A Walk Along the Beach by Debbie Macomber Page 0,16
on his own was hard to tell. Two or three weeks, possibly longer.
Now that he’d accepted me, I found him to be an amiable companion. I bought a bed for him and kept it in one of the four spare bedrooms that I used as an office. He seemed content to sleep at my side as I sorted through the various photographs that I’d taken on the assignment I’d gotten that weekend from Starbucks. I’d been honored to do repeat business with them, even if it was last-minute. A couple of years earlier, I’d documented coffee origins for the Seattle-based company, traveling to Colombia, Panama, and Ethiopia.
When I was certain that I had several photos that would satisfy my client, I emailed them and awaited word back. Caught up in the project, time had passed quickly, and I realized if I didn’t leave soon, Bean There would be closed.
Watching the way Willa’s face had lit up when she’d first seen the photo was more than enough thanks. I would do almost anything to see her smile. She’d been full of questions and I enjoyed telling her about my photography, although I’d avoided talking about my baseball career. From experience, I knew the minute I mentioned I’d played in the majors, that was all anyone wanted to talk about. Baseball was my past and I was no longer a part of that world. Nor did I wish to be.
As hard as it’d been to accept at the time, I was grateful to have gotten away from professional sports. Photography was my all-encompassing passion. Not a day passed when I didn’t have a camera in my hand. All those years I’d been the star. How odd it was now to feel the comfort of being behind the camera instead of in front of one.
Bandit woke and stretched. He looked up at me as if to remind me it was dinnertime. It seemed like this dog’s appetite would soon eat me out of house and home.
“Don’t worry,” I told him, “I’m going to feed you; I haven’t failed you yet, have I?”
Although I’d had Bandit less than a week, he was already filling out, and with good reason. I’d fill his dish, which he’d promptly scarf down. As if to say he’d been cheated, he’d look up, asking for more. Seeing how thin he was, I willingly obliged. Already his ribs didn’t stick out quite as much as they had when I’d first brought him home.
Leaning back in my chair, I raised my arms over my head and stretched. I needed to check my email and almost dreaded what I would find. I was waiting on word from National Geographic about a Research and Exploration Grant that would send me to a series of islands off the coast of the Philippines. It would take some time for the team to be assembled. My hope was that I’d receive word any day now. Already I hated the thought of having to leave Bandit behind. Mellie and Preston had assured me they would find a good foster home for Bandit when the time came, if that was what I chose to do. That had been the deciding factor when I agreed to adopt him.
“I was going to do it, you know,” I told Bandit, who cocked his head at me. The poor dog didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. I was talking about Willa. She was almost constantly on my mind. “I had every intention of asking her out and would have if a customer hadn’t arrived when they did.” I was a victim of poor timing. It’d taken all my self-control not to tell her customer she was closed for the day.
Bandit continued to stare at me. “I agree, asking a woman out shouldn’t be this hard. Guess I’m rusty when it comes to this dating business.” That was an understatement if ever there was one. From the time I’d left baseball and started freelancing, every spare moment had been tied up with building my portfolio. Although I’d saved a nice nest egg from my time in the majors, it wasn’t enough to support me for more than a few years, especially considering my traveling expenses for freelance opportunities. I’d worked night and day, hustling for jobs, investing in top-of-the-line digital cameras, a laptop, lights, and a website. That didn’t leave time for much of anything else.
Traveling as often as I had in the last few years had