, “You have the other photos from the game.”
My facial expression flattens as my senses alert to his nearness. He’s so close I swear I can smell a recent black coffee wafting off him.
Smells amazing.
That’s not fair either.
