Once I’ve captured the more formal shots I keep shooting, shifting angles, catching the tiny moments. A shared joke, a spray of ice, Callum tugging off his gloves between drills. Through the lens, he’s all edges and focus, but there’s warmth there too, something human that makes the frame hum.
After a while, Laura calls, “Let’s get a few of Fraser solo!”
My fingers tighten around the camera.
Callum skates over, breath visible in the cold air. “Guess that’s my cue.”
“You ready for your close-up?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“Depends who’s behind the lens.”
“Flattery won’t fix bad lighting.”
He smirks. “Then we’ll make do with charm.”
I line up the shot, trying to focus on the job, not the way his jaw flexes as he adjusts his grip on the stick. “Look right at me,” I say, clicking the shutter. “No, not the camera. Me.”
His eyes find mine and the world narrows. I click again, then again, and each time feels as though crossing a line I shouldn’t. “Good,” I manage. “Hold it there.”
He does. When I lower the camera, he’s still looking.
“You make that look easy,” he says.
“It’s not.” I try in vain to hide my grin. There’s a pause, thick with something I don’t have the words for.
Laura breaks it. “Perfect, that’s a wrap for the on-ice shots. Let’s move into the hallway for the portraits.”
I exhale, grateful for the interruption, though my hands are shaking slightly as I gather my gear.
The rest of the session blurs. The lads cycle through one by one for headshots, some goofing off, some taking it seriously. I keep it professional, giving directions, laughing where appropriate. But every time Callum’s voice drifts from somewhere nearby, my attention wavers.
When it’s finally over, Laura claps me on the shoulder. “You killed it, Rose. These are going to look brilliant. Send me the edits this week?”
“Of course.”
She heads off, leaving me packing up alone in the corridor. Or so I think.
“Need a hand?”
When I look up Callum’s leaning against the wall, still in his base layer, hair damp, grin crooked.
“You have a habit of showing up at exactly the wrong time,” I say.
He shrugs. “Or the right one.”
“Debatable.”
“Laura happy?”
“She seems to be.”
“She should be. You made us look half decent from the few that I saw.”
I smile despite myself. “Half decent is generous.”
He laughs, stepping closer, lowering his voice. “You okay? Looked like a long day.”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
