“Thank you.”
He lifts up the camera hanging from around his neck. “I’d love to snap a few photos of you in the lavender fields. Not for marketing purposes, or anything else. But because you look so darn good.”
My face instantly heats, and it’s not because of the sun. I hesitate, knowing Adam has a background photographing high-profile celebrities like Ridge Wilson. I’m not even on the same page as someone like him.
“Please? Could you do this for me?”
I fold my arms against my chest and examine his face in the sunlight. The sharp line of his jaw. The bits of blonde streaking through his messy hair tucked haphazardly behind his ears. His lips set in a straight line as he looks right at me. Unlike celebrity Ridge Wilson, I feel like time stops when I look at Adam. Being around him isn’t forced or flashy. If I’m being perfectly honest with myself, I’m just happy being in the same zip code with him. He’s comforting, exciting, and unforgettable.
I throw my arms out to my side and offer him a silly grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Why not?”
We walk past one of the flower stands set up for the festival folks, utility buckets brimming with daylilies, sunflowers, and large bundles of lavender tied off with string. Several picnic tables are arranged in a circle around a huge oak tree, folks snacking and sipping lavender lemonade in plastic souvenir cups with the farm logo clearly stamped on the side. A lone guitar player strums near the weatherworn siding of a shed housing a yellow tractor, and a few children scamper across dirt paths, chasing butterflies. The setting is idyllic, and I almost forget about witnessing Ridge and Adam’s conversation.
Almost.
“How do you know Ridge?” I casually ask.
Adam continues walking through the barnyard toward a gentle slope and stops. I’m by his side as we both take in the breathtaking view of the lush lavender fields beneath the powder blue sky.
“Wow,” he says, completely ignoring my question about Ridge. He lifts his camera and snaps a few pictures in quick succession, the air surrounding us drenched in the heavenly scent of floral, tinged with woodsy undertones. “Come on,” he beckons, allowing me to walk before him. His broad smile and carefree attitude are back, probably from the magic of the lavender.
I follow the well-worn path and make my way around a few flower-peepers taking pictures with their phones. Adam and I stroll through the purple paradise together.
“You keep walking,” he says, his booted feet coming to a halt on the dark earth.
“Okay.” I’m nervous, knowing he’s about to take pictures of me. I try to act casual and run my fingers across the tops of the lavender plants. I look over my shoulder and see him crouched, pointing his camera directly at me. A slow smile unfurls from my lips as I bat my lashes at him.
“That’s it. Take your hair out of your ponytail and muss it up.”
I nod and follow his directions, my long blonde hair tumbling over my shoulders upon release from the hair tie. I smile again and continue down the path, my skirt billowing around my bare knees in the slight breeze. My giggles are infectious, and I canhear Adam laugh as he scrambles to follow after me, his camera clicking away.
Streaks of violet and purple fly past me, the sun overhead sizzling my skin. I stop in between pathways and play along with Adam, striking a few different poses while holding the edges of my skirt for fun. I’m clearly enjoying myself and not as nervous as I thought I’d be. But I am breaking a sweat. I scurry over to a fencepost in the cool shade for a quick respite. A substantial stump near the fence line looks inviting, and I sit, crossing my legs and interlocking my fingers together on my lap. All the while, Adam is clicking away with purpose.
“Good. Atta girl.” He lets the camera hang from his neck and approaches me, gently combing my hair back from my cheek. His touch sends a thrill up my spine. “The lighting is so good right here. Relax a little bit and look out over the field.”
I continue to follow his instructions, giddy with every “atta girl” comment he throws my way.
“Turn a little to the right. Yup. That’s it. Atta girl. Now smile like you see me coming toward you in the distance.”
I jerk my head and look right at him, thwarting a snort-laugh. “But you’re right here.”
He chuckles. “I know. Just… pretend you see me out in the field coming toward you.” He snaps his fingers with an idea. “Like Mr. Darcy at the end ofPride and Prejudice.”
I laugh at his romantic suggestion and look out over the field, imagining Adam walking toward me. My face instantly morphs into a bashful expression, the movie’s soundtrack pulsing to the beat of my thrumming heart.
“Hold it right there. Chin up just a little. There we go. Wow!Gorgeous!”
I wonder if he can see my heart pounding through the fabric of my dress? Or the trickle of nervous sweat sliding down the nape of my neck? Adam is suddenly right next to me, looping the camera from around his neck so he can show me the little screen. “Look at you. You’re a natural. Not a bad shot in the bunch.”
“Oh, I’m sure there are some with my eyes closed, or scrunching my nose.”
He laughs and sits on the ground beside me. “I knew you were photogenic, Keri. These are stellar. I’m gonna download all of them to my computer and email them to you. You’re welcome to use them any way you like.”
“Wow. Thanks, Adam.”
“You’re welcome.” He sets the camera aside and lies back on the grass, staring up through the tree branches at the bluest sky. I like this version of him, relaxed and happy.
“And to answer your earlier question, I was the photographer assigned to Ridge Wilson’sPeoplemagazine cover when he was voted ‘Sexiest Man Alive.’”
