Chapter Six
Rory
Nash didn’t seem like the kind of person who knew how to make the first step to forgiveness, and while Rory believed he deserved an apology for Nash ignoring the note he left him after Sam’s wedding, he was willing to suck it up and make the first move to get the water flowing under the bridge, so to speak. And it earned him a warm night’s sleep.
It also earned him a twinge of regret. Indulging in something he wanted but couldn’t have. Like eating something delicious you’re allergic to.
He didn’t have time to wallow in regret, however. He had a wedding to photograph. He hopped on one foot as he tried to get a black shoe on the other, suiting up to be as invisible as possible, while also sticking their cameras right in people's faces. He turned toward Nash and lost his balance immediately, crashing to the floor the second he saw Nash pull on his camera harness. Rory had borrowed Sam’s harness, which was the same idea. It allowed them to carry two cameras at a time, to make quick decisions between two different lenses, without having to change them out.
Theory and reality were two different things, however. Nash was in black slacks and a black long-sleeve button-down shirt,the brown leather straps of the harness hanging on his shoulders and crisscrossing his back. It looked like a gun holster, but actually sexy, because there were no guns.
“You alright?” Nash asked, oblivious to the way he short-circuited Rory’s brain.
“Should have sat to tie my shoes,” Rory mumbled, pushing himself up to sit on his butt as he tied his laces while Nash loaded freshly charged batteries into camera bodies and extras into his gear bag.
Rory took a deep breath, and then it was off to the first event of the day: bridesmaids getting ready.
The main suite was bustling when they made it up there, and it reminded Rory that the bridesmaids were always more fun than the groomsmen. There was so much joy and levity, fun nerves, silly jokes, camaraderie. The groomsmen usually just…got drunk. Which was fine, but not what Rory thought of as being fun.
There were seven women including the bride getting ready, and two little flower girls. The room was chaos.
“Only flattering photos, please!” Olivia joked, in a satin robe that saidMrs.in gold thread on the back.
“We are here to flatter you,” Rory promised. She shoved them over to the breakfast spread first, and while they’d found espresso and biscotti in the lobby, Rory was grateful for the filled cornetto, some fruit, and of course, more coffee.
Professional hair and makeup was already happening, and had started over an hour before Rory and Nash showed up.
Rory let Nash call the shots, happy to do whatever second-shooter tasks he had. Nash took candids and assigned Rory to get shots of the dress and shoes, and macro shots of the rings. This was the shit Rory was good at. When everything stayed in one place and he could take his time composing a beautifulshot. When it was him and a camera, the world around him disappeared.
He knew how Nash and Sam usually took macro shots of the rings, which Olivia handed over to him only with a solemn promise he would guard them with his life, and he got the classic shots, set up on a table in the corner of the room by a window. The macro shots highlighted the detail in the rings, two wedding, one engagement, and made the diamonds sparkle.
Once he got the regular straightforward photos taken and checked off the shot-list note that Nash had shared with him, he decided to get creative. They had a long day ahead of them, and most of that day would be taking the kinds of photos Rory didn’t artistically care about. He knew he was doing a job, and that was fine, but there was a reason he didn’t go into wedding photography.
He collected items from around the room. A couple roses from an arrangement. The veil. A perfume bottle. A tray with a mirrored bottom. He played around with them, careful not to spill the perfume on the veil. Behind him, he could hear Nash’s shutter as he captured the getting-ready process.
As much as wedding photography didn’t scratch the art-making itch in his brain, it was nice to work on a project with another person.
When he was satisfied with the number of ring shots he’d taken, he took the macro lens off the camera to switch to a 50mm lens for some portrait shots.
His phone buzzed and he slipped it out of his pocket. A message from Sam.
Sam
How are things going over there? I know Nash has his phone on Do Not Disturb, which you should do too, by the way, and I’m going bananas over here.
Good! Just got ring shots. Ladies are getting ready. It’s going smoothly, don’t worry.
Rory found Nash, crouched down to take a photo of one of the flower girls, and snapped a quick shot on his phone and attached it to his text with Sam. Before he could hit send, he heard someone shoutbe careful, sweetieas the other child in the room rushed past him, eager to get in the photo Nash was taking, too. She nudged the table the rings were on, and Rory watched as time slowed down, and the macro lens on the corner of the table went flying.
“Fu—Shi—uh, crap,” Rory said as the lens hit the ground and cracked. He froze, and for one moment the room was silent. Shit, shit, shit. He picked up the lens to inspect it. It hadn’t shattered into pieces. Shards hadn’t flown everywhere. It didn’t become a hazard. But he could see that the glass was cracked.
Fuck. He’d come on this trip to help, and here he was, fucking shit up. Lenses, especially the pro ones Sam and Nash had, were fuckingexpensive, and Rory didn’t have the extra cash at the moment to buy a new one.
Reluctantly, he looked over at Nash, who looked like he alone was standing under a rain cloud. Dark, stormy eyes, posture so still Rory could tell he was forcing himself not to do anything.
Rory didn’t know what to do.
“I am so sorry about that,” one of the bridesmaids said, corralling the running kid against her legs.
