7
He doesn't say a word as he leads me downstairs, flicking switches that bathe the basement with light.
Right before my eyes, Edward morphs into the professional empowerment coach. It's as if the world upstairs is just a place he visits from time to time, but this is where he belongs.
He brings me into the "anteroom" first and offers me a seat at a round table with a single photo album resting on it.
"This is where I meet with my client before the shoot. We look through the album together, talk about what's going to happen, her goals for the shoot... anything else she wants to share with me."
"May I?" I point to the album, and he slides it toward me.
"Of course."
He stands next to me and flips the book open to the first page. "This woman came to see me five years after giving birth to twins." The photo is gritty and real, not what you'd find in a magazine. She is standing in front of a white backdrop, fully clothed, shrouded in half-light, eyes focused off to the side. "Here's our 'before' picture. She clearly does not want to be seen," he explains.
He turns the page, and I can hardly believe my eyes. "Same woman, three hours later." The difference is literally night and day. The woman is completely undressed and positively radiant, her gaze directed straight into the camera as if it's a best friend she's just told her most intimate secret. She is tastefully posed on a wooden stool to hide her private parts, but every ripple, stretch mark, and roll is on display for the eye of the camera.
"How did you do that?"
"'Closer' by Nine Inch Nails." The memory makes him smile. "Really, really loud."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. I still remember how I felt when she smiled for me." His voice holds a tenderness that turns me to mush. He points to the next photo, a woman practically curled into a ball on the floor, clutching her knees to her chest. "This one... a victim of domestic abuse."
"Oh my god."
He flips the page slowly, and a lump forms in my throat. Same woman, relaxing on her side, naked under a strategically twisted white sheet, chin propped up in her hand. "And… after," he says softly.
"She looks almost flirty there."
"She was incredibly brave."
I reach for his hand and draw it around my shoulders. He stays quiet while I flip through the rest of the album. Every body size and shape is represented. Not every "after" picture is fully bare, but each woman's personality jumps off the page after her session with Edward.
A lump forms in my throat. I am so very grateful to have met this man.
"These photos must go for a fortune."
"They're not for sale. The client pays for the session; everything is theirs to keep. All the photos in this portfolio—along with the few you'll see hanging on the walls—I've been given permission by the models to display here. They help inspire other women who have a hard time getting started."
I stand up and wrap my arms around him. "You are amazing; you know that?"
He shrugs. "This is my super power."
I smile, recalling our conversations about Umbrella Man. "Show me the rest?"
"Said Dorothy to the Wizard."
He leads me into the next room, and I have to laugh when I see the open umbrellas lining one wall. "I guess you had a few to spare."
"I gave you my favorite one."
"Sure." I walk in front of the white screen and imagine placing myself in Edward's capable hands. Heady stuff. "This is where you start?"
"Mmhmm."
"How do you get those pictures in the dark?"
"I turn down the lights and use a spotlight from the back or side to highlight the outline. The goal is for the model to forget I'm here."
"That seems like a waste."
His lips edge up, but he's looking at me the way he did that first time he kissed me. As if he is afraid of something.
"Edward?"
"Hmm?"
"Would you take my picture?"
He freezes, total deer-in-headlights. "I don't know…"
"Please?"
"It's different with you, Bella."
"That's okay. I don't need the therapy part. You don't even have to turn down the lights" Before Old School can say no again, I tug my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor. "See? No issues."
"Jesus, Bella." His hands fly to his hips.
"Please?"
He takes a minute to stare at the white lace bra and consider his options.
"Don't expect objectivity. I am really attracted to you."
"I'm really attracted to you, too." I lift my hands up through my hair and clasp them together high above my head. "Come on, Superman, let's fly."
Edward sighs heavily, his surrender complete. He reaches over his shoulder, plucks one of the cameras off the shelf, and drops the strap over his head.
I think of that woman who needed the loud music and the dark, but all I need is Edward and his soft click-click-click. He moves in a silent arc around me. It's thrilling—the attention of the lens on my body, knowing how much Edward wants me.
"Look this way," he says, stepping closer, lowering the camera to my breasts. "That's beautiful, Bella. Raise your chin? Nice." Click-click-click. He doesn't ask for it, but I reach back and unhook my bra. The camera whirs away while I slide the straps down my arms and drop my bra to the floor.
His voice turns gravelly. "Lift your arms again for me? Beautiful. Turn a little to your right, look at me, yes, right there."
I give him everything he asks for, from every angle. What a rush! Taking off my clothes for Edward is easier than talking to him on the phone.
I reach for my zipper. He pauses for a half-second, clears his throat. The lens zooms forward like a greedy hand reaching into the cookie jar.
"Take the zipper down one tooth at a time. Fold down the waistband… show me a peek of your underpants... perfect." Click-click-click. "And wriggle out of your jeans... hold right there... gooood… turn to face the screen. Bend forward from your hips? Good, now look over your shoulder at me... Shit."
The camera drops against his chest. His face is twisted into a tight grimace.
"What's wrong, Edward?"
A low moan escapes him as he scrubs his hands up and down his face. "I'm afraid I just turned this into a porn shoot. I'm so sorry."
I turn to face him. "I'm not."
"Bella, I don't think you understand. I have real feelings for you. This isn't how I pictured undressing you for the first time. I feel like a complete tool, standing here taking pictures of you."
Crap. What have I done? "This is all my fault. I pushed you into this and then I got carried away."
"It's not your fault. I'm supposed to be the professional."
He swallows hard, his gaze locked to mine as if his eyes might burn to cinders if he looks at my body. Despite all the experience I know Edward has had with women in all stages of undress, he is beyond uncomfortable.
I tug my jeans up to save both of us further embarrassment. Just as I lunge for my tank top, he snags my bra off the floor. I don't know whose cheeks are redder as I straighten up and take the bra out of his hands.
"Thanks," I whisper.
He turns to replace the camera on its shelf, but he lingers longer than necessary with his back turned to me, his shoulders tense and still.
I set a new record putting my clothes back on, then place my hand between his shoulder blades. "Edward, yes, you're the professional photographer, but we're just two people on a date. This doesn't have to be a thing, okay?"
"Are you dressed?" he asks softly.
"Yes."
He exhales as he turns toward me slowly. His gaze drops to my waist, and he gives his head a slow, sad shake. "I'm going to delete those photos, Bella. I promise. If you want, I'll do it right now and you can watch me."
"No. Don't."
His face squinches in confusion. "Don't delete them, or don't do it now?"
I shrug. "I have a picture of you on my phone."
My attempt to lighten the mood works. Edward chuffs. "Yes, that seems like a fair trade."
I step closer, clasp my hands behind Edward's back, and nuzzle my face into the delicious crick of his neck. "Keep the pictures. I loved having you look at me like that."
His arms tighten around my back, and we sway together like a young tree testing its roots in a stiff wind.
I can feel the tension drain from his body. He leaves a soft kiss in my hair. "You know I don't like to brag…"
My lips tug into a smile as I play straight man for him. "Buuuut?"
"I made apple pie."
I pull back just enough to see his brilliant smile. We're okay.
"A la mode?"
"Psshh. Of course," he answers, just as I knew he would. Old School never does anything half-assed.
"Why are we still standing down here?"
###
Author's Note: So, THIS happened... not THAT. Thoughts? Now you know why my 12K contest piece is now THREE TIMES AS LONG here! Yup, we're gonna be here a while, folks! I really love the fact that there were so many diverse reactions to the last chapter and a wide range of predictions about what would happen in this chapter. What lies ahead for these two, after the apple pie a la mode is devoured?
Love and kisses to Pa Trizia for helping to steer the ship through uncharted waters, and for my contest team who rolled up their sleeves for me when the pressure was on: Chayasara, Shell Taylor, & Ladyeire. And obviously, to my readers, who keep me smilng, laughing (muchly), cringing (occasionally), and writing.
Just to be clear, I've gone off road here, which means all the grammatical choices are my own from here on out. Do I make some bad decisions? Perhaps, but they're all mine.
XXX ~BOH
