ON SATURDAY MORNING, Paul congratulated himself as he drove up the driveway to the Finnegan farmhouse. He had a sense that this excursion was pivotal. Spending hours with Annie in a place that was unfamiliar to both of them—this was the day he would make it with her…or break it. And he had every intention of making this day the turning point in their relationship. He intended to pull out all the stops, and make her realize he was the one. The next one. But not second best.
He pulled into the roundabout, attempting to sing along to a familiar song on the radio by a band whose name he couldn’t remember. He slowed when he spotted Rose’s rusted rattletrap. He parked next to her car and stepped out of his, noting the accumulation of empty junk-food wrappers, take-out boxes and cigarette packages littering her backseat, the overflowing ashtray in the front console. No bottles, empty or otherwise, that he could see, but even Rose had to be smart enough to keep those out of sight.
The sky was overcast and the morning air had a bite to it as he climbed the steps of the veranda. Chester was snoozing on the welcome mat. Paul opened the screen door and nudged the old dog, who slowly heaved himself onto all fours and made his way down the veranda in an arthritic amble and disappeared around the side of the house. Paul’s knock was met by another dog’s bark and a young boy’s whoop. The door flew open and he was greeted by Isaac, who was gripping his dog by the collar.
“Uncle Paul! Down, boy,” he commanded the dog. “Stay down.”
“Hey, Isaac.” He reached out, ruffled the boy’s curls with one hand and scruffed the border collie with the other. “How’s your new dog? Is he settling in?”
“Yup. Chester doesn’t like him, though. Mom says he’s too ramb—ramb…?”
“Rambunctious?”
“That’s it. He’s too rambunctious for an old dog.”
“What’s his name?”
“Beasley.”
Paul smiled. “Good name. And I’m sure Chester will come around, once you teach Beasley some manners.”
“Auntie CJ is helping me train him. She trains horses, too.”
Paul stepped inside the house and shut the door against a gust of chilly fall air.
“Then I’m sure she’ll have Beasley saddled up before you know it.”
Isaac let out a loud shriek and, still clinging to the dog’s collar, raced up the stairs. “Giddy up, Beasley! Giddy up!”
Laughing, Paul made his way to the kitchen in search of Annie. Instead he found Rose languishing on a stool at the island. She had on a pair of distressed blue jeans that had more holes than denim and a Guns N’ Roses T-shirt with a fringed hem. She was dumping spoonfuls of sugar into a cup of coffee, stirring after each addition. A large black knapsack sat on the floor next to the stool. It looked suspiciously bulky.
“Hey. How’s it going?” she asked, her bored tone indicating she didn’t actually care.
“Everything’s going well. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Where’s Annie?” he asked.
“Upstairs getting ready. You’re early.” She coughed into the crook of her arm.
He was five minutes ahead of schedule and she made it sound as though he’d committed a crime. “How are you feeling these days?”
“Fine.”
She didn’t look fine. She was too thin, too pale, too jittery, her cough too deep and phlegmy for her to be fine.
“Not working at the restaurant today?”
She shook her head. “Babysitting.”
“Ah, I see.” Annie had asked her to come out here to look after Isaac? That was…unsettling.
“I’ve never babysat before. Sure hope the kid doesn’t give me any trouble.”
She was talking about Isaac as though he was just some…some kid, not her nephew. Isaac was one of the best and brightest little boys Paul had ever met. A real live wire, yes, but always polite, respectful, well-behaved. A testament to the way he was raised by two loving parents and a close-knit extended family. And yet Rose’s first go-to was to anticipate a problem.
“I’m sure he won’t be any trouble.”
Rose arched her eyebrows. “We’ll see.”
Luckily, Annie walked into the kitchen, saving him from having to continue an awkward conversation with Rose. Annie looked amazing in slim-fitting black jeans and a sea-green pullover sweater with a green-and-gray print scarf looped around her neck.
“Paul, you’re here,” she said. “Would you like to have coffee before we leave?”
“No, thanks. We should get going.” All week he had been looking forward to spending this day with her—no interruptions, no obligations, just the two of them.
“Okay.” She turned to Rose. “I’ve left a list of everyone’s phone numbers on the fridge door—mine, Dad’s, Emily’s and CJ’s. There’s leftover lasagna in the fridge for you and Isaac to have for lunch. You can warm it up in the microwave.”
“Sure.”
“CJ is down at the stable and then she’s going into town right after her students leave. My dad has already left and won’t be home until late this afternoon, and Paul and I will be back by dinnertime.”
Rose drummed her fingers on the countertop.
If Annie noticed, she didn’t let on.
Paul wished he could tell the young woman the seven-year-old child she was here to look after had better manners than she did, but that would have been out of line and it certainly wasn’t the tone he wanted to set for his day in the city with Annie.
“Isaac is up in his room right now,” Annie said. “He’ll need to take Beasley out at some point, and I’ve told him they need to stay in the backyard. No wandering off, not even down to the stable.”
“Sure.”
“There’s milk and fruit in the fridge and homemade chocolate chip cookies in the cookie jar if the two of you feel like having a snack.”
“I can manage, okay? Now go. Have fun or whatever.”
Annie gave her a quick hug. “Thanks, we will.” When she looked up at Paul and smiled, any reservations he had about Rose vaporized. “I just need to get my coat.”
He followed her down the hallway to the foyer and waited while she pulled on a pair of gray riding boots over her jeans and reached for a gray jacket.
“Let me help.” He held the garment and settled it onto her shoulders after she slipped her arms into the sleeves.
“Thank you.” She angled her face up to his and gave him a smile that lit up the room.
“All set?”
She picked up her handbag and a pair of gloves. “I’m ready.”
He had been ready for this moment since forever. He held the door for her and followed her out to his car.
“Brrrr,” she said. “It feels cold enough to snow.”
“It’s not in the forecast,” he said. “I checked.”
She settled into the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt. “You thought of everything.”
He slid behind the wheel and started the car. “I hope so,” he said. But the truth was he had only been thinking about her, about how well things were between them, especially since the wedding and how spending this day together would cement their relationship. He hoped.
* * *
“YOU’RE TAKING ME to an art gallery?” Annie asked. All week she had been trying to guess what he had planned for them today. Shopping at the Mall of America? She was not a fan of shopping and she intensely disliked a noisy, crowded mall. A Minnesota Twins game? She knew he liked baseball from hearing him and Jack talk about going to games when they lived in Chicago. Thankfully that’s not what he had in mind. She couldn’t see herself sitting in a ballpark on a day like this. She would not have guessed him to be an art aficionado, but visiting a gallery was by far the better option.
“Not just any gallery. This private gallery specializes in photography exhibits.”
“Photography?”
“That’s right. You’ve taken some amazing photographs, and your Ask Annie column on Emily’s blog is a big hit. I thought you might like to see this show in particular. It’s called Snapshots of a Small Town.
“Really? People come to a big-city gallery to see photographs of a small town?”
“They don’t just come to look at them. They buy them, too.”
Interesting. She gazed up at the sleek dark glass facade of the two-story gallery. Nothing about this building brought small towns to mind.
Paul was holding the door for her. “Should we take a look?”
“Yes, definitely. This is so thoughtful of you.”
He held out his hand. She put hers into it, liking the way he gave hers a gentle squeeze before he laced his fingers with hers, then they went inside together.
The gallery’s interior was as modern and chic as its exterior. The main floor was one huge space. A second-floor loft spanned the back half of the building. As soon as she stepped inside, Annie’s eyes were drawn from the gleaming dark wood floors to the high ceiling and subdued industrial-style lighting. Throughout the main floor, free-standing walls divided the huge space into smaller areas.
Inside the entrance, the sales counter consisted of a clear acrylic desk. Its surface housed a small stack of catalogs, arranged with laser precision, a glass tray of business cards and a crystal vase of artfully arranged white freesia.
“Welcome.” A tall woman dressed in a high-necked dress, opaque tights and stilettos—all black—seemed to appear out of nowhere. She selected the catalog on top of the stack without disturbing the ones beneath it and passed it across the desk.
“Thank you,” Paul said.
The woman glanced down at their clasped hands and smiled. “Enjoy the exhibit,” she said. “Be sure to let me know if you have any questions.”
The images on the walls grabbed Annie’s attention and she found herself immediately drawn into the exhibit. The color photographs were displayed in simple black frames with white mats. She walked from one image to the next to the next, taking in the subject of each photo, the composition, the light, the angles.
An old blue bicycle with chipped paint and a faded wicker basket leaned against the white clapboard of a shop with the word Bakery arching across the window. She could picture the cyclist stowing her purchases in the basket and riding home with the aromas of freshly baked bread wafting around her.
A battered wooden tool box and a newly constructed birdhouse on a workbench. She could smell the sawdust, feel the texture of the wood. What color would the builder paint it? What kind of birds would move in and raise a family?
“It’s as though each picture tells a story.”
She had forgotten Paul was still holding her hand until she felt him stroke her skin with his thumb.
“These are amazing,” she said.
“They are. And so are yours.”
“But I’m not a professional photographer.”
He didn’t agree or disagree. Instead he handed the catalog to her. “This will have a lot of information about the photographers and their work in this show. You can take it home with you.”
“Thank you. And thank you for bringing me here, Paul. This is so inspiring. When Emily gave me the camera, I never imagined taking pictures would be so—and I know this sounds silly—satisfying.”
“I’m glad you discovered photography. Or maybe it discovered you.”
“I don’t know. Do you think maybe I can learn to take pictures like these? Pictures that tell a story?”
The intensity of his gaze took her by surprise. “Annie, you already do.”
She felt her chest swell with an emotion she couldn’t identify but was so overwhelming, she needed a minute to adjust to it before she could speak. He had planned this whole day for her. She would be too embarrassed to confess she had never been to an art gallery before. Riverton had been the center of life for all of her life—it was her home and she loved it and she never wanted to live anywhere else. She also loved how Paul had gone out of his way to open new doors for her, to show her that although she was a small-town girl at heart, there was still a big, wide world out here for her to explore.
And the way he was looking at her now…she could tell he was seeing her in a way no one else ever had. Suddenly she wasn’t just a mom, a daughter, a sister, a whiz in the kitchen and everyone’s go-to for organizing another bake-sale fund-raiser or the school’s next fun fair. She was a real person with her own interests and possibly even some unique talent she had yet to explore. For a quick second, she thought about the unused reading chair in her bedroom.
“While we’re in the city, do you think we’ll have time to go into a bookstore?” She was going to put her chair to use, she decided, and she would start with a book on basic photography.
“Besides the gallery, and lunch, of course, I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather go.” He linked her arm with his and gently urged her along. “Still lots to see here.”
He was right. She wanted to soak it all in, and she didn’t want to miss a thing.
By the time they had toured the entire main floor, then climbed the wide staircase with its clear acrylic side panels—everything about this space was open, airy and fresh—to see the displays in the loft, Annie looked forward to checking out photography books and pouring over the show’s catalog. Her reading chair would finally see some use. Most of all she was excited to pick up her camera. She wouldn’t look for images, she would be searching for stories. Paul said she already did that without being conscious of it. She wanted to explore light and perspective and close-ups versus wide angles.
Back at the sales desk in the main reception area, the woman in black gave them another friendly smile. “What did you think?”
“I loved it,” Annie said. “I’ve always considered art to be drawing and painting and I thought photographs were just a way to preserve memories or capture images for a news story. But these photographs are every bit as artistic.”
“I’m glad you think so. The five photographers who contributed to this show have different styles, as I’m sure you noticed. What they have in common is their love for their small hometowns, both the history and the people who live there now.”
Annie looked again at the cover of the Snapshots of a Small Town catalog. “It shows. I’m sure a lot of folks believe small towns are all the same, but they’re not. It’s the unique blend of history and current residents that sets each one apart.” She was startled by her own observation and once again grateful to Paul for opening these doors for her.
“Did you have a particular favorite?” the saleswoman asked.
“I did. Upstairs there’s a photograph of a little round table in an apple orchard. It’s set for tea for two, with a lacy tablecloth and cut flowers and mismatched vintage china. It looks so inviting.” Annie had been completely captivated. Near the table was an old wooden wheelbarrow filled with rosy red apples. She had wondered who would be having afternoon tea in an orchard. The apple pickers?
“I know the one you mean. It does look inviting. And very romantic, don’t you think?” the woman asked, glancing meaningfully from Annie to Paul and back again.
“Very.” Annie felt her nose get warm, and the one-word response was all she could manage.
“Is that piece still for sale?” Paul asked.
She looked up at him, wondering where his question was going.
The saleswoman turned and retrieved a small laptop from the white credenza behind the main desk, tapped at a few keys and smiled. “I’m happy to say it is.”
“We’ll take it.” Paul took out his wallet and handed a credit card to the woman, whose smile had suddenly become a little warmer.
“Thank you. I’ll have my assistant wrap it up for you and I’ll be right back to ring this through,” she said before she disappeared into a back room.
“Are you sure?” Annie asked when they were alone.
“Judging by the amount of time you spent admiring this photograph, I figured it was your favorite. If the gallery owner hadn’t asked, I would have.”
“But…” Annie had noticed the prices and was aghast to think he would spend so much on it.
“No buts. I want you to have it. I hope you’ll think of today every time you look at it. I’d also like it to be a reminder that your photographs are every bit as evocative.”
“Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. They were still locked in the embrace when the woman returned with Paul’s receipt and the framed photograph wrapped in brown paper.
Paul thanked her in return, tucked the package under his arm and led Annie outside into the crisp air. It felt even colder than it had earlier.
“So?” Paul asked. “What did you think?”
“I loved it. I can’t believe we spent…” She checked her watch. “Two and a half hours? We’ve been here for two and a half hours?”
“We have. Where to next? Would you like to go for lunch, or should we find a bookstore first?”
It was already past lunchtime and she was starving, but she would enjoy the meal more after she found the book she was after. “Bookstore.”
“Then your wish is my command, my lady.”
And for the first time in her life, she felt a little like a character in a fairy tale. Cinderella? No, more like Eliza Doolittle.