I watch him hurry away. He’s the best assistant I’ve had since moving my business to Kala—and I’ve been through several. Apparently, I’m high maintenance because I like things a specific way, and if someone can’t follow those directions, I’m a diva.
Why is the world suddenly filled with people who can’t be bothered to do the job as it’s supposed to be done and still expect to be paid full wages? If you can only manage half the job, you only get half the pay. That’s it. I pay a very competitive wage for my assistants, but very few can cut it. Even when I lay outexactlywhat I expect from them.
Do they think I make my tea differently at home than I ask for from them? I don’t. I’ve spent years finding the optimal method and temperature to prepare a perfect cup of tea. That’s why I like it in a very specific way. I know what I like, but when you say they got it wrong, you’re suddenly a bitch.
When I finish my cookies, I put the lid back on the tea and check on my cameras to make sure they have fresh memory cards and batteries. The tray with the different lenses is prepped, and the lenses have been cleaned.
By the time Lawrence returns, telling me the room is set and used items sterilized, I’m ready to go. “Bring them in, please,” I tell him as I bring my camera into the studio.
There are three rooms set up in the studio—a bedroom, a library, and an office. I set my tray at the side in front of the wall of props. I have a little bit of everything. The only thing I don’thave is lingerie. That’s on them to provide, or we’d be doing endless laundry. There’s a wonderful shop on Anapos if they’d like to increase their lingerie collection—information Kyanne tells them when they set up an appointment.
“I hope you’re enjoying your stay on Kala,” Lawrence says.
“We are, thanks. It’s so… magical.”
It is. That’s why I moved here. The outside world is black and white and filled with assholes. The Isle of Kala feels like it exists outside of it. In a parallel universe. We have the same everything, but there’s no hunger, hate, or war here.
“Have you had a chance to look at the different packages?” Lawrence asks. “Which room are you thinking?”
“Bedroom. My favorite photos in your albums were in the bedroom.”
“Very good. And you brought with you any variety of clothing you’d like?”
See? Lawrence remembers all the important questions, so I don’t have to ask them.
“We did.”
“Very good. This is our expert photographer, Dylan Spruce.” I turn at Lawrence’s introduction, and my lungs freeze.
Living on a queer island resort means I’m surrounded by hotness of all kinds. No matter what your fancy, you’ll find it on Kala. Which I have. Many times over.
But the man standing before me now takes my breath away. Objectively, he’s not the hottest man I’ve ever seen. But I love the shape of his jaw, the shade of his brown eyes, the curve of his lips, his height, his muscles. He looks like he could fold me in half and stick me in his pocket.
“Dylan?”
I jerk at my name. The moment when time froze skips ahead so I’m back in the present.
“This is Larson and Tomy,” Lawrence says, probably not for the first time.
“Hello,” I greet, offering them a smile. God, I feel shaken. My legs feel all wobbly. If I look at Larson again, I might fall on my face.
The smaller man is Tomy. He’s adorable, and I can see why someone as perfect as Larson might be smitten with him. He has this smile that feels incredibly welcome and beautiful. He’s taller than me—which, at five-foot-one, isn’t difficult—but not nearly as tall as Larson. He’s soft and lean, the kind of body you’d expect to be a model.
In fact…ishe a model? Now that I’m looking at him, I think maybe he is.
“Where would you like to begin?” I ask.
Lawrence looks at me, perplexed. Probably because I don’t generally give my clients a choice. I’m the photographer. This is my show.
“How about you change into the first set of clothing you’d like,” Lawrence suggests. “There’s a screen right there to change behind. You can keep your bag back there since you’ll change again.”
“Thanks,” Tomy says. He looks up at Larson with a smile. The kind of smile that can make the world melt. He’s the perfect sweetheart.
Tomy takes Larson’s hand, and the big man pulls him back toward the screen. I try to keep my focus locked on where their hands are linked, but when Larson glances over his shoulder at me and our eyes meet, I’m once again shoved out of the present and thrust back into that frozen-in-time paradox.
Until he disappears behind the screen and Lawrence stands at my side, concerned. “Are you okay?”
Swallowing, I turn away. “Yes. Would you grab my tea? I forgot it on my desk.”
