Son of a Blake

"Mark! I've checked everywhere man. I checked the dressing room, the tour bus, my pockets, my wallet. It's not there. I'm freaking out."

Cue Sawyer Blake, bassist of Black Diamonds, jogging into the same clearing as mystery man, now known as Mark, and myself. By the anxiety laced in his voice, he had, what I assumed to be, a panicked look on his face. While his eyes were covered by a pair of Ray Ban Sunglasses, the medium length, dark brown hair, was disheveled, a clear give away that he was stressed.

With a renowned calmness, Mark told Sawyer not to worry.

The latter fixed him with a fierce glare. And honestly, if I were Mark, I would've shit my pants.

"How can you say don't worry? You know how much that pho-," Sawyer begins.

He was cut off by Mark raising his hand, palm facing toward the bassist, signaling for him to pause for a split second.

"You don't have to worry, because this young lady," he used the same hand to gesture to me, "found the photo."

No longer than a second passed before Sawyer removed his sunglasses and turned towards me. Slightly nervous due to his piercing yet beautiful forest colored eyes, I cautiously held the photo up for him to observe. He took the photo and let out an audible sigh, clearly relieved to have it back in his possession.

With a small smile on his face, he outstretched a hand adjourned with silver rings. My own hand was engulfed by his large one as he said,

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Sawyer Blake, and you just found my most prized possession. Thank you."