But as I said before: who’s to say I can’t do both?
“There’s a festival coming up soon,” Bennett suddenly says, pulling me from my very inappropriate thoughts. “It’s our town’s fall festival.”
“I know,” I say, taking another long drink of my soda. “We’re publishing an article on it soon.”
“So, you’ll be attending?” he asks, a hopeful gleam shining in those bright eyes.
I think about the concept of hundreds of loud children with candy apple hands and terrifying, rickety rides, and nearly vomit.
“I’ll consider it.” I notice that he does not directly ask me to attend with him, which is for the best. That’s far too close to a date for my liking.
“Your food—sincesomeonehas decided to stop working,” Kandi interrupts, placing my plate in front of me before sauntering off to another table.
“I think that’s your cue, Ben,” I say, popping a fry into my mouth. Bennett’s cheeks flush, that sweet grin spreading over his lips once more.
“I’ll see you around, Eli.” And then he’s gone, heading back into the kitchen to do god knows what.
I take some time to observe the people around me: the elderly couple two booths down, the family of four with their crying baby sitting at a table toward the center of the diner. A group of high schoolers is sitting around a plate of cheese fries, laughing obnoxiously across the room.
And most annoyingly, whoever is sitting behind me is having the world’sloudestconversation.
“Erica, I’m telling you, her contributions to the PTA bake sale were ridiculous. Like, two dozen chocolate chip cookies? Were they even homemade?” the woman laughs, her haughty voice successfully giving me a headache.
“I bet her son won’t be playing baseball this year either,” another voice chimes in, presumably Erica. “If she can’t afford to live in our neighborhood, then she should just move. It’s not our fault she decided to be a single mother in this economy.”
What a bitch.
I know that every town, every city, every single place on this godforsaken planet has human beings like this. Yet I am still shocked every time I encounter them.
And here I was, convinced thatIwas the worst of the worst when it came to judgment—sitting in my booth, glaring daggers at the family who won’t take their crying child away from us patrons who wantpeace,or aggressively sighing when those annoying teenagers laugh too loudly.
But I guess there is always somebody worse. And they should count themselves lucky I haven’t gotten the good sense to speak my mind quite yet.
Soon, though. These locals will learn of my true nature soon enough. For now, they can have my passive-aggressive glares.
The ones who suck, at least.
I’m sagging in relief as I shut the door to my apartment, locking myself inside and escaping the outside world. And now that I’m alone, I can once again dissect my meeting with Rowan this morning.
I brought him a coffee that he promptly declined, just as I thought he would. But he askedmea question—I think I’m getting through to him. It’s a slow and tedious task, but worth it in my opinion.
More than worth it, especially when I get to ogle his bare chest and feel the beat of my own heart throughout the length of my entire body. Does it make me a bad person to use this stranger as an outlet for emotion and nighttime material? Probably. But I’ve never been too concerned with being agood person.
Outside of being polite, keeping my promises, and treating others how they treat me, I’m not required to be a saint.
I am curious, though. Other than his rockin’ body and his ability to make me feel things I’ve never felt before, what else does Rowan Alexander offer?
I grab my laptop from my bag and settle on my two-person couch, bringing a hot cup of tea with me. It takes me no time at all to find Rowan’s website, as it’s literally calledRowan Alexander Photography. Not very creative, but I guess it doesn’t have to be.
He has a page dedicated to his work titled “Gallery,” and I find myself drawn there first. It’s all nature shots—sunsets, beautiful landscapes, birds mid-flight. They’re beautiful.
Rowan has a way of capturing the essence of a place. Staring at a specific shot of a beautiful ocean with a seagull soaring over it, it feels almost as if I’m there. I can smell the salty air and feel the breeze against my skin.
I wonder how long it took him to learn his way around a camera—to be able to capture a moment like this. And I alsowonder why ninety percent of his photos either feature a sunset or a bluebird. Is this his niche? I guess everyone has to have one.
The rest of his website is pretty bland: a section for emailing him, a list of achievements and certifications, and a short biography that I can tell from the first sentence he wrote himself.
Rowan Alexander is twenty-six years old and based out of North Dakota. He prefers taking shots of nature and animals and is an independent contractor. If you’re interested in working with him, please use the “Contact Me” page listed on the drop-down menu. Thanks.
