Page 33 of Jace
When will he stop melting my heart?
Never, please.
I notice how Jace is only insecure about this: his photography.
With everything else, he can overpower and destroy. But this is such a delicate art, and he hides such a tender heart. I suspect it’s to protect it from whatever dangerous stuff he’s into, but not in here.
Not with me.
He lets me see this side of him, and it makes my battered heart suddenly strong and wanting to protect his.
“Your film isn’t amateur. You have the heart to see someone’s story, a great eye for composition, and the wisdom to wait for the shot. You’re still learning about camera settings, but you’ve come a long way.” I set my bag on the floor, closing the distance. “It’s not easy, developing film for the first time, but you did it. See? You’remeantto do this.”
He grins. “Still haven’t earned my gold star yet, teach. I have no idea how to print photos from negatives.” Cute armpit stains mar his white T-shirt, straining over his hulking muscles. “And I didn’t realize being in a darkroom would trigger me, but fuck, it was a sweaty fight processing that film, even with the red safelight on.”
I touch his arm; I can’t help it. “Because of the stuff from your childhood? Your claustrophobia?”
He nods.
He’s told me about his abusive father and the trunk he was locked in. How he was punished for having a tender heart. I’ve heard a few horrific stories, but I don’t push him. I just listen when he wants to talk about it, which is rare.
I know his mom lives somewhere down the coast, and they’re close. Thankfully, his father is long gone, though the trauma remains.
“Are you okay?”
He grins wider, eyes sparkling at me. “Am now.”
“Jace, I’m serious.”
“So am I. I’m fine. I promise.”
“Can I help?”
His smile slides into a sexy smirk. “Help me in adarkroom? Why, yes, please.”
He’s doing it again, talking in double entendres that send butterflies dancing through my belly.
After my meltdown yesterday, revealing my secret, and everything Jace shared to help me through it… Something’s changed between us. It’s unfurling.
This feels free—fun.
Flirty.
“I have a client in an hour,” I offer, “but I can show you how to do it when I’m done. Would you like that?”
He bounces his brows. “You wanna show me how to DOit?”
Smiling, I roll my eyes. “Howto printphotosfromnegatives.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Like a shocked virgin in Vegas, he puts his fingers to his mouth, all dramatic and defiled. “Why, Ms. Tate, what wereyoutalking about?”
I blush.
“Oh,” he teases, “someone’s got a gutter brain today.”
“No, I don’t.”
He smolders. “Uh, yeah, thankfully you do.”
