I handed her an envelope, and she pulled out the pictures right away. “Oh, they look great,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling like she’d looked at the water so long they near turned into water themselves. I guessed it was easy to be sparkly when you didn’t have a care in the world.
I nodded, wondering if a picture of her had ever not looked great. “I just need to get a copy of your release for the professional ones,” I said.
She bit her lip, perfectly plump and pink without even a hint of lip gloss. “Oh, I have it, I promise. The photographer is a really good friend of mine, and she gave me the thumb drive with all the pictures and a written release.”
I didn’t mind fighting with Harry, but otherwise I’d never been good at confrontation. And I felt like one was brewing here. “Okay,” I said hesitantly. “Well, in order to let you leave with the photos, I either need a copy of the release or this form signed by the photographer.” I handed her a paper from under the counter.
“Look,” she said. “I’m having kind of a rough day. Maybe I could bring the release back later? I promise you that I have it.”
I wanted to say she didn’t know what a rough day was, but I didn’t. Mr. Marcus was real particular about those releases, saying we could get sued and all kinds of mess if we didn’t have them. My cheek was starting to get some feeling back in it again, and I thought about what the dentist had said:You just help somebody else out when you can.
I sighed, the butterflies I always got when I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to do fluttering around in mybelly, and whispered, “You make sure you bring it back before we close today, okay? Because I could get in real deep trouble for this.”
She nodded and smiled. “Thank you so much.”
But when she pulled out the professional photos, she frowned.
“Everything good?” I asked hesitantly.
“The color is all wrong on these.” She pulled out her phone, opened an e-mail with the photos attached, and held one up to the prints. “The blues of the ocean look black, and Wagner’s shirt looks almost green.”
“Something the matter, Gray?” I’d had no idea that Mr. Marcus was standing only a few feet behind me.
“These pictures are not right,” she said, sounding more than a little testy.
Mr. Marcus’s response was soothing, but I could tell he was frustrated and even a little embarrassed. “Don’t you worry a bit about that. We’ll get that all straight.” He paused. “Take the ones you’re happy with. On the house. I’ll personally drop the others by this afternoon.”
Before he even said anything, I knew that soon I’d have all the time I needed to look for a new job.
CHAPTER 2
gray: seven-year itch
After my impromptu solo diving competition, Marcy, my favorite partner in crime, still hadn’t shown up. I pulled out my laptop and tried to get some work done, but I couldn’t keep my mind off how miserable I was going to be without Wagner. We had said our pre-trip good-byes that morning because Greg and Brooke were taking him to their house straight from tennis. But I needed one more hug and kiss—maybe two.
I smiled when I saw him talking to his friends in front of the tennis hut—and I realized right away that I had made the right choice stopping by. I mean, sure, the tennis pro was just a kid, but it did my battered self-esteem some good that he did a double take when I walked up.
There’s some universal rule that tennis pros must be delicious. I don’t mean good-looking. I meandelicious. And Wagner’s tennis teacher for the summer was no exception.
“Hi,” he said as he conspicuously took in the long expanse of leg peeking out from my pareo.
He winked at me underneath his Straits Club sun visor. “So, you here for my class?”
I smirked; his class was the twelve and under clinic.
Before I had a chance to respond, Brooke said, “Excuse me.” I struggled to keep from rolling my eyes.
I eyed the tennis pro to see if he thought she was as hot as my husband apparently did, but he barely glanced her way as he told her, “Moms can watch if they want, but don’t feel like you have to hang around.”
Wagner ran up to me excitedly and said, “Mom?” and then looked over his shoulder, making sure that nobody had seen. “What are you doing here?”
I ran my hand through his shaggy hair, controlling my impulse to lean over and kiss him. “I missed you already.”
Much to my surprise, Wagner squeezed me tight and kissed me on the cheek. He must have needed one last hug and kiss too.
The tanned, racket-wielding man-child to my left looked from Brooke to me and said, “Wait, you mean you’re hismother?” Then he laughed. “No way. What, did you have him when you were twelve?”
It was the absolute best-case scenario. I mean, he would be getting a tip so large at the end of the summer that he could retire.
