“Does the camera make you nervous?” Jefferson asked, lowering it.
“It’s not that so much as having an audience. Watching me.” She bit her lip. “Which is what an audience does. Redundant, party of two.”
“Because she likes to wait and show the finished product,” her ex-roommate volunteered. “When it’s been attractively plated. With an eye to composition and color. Not blobbed together like a melting sundae.” She cleared her throat, as if she suspected Jefferson of being the glop-and-run type.
He moved to Libby’s other side, trying not to crowd her. He was better at this with animals. Hard to imagine what kind of camouflage he’d wear to blend in with this kitchen, unless Carhartt introduced a stainless-steel-and-marble print.
“Not your usual assignment,” Libby said, reading his mind.
“Not exactly.” Sunlight hit the back of her head, and Jefferson took a picture of her long ponytail. It was a useless shot for any purpose other than recording the exact shade of her hair. “Like a mountain lion.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, and Jefferson realizedhe’d said the last part out loud. Too used to working in solitude, apparently.
“What is?” Libby asked.
“Your hair.”
Jean clucked her tongue. “Are you calling her mangy?”
“Do I really?” Libby touched the side of her head. “Have mountain lion hair?”
“Gag me,” her friend muttered.
“I thought you had wolf eyes,” Libby told Jefferson. “The first time I met you.”
He was instantly transported back to that day on the beach. Maybe they’d both felt it—the sense that something out of the ordinary was happening.
“Sizzle,” Keoki whispered.
Libby put a hand to her red cheek.
“The pan.” Keoki pointed at the stove. “It’s ready.” He demonstrated by flicking more droplets at the surface, which immediately evaporated with a hiss of steam.
She picked up the pitcher.
“Remember what you always say. The secret is in the wrist.” Keoki mimed tipping the pan from side to side. “No hesitation.”
“I certainly am full of helpful advice,” Libby said tightly.
The batter hit the pan with unexpected force, splashing droplets onto the surface of the stove. Libby grabbed the handle and made a slightly more violent version of Keoki’s gesture. She frowned at the resulting shape—more octopus than circle—before placing the pan back on the burner.
“Now is it time to flip it?” Uncle Richard asked.
Keoki shook his head. “First one’s always a dud.”
“Certainly true of marriage,” Uncle Richard quipped, chortling at his own joke.
“Very funny,” Mr. L agreed.
Jefferson looked at Libby to see if she was offended, but she was focused on the crepe, like she could make it cook faster by staring.
“Do you do weddings?” her husband asked.
It took Jefferson a second to realize the question was directed at him. “Not as a general rule, no.”
“Too bad.” The other man sighed. “I’m in the market for one.”
“A wedding photographer?” Hildy asked, giving voice to Jefferson’s confusion.
