Hard Checked (Ice Kings #4) - Stacey Lynn Page 0,26
company.
The beauty of it is we’ve been quiet for the most part except for me telling him to pause when I stop to take pictures, or when he warns me of something in my way as I hide behind my camera lens. As soon as I took my camera out of my black bag, he offered to take the vinyl backpack that holds some water and snacks, my car keys, and wallet. Since it’s a pain to have that and the camera bag slapping my back and hip as I walk both bags are now slung over his shoulders giving me more freedom to pause whenever something catches my attention—whether it’s the birds, trees, or our view when we reach areas that allow us to see for miles.
We’re close to the top when Sebastian finally shows signs this has been a workout for him. Meanwhile, I’ve been huffing and puffing for the last mile. I grit my teeth so I don’t outright groan at one point. I can blame my shaking muscles. It’s most like the view I get when he takes off his shirt and tucks it into his waistband.
Dear sweet heaven… wowzers.
“You were an art major?” Sebastian asks, turning to me. He lifts one hand over his eyes to block the sun shining on us.
I glance at him and almost lose my footing. It should be a criminal offense to be so good-looking, so out of my league. All wrapped up in one forbidden and most likely, uninterested package.
“Yep. Before I took off to Europe, I worked at an interior design firm, but I always wanted to be a travel photographer.” I shove my eye to the camera and focus on the view.
“Is that what you liked working with the best?”
I hold up my camera and wiggle it. “Obviously, but I enjoyed all mediums. Watercolor paints were probably my best talent, though.”
“Did you have any of those in your apartment?”
“No. Pretty sure those are all in Dad’s attic in storage somewhere. I haven’t done much since I came back home.”
“But you like to go out and take photos? Just for the fun of it?”
I can’t tell if he’s teasing or genuine, so I lower my camera and risk stealing another breathtaking glance at him. When I do, Sebastian is at the peak of the path with me, hands on his hips. His gaze is out toward the horizon and I can’t help myself.
I turn and snap a photo of him.
He turns to me and grins. “What was that for?”
I glance at the screen. To his jawline. The turn of his lips I can barely pick out from the edges of his beard.
“You look sad. But peaceful.”
“Hmm.” He turns back to his view and rolls his shoulders. “Thanks for letting me come with you today. For forgiving me about last night.”
“I have an Instagram account.”
“Don’t most people?” His head falls to one side, along with his thick mop of hair.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to run my fingers through it. They itch to move, to twist a wayward curl behind his ear.
I focus on his question, still unsure if he’s teasing me or not. Hard to tell with all that solemnness he carries.
“I get out and take pictures around Charlotte and surrounding areas. Whatever I feel like, wherever I end up. I like showing people what they might be missing in their own back yards. I feel like people tend to get comfortable in their own areas, their own favorites. I want people to see the beauty in exploration, even if it’s simply a different neighborhood.”
He’s silent for a beat before he asks, “And you’re following?”
“Over forty-thousand.” I grin. It’s been less than a year and that’s pretty impressive. I don’t tell him some of my pics have been used in local travel brochures. Or that restaurants have asked to share photos to their website when I’ve tagged them. I don’t tell him about the freelance job offers that have come my way. It used to be all I ever wanted, to get paid to take photos, but I’m not sure I want my muse to come from someone else’s need to make a buck or two anymore.
“Is that still what you want to do? Professionally?”
“The only thing I used to want to be is a travel photographer. To get paid to see the world and take pictures of exotic locations.”
“And now?”
I let go of my camera so it hangs from its strap around my neck and