Photographer

A Chance

"C-Could you take my picture?" His brown eyes looked me up and down.

"No. But thanks for the offer."

What the hell? I felt as if I'd just been shot down after asking him out.

"Why not?" His face was gentle, friendly. His voice was polite and calm.

"You're not very photogenic, and I'd hate to waste the film."

All of my awkwardness vanished as my hands left my pockets, clenched into fists. No one was crazy enough to insult me, especially when they stood a full head shorter.

"Where do you get off, talking to me like that? Just because you take a weekend and snap some pictures in the park, you think you're God's gift?" I took a menacing step forward. "I've been on the cover of Shape magazine ,asshole. What have you done?" To my utter surprise, he cracked a smile.

"SHAPE magazine , huh? Why do you want to be photographed by an ass like me?" His teasing tone threw me for a loop. I had a feeling he would always do that. The awkwardness flooded back.

"You . . . You see people."

"What?"God, I should have Stay home today.

"When you take pictures, you see people for what they really are. I-I can tell." His grin widened a fraction.

"Those big time magazine photographers don't do that?" I glanced away.

"No."

"And you want me to see you. Is that it?" So embarrassing to admit this, to a total stranger no less. But lately I'd been feeling empty. Invisible. I hadn't felt like that in a long time.

"Yeah."

"Here's the thing, Janie Parrish." He leaned forward, caught my gaze. He smelled like grass and a touch of leather. "You're . . . blank. There's nothing there to see." My brow furrowed.

"That's not true."

"You're sure about that?"

"Of course I'm sure." He straightened.

"Well, that burst of anger earlier was interesting." One hand slipped his camera into the bag around his neck while the other unzipped a compartment on the side. "I don't have a studio, but I have a little set-up in my apartment." He pulled out a business card and handed it to me. "Tuesday, four o'clock. If you forget, or if you ditch the appointment, then lose my card. People who waste my time irritate me almost as much as people who waste my film."

The card was simple. His name written in some fancy script, with his address printed clearly underneath it.

"I'll be there. Can I call you Lukas?"

He walked away, gave me a careless wave. "You can call me whatever you want. Just don't be late."

I stood there on the grass until he was out of sight. This guy had ignored me, called me blank, and tied me into knots without breaking a sweat.

I knew I should trash his card and never look back. I also knew that I would be on time Tuesday, or die trying. Carefully, I slid his card into my wallet, listened to the thump of my heart as I wondered what his apartment was like. At that moment, more than anything, I wanted Lukas Sawyer to see me.