His gaze locked on mine.
“You have the most beautiful eyes,” he whispered as the shutter clicked.
If I had to guess, the photo probably captured me mid-blink, mid-heartbeat, caught somewhere between stunned and unsure whether to breathe.
There wasn’t time to check. The back door creaked open, and Doyle came striding out with Jordan close behind.
“Hey, Charlie,” Doyle called, his tone clipped. “I left those empties in the hallway. You didn’t need to come all the way in.”
I turned toward Charlie, wondering if he’d noticed the slight edge in my brother’s voice. But when I looked at him, he wasn’t watching Doyle at all.
His eyes were still on me.
“Just helping Savannah’s newest photographer catch the light,” he said casually, tipping his chin toward the camera. “Didn’t want her missing the shot.”
Jordan coughed, poorly masking a laugh.
“Having fun playing photographer, or are you actually planning on doing anything useful today?” Doyle asked. His grin tugged sideways, enough to show he meant it as a joke, though his delivery still landed rougher than he probably intended.
Charlie rose from the stool, slow and deliberate, and took a few steps toward us, positioning himself slightly in front of me. Not confrontational, not overt—but enough. “We were having a lot of fun, actually,” he said, eyes steady on Doyle before flicking to Jordan. “Grab a seat so she can catch the rest of the light.”
The shift in the room was instant. Jordan and Doyle exchanged a glance, both of them blinking like they weren’t used to hearing Charlie speak with that kind of edge. Still, they moved, settling into the seats across from each other without another word.
Charlie handed me my camera without making a show of it, and I gave him the smallest thank you, a breath of it, so soft only he would hear.
I snapped into motion, directing them into place as the light dipped lower. Once we found our groove, I moved Jordan and Doyle around the shop, catching detail shots and even getting my brother to pose for a few headshots in front of the fully stocked wine shelf.
Charlie stayed close, watching as I shifted angles and fiddled with settings, tossing in the occasional quiet suggestion but never hovering. He gave me space to lead, to work, to actually be good at what I knew I was capable of doing—and he didn’t make a big deal out of it.
By the time the sun slipped away completely, we were the only people left in the shop. I cleaned up the space and wiped down the counter, slipped off my apron, and smoothed a hand over the subtle curve of my stomach. It wasn’t obvious yet, not unless you knew to look, but the gesture had become second nature. A reminder. A promise to do better this time.
When I looked up, Charlie was watching me. The amusement from earlier was gone, replaced by a quiet reverence.
“Tally,” he started, voice low and careful. “About the night we met… I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I’ve been thinking about it. About you. I’m usually the one people can count on—the steady one. But with you, the last couple of times, I wasn’t myself. And you saw right through it.”
I didn’t want to meet his eyes. Didn’t want to open that door. But I looked anyway. And there it was—that softness, that quiet pull that made it impossible to breathe properly.
His fingers flexed at his sides. “You don’t need a camera to see people for who they are. That’s what rattled me. So maybe… maybe give me another chance. To show you the version of me that isn’t all built-up walls and bad timing.”
He didn’t move after that, but held my gaze, steady and unblinking, ready to tackle every excuse I might throw at him.
“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m broken. Like I’m something that needs fixing.”
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. He reached out and brushed his thumb across my cheek, catching a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.
“You don’t seem broken to me,” he rasped, his voice rough but steady. “And I’m not trying to fix anything.”
I wanted to believe him. But the way Doyle had looked at me had pulled me straight back to being seventeen with a secondhand camera and not a soul alive who believed I’d do anything real with it.
Charlie tipped his head, letting a lock of hair fall across his brow. “Give yourself a little credit. Every time I’ve seen you since that first night—hell, maybe even then—I haven’t seen someone falling apart. I’ve seen someone trying. Someone who keeps showing up, even when it’s hard. And you’re good, Tally. If you wanted it, you could make a career out of this.”
I couldn’t speak. I stood there, letting it all hit me—the sawdust, the warmth rolling off him.
“You don’t have to have it all figured out to matter,” he said. “You’re allowed to be here, even if you’re still piecing things together. You don’t need anyone’s permission. Not your brother’s. Not mine. No one’s.”
