Page 17 of Familiar Things New

“Well, lucky you, you can try it whenever you want.”

“It’s not in the budget,” Edwin countered, though he wasn’t exactly sure whether his sister was referring to his social privileges or their family having a little more money lately thanks to his job at the conservatory.

“Don’t talk like that. Surely you can afford to take yourself out.” So, the latter. Agnes batted her eyes. “Or perhaps you could even bring your sister with you so that she may try the food as well?”

Edwin pursed his lips to temper his burgeoning smile.

“Hmm, well, I could take my sister, I suppose. But then she would owe me a favor.”

“And what favor would that be?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. I’ll have to think about it,” he said. “I could use a break from having to clean out the firebox every now and then.”

Agnes scoffed and raised her hand to her chest, feigning incredulity. “Oh, now that’s cruel, Edwin. You know it’s my least favorite chore. Aside from putting coal in the furnace.”

Edwin chortled. “And you know how expensive the food would be at the restaurant. I’d have to save up. Especially if I bring you. Because you’ll insist on trying every single baked good they have to offer.”

She reached over and shoved him. “Hold your tongue, big brother. You’re the one constantly having seconds of everything.” She scrunched up her nose. “Yet somehow you stay as narrow as a twig.”

Edwin laughed. Agnes was right about that.

Agnes continued. “Well, soon enough, maybe we’ll have one of those tea shops here in Albany. Someplace where women can come together to chat without you men hovering. William says they’re reasonably priced as well. He’s seen them in some of the larger cities. One will come here eventually.”

“I hope so,” Edwin said, smiling warmly.

He meant it, too. Agnes really would enjoy the freedom. Hell, she deserved the freedom. Edwin sometimes worried that his sister might feel resentful about the new privileges he enjoyed since he’d begun living as himself. If she was, she never mentioned it. Still, Edwin couldn’t seem to stop himself from silently fretting about it every once in a while. Maybe because he still found it so completely incredible that she hadn’t once wavered in her support of him. Or in her love.

Finally, Edwin and Agnes reached the bakery, and they went inside together. Goose bumps pebbled over Edwin’s skin from the sudden rush of warmth—a contrast with the frigid early winter temperatures they’d been contending with on their walk. While ordering their bread, Edwin kept the conversation with the baker short so as not to bring too much attention to himself. It was probably silly of him to still feel such unease in his own neighborhood, but he’d been shy even before spitting in the face of societal expectations. Confidence really wasn’t the easiest thing for him to cultivate, even while living a more authentic life.

After purchasing a loaf of rye bread, Edwin and Agnes went back outside. Edwin’s thoughts were still lingering on the challenges of overcoming this nervous shyness he continued to possess when he suddenly found himself face-to-face with the handsome photographer whom he had met some weeks back. Edwin’s cheeks immediately began to heat, even as he barely suppressed a shiver from the rush of winter wind that blew past. He had nearly succeeded in forgetting about the man (well, mostly; unfortunately, Agnes looked at William’s photograph often enough that Edwin hadn’t been able to put his and Andrew’s interactions out of his mind completely). But, oh hell, standing in front of Andrew now, Edwin couldn’t help but remember the way the man had looked back in the Whitney family library. His sweet, bashful smile. His kind eyes. His cheeks that had darkened to the most perfect shade of pink. Edwin’s own cheeks were likely becoming a similar color that very moment.

“Edwin! Goodness, it’s so nice to see you!” Andrew exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up. “Do you buy your bread here too?”

“Most of the time, yes,” Edwin said. “It’s the best bakery within a mile.”

“It really is!” Andrew said cheerily. After a moment, the man’s eyes flitted over to Agnes. “Is this your sister?”

Edwin frowned and silently chastised himself for his rudeness.

“Sorry. Yes. Andrew, this is my sister, Agnes Beasley. Agnes, this is Andrew. He’s the photographer who took William’s portrait last week.”

“Is that so?” Agnes asked with a rueful smile. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Andrew. I must say, you certainly have a talent for photography. William looks completely ordinary in his portrait. Boring, even. You captured him perfectly.”

Edwin and Andrew both let out a snort-laugh, each of them clearly trying not to chuckle in earnest. Andrew’s hand flew up to cover his mouth, and it took him a few seconds to recover from the bluntness of Agnes’s insults. Edwin couldn’t blame him. It often took people time to adjust to Agnes’s humor.

“Uhm, well, thank you,” Andrew finally managed to say. “I love photography. And I’m thrilled to know that you’re happy with your, uhm, present from William. He’s a . . . a nice fellow.”

Agnes hummed. Andrew flashed a smile, but it looked pained, his eyebrows pinched while he showed both rows of teeth. Edwin’s stomach fluttered a bit. Andrew’s continued awkwardness was still so bizarrely charming. How irritating.

Edwin cleared his throat as he prepared to suggest that he and Agnes leave. “Well, we better—”

“William’s nice enough, I suppose,” Agnes said. “He’s a bit too in love with himself sometimes, but perhaps that makes it even more impressive that he was able to part with that photograph, rather than hang it up in his room so that he could look at it every day.” She tapped her lips with her index finger. “I wonder if I should give him one of me in return.” Looking over at Edwin, she asked, “What do you think?”

Edwin’s stomach stopped fluttering and plummeted instead. Agnes sitting for a portrait would mean having to visit Andrew’s studio. Dammit, he did not want to have to spend more time with the man.

“It would be too expensive,” he tried. “If we pay for a photography session, then we won’t be able to try the restaurant this month. Or maybe even next month, either.”

Andrew cut in. “If it helps, I only charge fifty cents per print.”