“Quick job. Need some photos of the boatyard.”
“The boatyard.”
“The front window, back bays. The crane. The docks.”
Bean the Magic Pup sees me and scratches at the glass on our door to come inside, pink tongue hanging out of his mouth.
“Why?” Mom asks.
Lucky lifts his face to hers. “We just got the new window put in, and the trim and paint is different. You may have noticed.”
We both stare at him.
“Anyway,” he continues, “My parents want to update our website photo of the front of the business. So might as well update the others while we’re at it. We’ve just got standard phone photos up there now. Would be nice to have more professional shots. If that was something Josie could do?”
“Of course she could,” Mom says, like he just insulted both of us. Like it was a challenge, and she just fell for it.
Wait a minute. She’s actually buying into his scheme? Correction:myscheme. Because I thought of it first. I think I’m actually a little miffed at him now. I don’t care how pretty he is, or how much I want to stick my hands deep inside his leather jacket. Why is he even wearing that thing? It’s hot outside, for the love of Pete.
“She’s really good,” she tells him. “Don’t know if you’ve seen her work online, but she has a website you can browse. One of those subscriber things?”
“Mom,” I say weakly. Ambulance. 911. Emergency. Dying.
“Yes, I have seen it,” he says, suppressing a smile as I discreetlytry to step on the toe of his boot. It’s got some kind of reinforced steel thing inside it. Won’t budge. He shifts his boot to the side and says, “All the sign photos. Really cool.”
Mom crosses her arms and nods. “Itisreally cool. She’s got a good eye. But as for this job … It’s for your parents?”
“It is,” he says.
“They know about it?”
“They do. You want to call my mom?”
She doesn’t answer. Just considers it for a moment while she shifts on the squeaky chair and says, “Suppose it’s up to Josie, not me.”
I blink at her. I blink at him.
“I’ve got work here in the Nook right now,” I tell him.
“That’s okay,” he says. “I’m on a break. Just finished up at the department store, and I’m about to start a shift with my dad. It would probably be better to do the photography after the boatyard’s closed, so you wouldn’t have everyone in the way. And isn’t there something about the light being better right before twilight … ?”
“Golden hour,” I say, smiling tightly.You bastard.
He snaps his fingers. “That’s it.”
“It’s a real thing,” Mom says, completely clueless. “Right, shutterbug?”
Oh my God. Lucky is eating this up. I want to kick him in the shin.
He clears his throat and says in a cheery voice, “So, golden hour? I can meet you in front of the boatyard office. I’ll show youwhich things to shoot. Shouldn’t take all that long, I wouldn’t think? But if that’s not enough money—?”
Kick him in the shin, strangle him … Maybe he’s the one who needs the ambulance, not me. “Oh, it’ll be enough.”
“Hey,” Mom says. “If you do this, I want to make it clear that I’d be right across the street, and I will not be picking up anyone at the police station again. You have to earn my trust back, Lucky.”
“Understood,” he says. “Zero police stations.”
“You’re not in contact with Adrian Summers, are you?” she asks. “Because I know our neighborhood is filled with buffoons, and I’m not saying I don’t believe that Adrian wasn’t the one who smashed the boatyard window. But whatever’s going on, I have to ask—this hasn’t turned into a turf war or anything, has it?”
