Captured Moments

CHAPTER SEVEN: A FUTURE IN FOCUS

"You're staring again," Marie teased, not looking up from the print she was developing. The darkroom's red light caught the curve of her smile.

"I'm studying composition," Landon replied with mock seriousness, though his eyes never left her face. "The way the safelight catches your profile..." He shifted his weight, his limp less pronounced now as he moved closer. "It's a technical observation, purely professional."

Marie laughed, the sound echoing off the cramped walls of their shared workspace above the bookshop. "Is that what you call it? Because I distinctly remember similar 'technical observations' in Saint-Rémy."

"Well, some subjects require years of careful study." He reached past her to adjust the enlarger timer, his arm brushing hers. Even after months of working together again, these small touches still sent electricity through them both.

Their transition from wartime colleagues to something more had been gradual, inevitable as a photograph emerging in developer. It started with late nights in the darkroom, conversations that stretched long after the prints were dry. Then came Sunday walks in Central Park, where Landon's improved gait allowed them to wander for hours. He'd tell her about his rehabilitation, and she'd share stories of building their new life in New York during the war years.

"Do you remember our first real date?" Marie asked now, hanging the finished print to dry. "When you tried to impress me with that fancy restaurant?"

Landon groaned theatrically. "How could I forget? My leg was killing me from standing in line, the waiter spilled soup on my one good suit, and then—"

"—and then you suggested we get hot dogs from the cart outside instead," Marie finished, turning to face him. "That's when I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That I was falling in love with you all over again. The way you laughed about it, how you didn't try to pretend everything was perfect..." She touched his cheek gently. "You were just... you."
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"These came out beautifully," Henri said, examining their latest prints spread across the bookshop's back table. The series captured New York's emergence from wartime austerity – crowded dance halls, new automobiles gleaming in showrooms, women in colorful dresses that defied the old rationing restrictions. "You two see hope everywhere."

"Marie sees it first," Landon said, massaging his right thigh absently. "I just follow her lead."

Henri watched the gentle way Landon looked at his daughter as she arranged the photographs. He remembered another young photographer who'd once looked at his wife that way, in a small French town before the war changed everything. The same passion for capturing life's moments, the same devotion.

"Papa," Marie called from the front of the shop. "Mrs. Goldman is here about the Passover display."

As Henri headed to the front, he paused beside Landon. "She gets her eye from her mother," he said softly. "And her heart too."

"Tell me, Landon," Henri said, setting down his coffee cup. "What do you see in your future together?"

Landon considered carefully. "I see mornings in the darkroom and evenings planning shoots. I see her teaching me to cook proper French cuisine while I pretend not to notice when she adjusts the seasonings. I see us traveling, documenting the world as it rebuilds." He touched his leg unconsciously. "I might not dance at our wedding as gracefully as I once could, but I promise you, I'll spend every day trying to deserve her."

Henri's eyes crinkled. "And children?"

"Little photographers," Landon smiled. "Running around with toy cameras, turning our darkroom into a playground. Though we'll have to childproof the chemical trays."