She was one of the best freelance photographers in the country and over the years she had her photographs featured in hundreds of magazines in the U.S. and was well on her way to becoming the next Ansel Adams. None of those accomplishments were what endeared Parker to him, however. Even without the notoriety and with more talent than that of a hundred photographers, she would still be the same generous, intelligent, sweet and loving person that he’d always known. She didn’t need prestigious awards or featured photos to tell him all of these things. He’d known it since the first moment he laid eyes on her.
Parker’s latest endeavor: publishing her fourth coffee table book of photos from around the world. Actually, “Anna Parks” had just published her fourth book. He never understood why she insisted on using an alias in print instead of her real name, Annabelle Parker. He was proud of her and thought she should be shouting her accomplishments from the rooftops.
"You’re blocking my light," she spoke softly as she turned dials and adjusted the settings on her Nikon F2 35mm camera. That camera was as old as she was, but it was her mother’s and she refused to use anything else. Where most photographers went with the times and switched to digital, she stayed true to herself and continued to use a film camera and develop the pictures herself. It made her a huge commodity in the photography world because she was able to play with her photos and make them into masterpieces in her dark room instead of sending them off to a lab and entrusting her work to strangers. She took pride in the fact that her pictures were one hundred percent her creations and it showed in each and every amazing image she captured. Whenever anyone would try to convince her that digital was better, she would remind them that it didn’t matter if you owned the most expensive, most advanced camera that was on the market. If you didn’t have the talent or the heart, your pictures would still turn out shitty no matter how much money you spent or how many rave reviews your camera got. Being able to take your photos through every part of the process from conception to watching them come to life in the trays of chemicals under the haze of the red safe light forced you to look at your work under a microscope, literally, and learn how to best tell a story without words.
“And you’re going to make us late for dinner. Again,” he reminded her dryly.
She clicked a few more pictures and then lifted the camera above her head so he could take it from her. Once it was secured in his hands, she placed both of hers in the wet sand and pushed herself up just as another small wave washed up around her feet.
She brushed her hands together a few times to get some of the sand off and then looked up into his face. She could tell he was irritated with her. One of his eyebrows was raised as if he were waiting for an explanation.
“Don’t start with me, McCarthy. You knew I had to finish these photos before we went to dinner. I don’t even know why we’re doing this. You know I don’t like to make a big fuss,” she complained as she tried in vain to wipe off the sand from her bare stomach. All she managed to do was spread it around.
He just stood there staring at her. If he spoke right now it would probably come out as a squeak or mumbled nonsense. As soon as she had stood up, all of the blood rushed from his head right to his dick.
She was wearing a pale blue bandeau bikini top that tied around her neck and matching bottoms. He only knew they matched because the white wrap-around skirt she wore was wet and see-through as it clung to every inch of her hips and thighs, grazing just above her knees. He watched her brush her hands against her small, firm stomach and it was starting to irritate him. His hands itched to reach out and do it for her, to touch her skin and feel her warmth.
Dangerous territory. He had no business thinking those things. She was his friend and she deserved better than his habitual dirty thoughts.
“Quit your bitching, Parker. It’s your birthday. What kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t take you out to celebrate?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How about a good one? I hate my birthday. You know that. All that fuss just to be one day closer to death. It’s idiotic.” She huffed as she finally gave up on removing the offending sand from her skin.
Garrett sent up a silent prayer for that until she untied the flimsy, wet scrap of material from around her waist and started to wring it out into the sand.
He didn’t know what was worse, staring at her bikini bottoms and skin through the haze of wet material or having her stand in front of him practically in her underwear with all that bare, golden skin showing and talk to him like it was no big deal.
Because it was no big deal, he reminded himself. It wasn't like he had never seen her in her bathing suit before...or her underwear for that matter. But that was a mistake. It was over a year ago, she was drunk, and really, it could have happened to anyone.
“You know why we’re doing this,” Garrett said softly, cocking his head to the side as he forced himself to look at her eyes and not any lower.
She hated when he looked at her like that, with those bright blue eyes that were the same color as the ocean and made her melt. How many times had she needed to force herself not to run her hands down the side of his face over the years when he had looked at her like that? Too many to count, that was for sure. Sometimes she wondered if he knew the power he had over her and did things like that just to see if he could get a reaction out of her.
Parker pictured herself cupping his cheek in her hand and smoothing away the sadness. As quickly as the image appeared, her chest constricted with guilt when his words broke through her errant thoughts.
“He took you out to dinner on your birthday every year, even if he had to do it with you kicking and screaming,” Garrett said with a smile to soften the blow he was sure his words brought. “It’s my duty as your friend and his to carry on that tradition, especially this year.”
Especially this year, especially this year... The words repeated on a loop in her head.
It still didn’t seem real; the first birthday in eight years spent without him. He’d been gone for six months, and she still woke up every day expecting to hear him walk through the door, laugh outrageously loud at something stupid, or get snippy with her when she asked him where he’d been all night.
She wasn’t going to let those dark thoughts mess with her psyche. Not right now. And definitely not tonight. She’d spent too much time already lately wondering “what if” and thinking about all of the things she could have done differently. Her guilt that most of those feelings revolved around the man standing next to her than on the one she’d given her heart to took up too much residence in her mind and her heart as it was.
Garrett was hurting too. He’d spent the past six months being her rock and making sure she remembered to eat, shower, work, and anything else she forgot to do when the memories and sadness threatened to overwhelm her. He needed her to be strong for once, and she was determined to do just that. Even if it meant she had to celebrate her birthday.
“Fine. But I draw the line at strangers crowding around the table singing, ‘Happy Birthday’ like a bunch of jackasses.”
“Deal.” Garrett laughed.
They turned and made their way across the beach and up the stairs to her condo, talking about birthdays past.