Page 88 of Italy and Forever

There was a candid shot of her in her fluffy sweater the evening they’d danced the waltz. He wouldn’t forget that, because she’d felt like a hug in human form wearing it. In the photo, she had a finger pressed thoughtfully to her lips, her eyes squinting. Probably, she’d been worried about not having a partner. It annoyed him that seeing her with Laurie had spoiled the memory of dancing with her himself, being the one to step in and make her smile when she’d been self-conscious.

The photos from the climbing park were unbearable. Her ears stuck out below the helmet as though designed that way, her lips were thin with stress as she clung to the wall, but her eyes were huge as she reached the top of the line, where he’d been waiting for her.

The floodgates opened in the photos from the day visiting the chapel, when she’d been his test subject. His favourite subject. He struggled to tell which facial expressions looked best, but he had his personal favourites: Ginny reaching up to touch the golden leaves of the old chestnut; her hair blowing in her face up in the meadow, one prominent ear emerging from the dark red strands.

She probably wouldn’t like that one, but he did. He’d kissed her shortly after that.

‘Ahhhhhh.’

He jumped and snapped his gaze away from the computer, as though that could help him hide what he’d been doing, which was simply staring and not editing.

Lesley approached, leaning on his shoulder and ruffling his hair as though he were still ten years old. ‘She’s the one.’

Her choice of words made his thoughts shudder to a halt. Sometimes it felt that way, as though Ginny were the only person in the world who could accept him as he was. But she’d accepted him only for a few days and that was fair enough. She should have everything she dreamed of and not a reserved thirty-nine-year-old grouch.

He had no energy to argue with his mother, so he nodded, rubbing his thumb along his brow as a headache threatened there. God, next year he’d be forty and Ginny would still be only twenty-nine.

‘She looks… young.’

‘She is. Too young.’

Her hand on his shoulder squeezed. ‘But that’s a lovely smile. I like her and I’ve only seen a picture.’

‘Everyone likes her. She’s that kind of person.’

But she wanted someone to love her. Staring at the light bathing her neck and remembering his lips there, the way she softened in his arms, he couldn’t help thinking that would be no problem for him.

‘She’s smiling at you,’ Lesley pointed out, ‘assuming you took the picture.’

‘I did,’ he confirmed, but he couldn’t credit what she said. Ginny smiled at everyone.

‘It’s a beautiful portrait of a beautiful girl,’ his mam declared warmly. ‘Do you have any other photos?’

‘Too many,’ he mumbled. ‘She’s the wedding planner, so we… spent some time together.’

It was probably a poor idea to let his mother glimpse the incriminating folder, but he flicked back to it and skimmed the thumbnails until he found a photo and he clicked on it. She was wearing her maroon cocktail dress at the farm, under the willow trees. He could still feel the texture of the material under his fingers, remembered the barbed exchange she’d classed as an argument – and ended stubbornly with a kiss.

He craved her attention, those gentle words. It wasn’t anything to do with her prominent ears or the piercing below her lip – the little things that had drawn his attention at first. It was what he’d discovered when he’d started paying attention.

He couldn’t imagine loving anyone the way he loved Ginny.

‘Oh, cariad,’ Mam said, her tone pained. ‘I thought it might be a good thing that you were interested in someone again, but this is… Oh dear. She doesn’t feel the same?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s okay. I knew she never would. She’s younger, got some things to work out in her life. And I’m going to Canada.’ He glanced up at Lesley with a tight smile.

‘That’s not an excuse, you know. You could pull out if you wanted to.’

‘It’s not an excuse,’ he agreed. ‘It’s my way to move on and… a consolation, at least.’ He mumbled the last part.

Lesley sighed. ‘Well, what are you going to do with all of these? Torture yourself?’

He thought about the hard drive of photos he’d kept of Annie. Those photos had tortured him six years ago, tangled up with his adjustment period – grieving for the way he’d used to see her.

These photos would be a different kind of torture.

‘I bet she’d like a copy of that one,’ his mam pointed out. ‘And this other one. Go back to the folder? There – that one. It’s gorgeous.’

Ginny was laughing at something and holding up a hand to smooth her hair back.