Snapshots
By Hannah Henry
Chapter One
Nash
Nash hadn’t wanted to book this wedding to begin with. He and Sam didn’t photograph international weddings. They did weddings in the general Central Ohio area, or they shot low-key elopements in geographical areas they could reasonably drive to. But Sam had played high school football with the groom, and somehow, he’d strong-armed Nash into agreeing. It was those puppy eyes. He was grateful for Sam’s charm often, but never less than when it was aimed at him. He was not immune.
And now he was at the gate for their flight in the Columbus international airport to get on a flight toItaly, knee bouncing as he waited not for Sam, his business partner, best friend, and platonic life mate, but for Sam’s little brother. When they signed the photography contract, Nash had predicted something would go wrong, and Sam rolled his eyes. And then two days ago had to get his appendix removed in emergency surgery. He was okay, but not okay enough for the most rigorous workweek of their year, if not their career.
Sam’s little brother, Rory, had saved their asses, stepping up to come to Italy to photograph a wedding at the last minute. But as Nash spied Rory making his way to their gate, blue hoodieunzipped and sleeves pushed up to his elbows, casual khakis, hair skater-boy messy, Nash thought going alone would have been a smaller disaster.
“Hey,” Rory said, face bright and happy as always. He didn’t have the same universally beloved charm that Sam had, but instead he had a bit of a clumsy, overeager situation going on. Puppy energy. And unfortunately for Nash, whose type apparently was slightly annoying little brothers, he was still as beautiful as the last time Nash saw him. Rory dropped himself into the seat next to Nash, setting his half-empty backpack between his feet, fabric slouching to emphasize how little it contained.
“Is that all you have?” Nash could feel the alarm in his own voice vibrating through every nerve in his body.
“I checked a bag.”
“What if it doesn’t make it to Italy? You’ll just have an old paperback and a change of socks?” Nash had a carefully packed carry-on of camera equipment, and his personal item had a selection of expertly compressed and folded black clothes.
“It will. The connecting flight has plenty of time. Don’t worry about it,” Rory said, slumping in his seat as he fished his phone out of his pocket. There was nothing Nash’s brain could do right nowexceptworry. He glanced over at Rory, kicking himself for noticing the way his fingers curled around his phone as he tapped out a text.
When Rory bounced his knees as they waited, it carried the same energy as a kid waiting in line for a roller coaster. When Nash did it, he knew he gave off more of ayour car repairs are more than double what you thought they would bevibe.
“Sam says sorry again,” Rory said, angling his phone screen so Nash could read it. “And that he’ll make it up to you.”
“Don’t think that’s possible,” Nash grumbled. The smile on Rory’s face faltered, and even though Nash was in a bad moodand the history the two of them shared was awkward, he never wanted to upset Rory. “I’m sorry. This is a big deal for me, and way out of my comfort zone, and I’d been relying on Sam to take the lead on it.”
“I can’t take the lead, but I’m good support. I promise.” Rory didn’t have the years of wedding-specific experience that Nash and Sam had, but Sam and Rory had grown up in a house that had a darkroom in the basement. He knew his way around a camera. At least Nash didn’t have to worry about that. “I promise I’m not going to screw this up.”
Their boarding group was called, and Rory followed Nash to their seats, a pair right next to each other in premium economy. He was grateful that the bride and groom had paid for their flights, but he was already feeling claustrophobic and he hadn’t even sat down. He got his carry-on full of equipment up in the overhead, and Rory let him pick which seat he wanted. He wedged himself into the window seat and prayed for this to be over soon.
“Did Sam tell you I’m a nervous flier?” Nash asked, extremely self-conscious about the vibe he knew he was giving off.
“He did. But he didn’t need to. If you need anything, man, let me know.” His voice was soft and kind, and flooded Nash with a new wave of self-consciousness.
Rory couldn’t help himself but to sprawl out in his seat, his long legs invading Nash’s space in a way Nash knew he couldn’t help. Their knees touched briefly, and Rory got a handle on his limbs, sitting up properly in his seat for only a manner of seconds before he was slouching again, still being careful not to touch Nash. The last time they touched each other on purpose was on Sam’s wedding night, tangled in the sheets of a hotel bed, having a night neither of them would ever mention again.
Yeah, it would be a long flight.
