“I want to stay,” I say softly. “And I want you and Dan to give Pierre the option to use the photos you’ve already captured at Feather Falls. It’s a win-win for all of us. He could easily use the images in his campaign, and I wouldn’t have to set foot on foreign soil. I wouldn’t have to leave you.”
His eyes press shut, his jaw clenching to thwart off a slight smile. When he finally looks at me again, his voice is low and pleading. “Don’t do this for me. Do it for you. This is totally your decision, and I’ll support you no matter what.”
The knot inside me finally unravels. For the first time in years, I can breathe. I look around the kitchen, the quiet pulse of truth filling the air. I don’t want to model someone else’s vision. I want Adam’s magic behind the lens to be the focus.
“I want us to start something here,” I say slowly. “Something real. Our own collaboration, with no filters or edits. Just authenticity, blending our two stories together.”
His mouth curves, pride glinting in his eyes. He gets closer, his large hands cupping my face. “I’ve always said people love a good story. This sounds like the best thing you’ve ever come up with.”
“The best thingwe’veever come up with,” I correct him.
I laugh through the tears I hadn’t noticed were falling. I’m drunk on his smile. I lean into his embrace, desperate to feel his arms wrap around me, our hearts pressed together as one. I want my hands in his hair, my lips on his mouth. I want to stay here in our rundown kitchen in the country in Adam’s arms, with morning light streaming through the windows. Molly panting at our feet. I don’t want to leave. I never want to be away from this man again.
We both jump at the sound of his phone going off for a second time, the ringtone an indication that our meeting is about to start. We pull back from one another in surprise. Drenched in light, the soft gaze he gives me is one I know well—one part devotion, one part protection. It’s a gentle stare, as if he’s looking into me rather than at me. I feel an immediate sense of safety and tenderness in his presence.
I’m bold and reach for his phone, switching it off. “They can wait an extra minute or two while we seal this deal with a kiss.”
He grins as I grasp his face between my hands and lean forward, pressing my lips against his. My larger-than-life image on his computer screen looks on. The one where I’m laughing mid-breath, alive, and free. I can almost hear the goose-honking echoing in the air.
The photo Adam captured is a declaration.
And it feels like the beginning of… everything.
Epilogue
Adam
I back my pickup truck out of the driveway and onto the country road in front of our house, pausing to take in the freshly painted white picket fence I recently added to our property. Thanks to the exorbitant amount of money we acquired from the Pierre Jardot perfume campaign, we’ve been able to give the exterior of the farmhouse a major overhaul, complete with a covered front porch, refurbished windows, and an entirely new color scheme. The white clapboard siding matches the fence line, and the dark blue shutters are a nice contrast with the metal roof. Removing the old barbed wire fencing out front was a good call, as was updating the landscaping. Colorful azalea bushes line the brick walkway, and Keri and I planted a tree in the front yard, commemorating our first year together; a Southern Live Oak. We were told it’s hard to beat an oak, especially since it’s the official state tree of Georgia. It’s majestic, beautiful, and represents stability and permanence.
And now, I’m officially a permanent Georgia resident. I’ve got the driver’s license to prove it. I’m not going anywhere. Not without Keri.
I drive through town with the windows down, Molly’s head out the passenger window. Having a pickup truck while planting roots here feels right. The camper van stays parked on the property, and Keri and I have logged thousands of miles in it over the last year. We have no desire to slow down.
I honk my horn and wave at Miss Jenny serving a table outside her café. She throws a hand up in the air, her wide smile hard not to notice from under her signature wide-brimmed hat. She points at her wristwatch, and I nod with vigor.
I glance at Keri’s former office across the street: shades down, doors locked. She no longer works at her real estate business. It’s officially closed. She still owns the building and stores her pageant gowns upstairs. Downstairs, we’ve turned the space into a photography gallery and studio for our biggest collaboration yet:
Halo Studios.
It’s a nod to our partnership, our stories melding into one. Natural and free-spirited, it evokes our answered prayers. Soon, we’ll open the gallery to the public, showcasing our favorite larger-than-life photographs.
One shot shows Keri dancing on Atlantic Beach in a periwinkle gown, storm clouds overhead. Forest images include a sunrisephoto from my California property that won first place at the International Photography Awards. Keri was with me that day. The vivid greens and blue sky were captivating as I lay on a boulder to capture the image, focusing on happier memories.
Not all of the photos in our gallery include Keri. Many are nature shots I’ve taken over the last few years during my vagabond days on the road, the pain in those moments perceptible. Several more pageant gown shots amidst glimmers of dancing light at sunrise and sunset while on our cross-country adventures, complete the collection. All are achingly memorable, all taken through the lens of someone who has finally found his light after the storm.
Keri is my light.
As I near the highway, I notice the new billboard for the Lavender Festival at Jamison Farm. The image is one of the first I took of Keri after we met. When George Jamison hired me for a billboard photo, we agreed that Keri’s image from last year’s festival was perfect. She gladly became the unofficial spokesmodel, her photo now on billboards near the Heartsboro exit.
I can still remember that day strolling through the purple paradise together. Keri was nervous, trying to act casual as she ran her fingers along the tops of the lavender plants. Her smile unfurled slowly as I talked her into letting her hair down, her giggles infectious as I followed her through the pathways with her skirt billowing around her bare knees. Among the streaks of violet and purple, I captured a side of Keri clearly enjoyingherself. An image that any potential tourist might stop and take notice.
Now, her blissful, bashful, angel face is for all of Heartsboro to see.
After Pierre Jardo approached us last summer, she reassured me time and again that she has no regrets about passing on his global campaign offer. The Frenchman reluctantly agreed to a handful of Feather Falls photos while we maintained the legal copyrights, the gorgeous images for the high-end perfume ending up in magazines ads and department stores. I’m truly blessed by her dedication to me and our brand. Together, we’re a dream team.
The asphalt gives way to dirt, the undercarriage of my truck picking up dust, and my hair swirling wildly around my clean-shaven face. I make a bold left turn on Paradise Road and continue toward my final destination.
Now, it’s lavender season again at Jamison Farm. The violet meadows await harvest, and the intoxicating scent drifts beneath my nose on the breeze. I inhale the soothing fragrance, prepared to embrace this next vital step in my life.
