My fingers fly across the screen while I slide off the bed and start for the door. The firm kick in my chest doesn’t go unnoticed.
I’ll come to you. Does now work?
Evie
YEP!
Another message comes through with an address, and yeah, I stare at it for a beat longer than I should. Goosebumps break out over my arms as excitement barges through the walls I’ve tried to shove all thoughts of Roman behind.
Pausing, I look at the curvy mannequin wearing the lavender romper. My smile is wide as I reach for the fabric and carefully take it off before rushing out of my room.
I was hoping to find a model who would do the piece justice, and while going to Roman’s house isn’t exactly the smartest move, given my inner turmoil, this might just make the potential rejection sting a bit less.
I park on the curved driveway and snag my purse from the passenger seat. The bungalow doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as I expected it to from the address and luxurious neighbourhood.
There are more trees in front of the house than there are windows looking out at them. Besides a small rose bush in the centre of the recently mowed green yard, there’s not much to look at. The front door is the same red as the brick exterior and the cherry-stained fence wrapping around the back of the house. My car is the only one on the driveway, but with the four-door garage, it’s too soon to know if he’s home. Evie is, after all.
Stepping out, I hike my purse up my shoulder and take a look behind me just in case his car is pulling in behind me. It’s not. I’m alone out here.
I pick up my pace. My pink wedges clip the pavement as I round my car and stare at the rose bush again. The closer I get, the more vibrant the red petals become. The stems get thicker, their thorns sharper.
Before I can reach the door, it’s opening. Evie hops out and waves when she spots me, her smile warm.
“Hey! Did you find the house okay?” she asks once I reach her.
“Easily enough. It’s a nice neighbourhood.”
I pull her in for a hug. It’s clear she doesn’t expect it when her arms go slack at her sides for a moment before she brings them around me, squeezing tight.
“It’s nice enough.” She’s frowning when we break apart. The lack of her smile is jarring. “Come in. I can’t wait for you tosee how amazing the photos are. Not to toot my own horn or anything.”
“Blare that shit, Evie. I don’t mind.”
She laughs, her smile returning, even if it’s not quite as big. I follow her into the house and close the door behind us.
There’s no immediate, overwhelming scent that I notice off the bat. It’s not until I take a deeper inhale that I pick up notes of Roman’s cologne. Still, it’s more of a tease than anything that was done on purpose. I doubt that man has ever owned a candle or a wall plug-in.
Evie waits until I’ve slipped my wedges off before leading us past the living room and down a wide hallway. One fleeting glance into the space is only enough for me to make out a black leather couch and a massive TV hung on the wall across from it.
The blandness when it comes to the off-white walls and light wood floors doesn’t change the entire way through the house. I look at every single door on the off chance that one’s been left open for my perusing pleasure, but turn up empty every time. Only once we reach the end of the hall do I find my luck turning around.
Regardless of it being Evie’s room, I still take the opportunity to look around. It’s by far the brightest room in the house, at least that I’ve seen. With soft yellow walls, a white, painted speckled rug at the end of the large bed, and plenty of photos spread across the available surfaces, it looks like someone actually lives here, as opposed to the rest of the place.
And it’s just as messy as my apartment.
I run my hand over the top of a gleaming white dresser, examining the items she’s got jammed into the glass jar atop it. There’s not much besides a handful of makeup brushes, a generic lip balm, and a fabric key chain with her name embroidered across it. Not much of that gives away any bits of her personality.
It’s the hefty array of camera gear beside the jar that does that.
“Here. Obviously, you can choose a different album for the photos to be in, but I figured you’d want both digitals and physicals,” she says, drawing my attention.
Dropping my hand, I stare her way. There’s not only a thick black photo album in her hand, but a thin silver laptop under her arm. I take a wide step forward to take the album.
“You didn’t need to print them at all. Thank you,” I murmur, feeling the weight of it in my hands.
She sits on the edge of her bed and settles her laptop onto her thighs, getting everything set up. “Honestly, I wanted to impress you. Our shoot is the first one I’ve ever done where it wasn’t just for fun. I was hoping you could help me choose which photos you think I should use for my portfolio.”
“Really? I’d be honoured.”
