Nova
I crouch down, all but lying flat out on the icy road, camera angled up, aiming between the branches.
“A little more,” I whisper. “Just…right…there!”
I snap the shot—and a few extras for good measure—and just in time because Steve’s lost patience from where I zipped him into my jacket, his little smooshed face poking out from beneath the zipper, cold nose pressing to my throat, tongue darting out and slurping along my skin.
“Ugh,” I say, wiping the back of my gloved hand over the spot, using the other to scroll through the shots, making sure I captured that sliver of tree and pine needles and snow, the knobby end of the branch, the divots in the bark, the claw marks from a bear making his territory known or scratching her back or cubs making trouble.
It’s there, and it’s exactly what I want.
A perfect slice of nature, a small, beautiful moment with a thousand tiny details hidden, almost lost, in the outside world.
But once spotted, it’s easy to get lost in that tiny circle that houses an entire world.
It’s going to look amazing blown up.
It would have looked amazing in the magazine—but since I don’t work for one any longer…
I exhale, let my camera drop to the side, the heavy weight a welcome comfort.
The wind has picked up, and the temperature has dropped since I left the house—hence the reason my little pup is zipped against my chest. Even with a sweater and snow booties, it’s too cold for him to just be sitting out in this weather. Especially when snow is falling again.
I start making my way back to the house, not having made it far.
Part of that is not wanting to get lost.
Part of that is because Steve isn’t a huge fan of walking long distances in the snow, apparently—or long distances at all, really.
Part of it is because these trees right here are beautiful.
Almost as beautiful as the flakes of snow falling like magic out of the sky, playing tag with each other, being turned topsy-turvy by the wind.
I pause, not because I want to.
But because I have to.
I lift my camera, start hitting the shutter-release button, letting it fly, filling up my memory card, committing this moment to memory both on camera and in my mind.
The cool biting my cheeks.
The wind lifting my hair.
The tiny bites of cold as the snowflakes hit my nose, my forehead, my cheeks and lips and chin, and melt instantly, forming tiny puddles, narrow tracks as they drip down my skin and off my jaw.
The trees—
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
The moment I’m committing to memory shatters, breaking apart into a thousand tiny shards.
Steve woofs and I turn to see Lake storming up to me, expression furious, footsteps churning up the falling snow. He marches right up to me, those hazel eyes sparking with fire. “It’s fucking Snowmageddon and—”
“Grr!”
Steve’s head pops out again, little crooked teeth bared in warning.
Lake freezes, mouth hanging open, gaze going from me to Steve. His eyes still spark, but his voice eases, the anger cold rather than hot, the volume quieter, barely able to be heard above the wind that is now picking up, starting to gust through the trees. “What the fuck were you thinking going out in this?” he grinds out.
“This”—I wave a hand, indicating the snow falling, the wind blowing—“wasn’t happening when I came out. This”—another wave—“is why I’m heading back to the house.”
He lifts a brow. “That”—he nods toward my camera—“is you heading to the house? Cause it sure as shit looked like you were standing there lost, waiting for me to fucking rescue you again.”
“Re-rescue m-me?” I sputter.
The other brow rises, joining the first. “Are you seriously trying to pretend that isn’t the case?”
“Yes!” I snap. Then shake my head. “No! I know where your house is, and I know where I’m going. I was stopping to…” I break off, bite my lip. Because this is going to sound stupid, because I’ve already spent enough time feeling shitty about myself around this man. Because I’m going to do everything in my power to avoid that happening again.
“…to get lost,” he supplies, reaching for my arm. “On purpose.”
I dance back, swatting his hand away. “You’re a dumbass.”
Get lost? On purpose?
Shaking my head, I spin on my heel and start marching toward the house.
I’m responsible.
I’m not a fucking moron.
I’m—
A hand catches my shoulder, turns me back.
I jerk away from him. “I know where I’m going,” I snap.
“Yeah?” he asks derisively.
I don’t even deign to answer that, just start stomping away from him again, boots sliding slightly on the ice, but making good progress back the way I originally came.
Back toward his house, turning onto Forest Bend, stopping at the correct driveway to toss a glare back at him.
See? I know exactly where I’m going.
Then I lift my chin.
Tramp up the driveway.
Ass. Fucking. Hole.
The front door comes into view just as I hear footsteps behind me. Steve growls softly, but I just pat his little butt, murmur, “We’re fine.”
Then I’m over at the green flower pot, lifting it to reveal the key beneath it.
I take the key, shove it in the lock, wrench it to the side, and open the door.
“Woof!” Steve barks happily as the warmth hits—and I can’t lie, the heat feels incredible after being outside for so long.
I feel Lake come in behind me, but I don’t turn around, don’t acknowledge him.
I just release Steve from his jacket prison then lean against the wall to yank off my boots. My coat is next, the sleeve catching on my camera strap, the two tangling together in a mess that isn’t easily unsnarled.
“Nova,” Lake begins.
I yank at the strap, at the jacket, desperate now to get away, to end this, to put me out of my misery.
My peace is gone.
That beautiful moment is ruined.
And now my jacket is caught.
My breath hitches in my lungs but I grind my teeth together, don’t allow it to escape.
Breathe.
Relax.
But the tangle doesn’t magically undo itself, and when I yank harder, my camera strap breaks.
I gasp, lurch for the single most expensive belonging I own—aside from Steve.
Only, I’m not fast enough.
The strap slips through my fingers.
And my camera falls.