E. Blair - Falling

“Sounds good,” he says before hanging up.

Walking back out into the living room, I find Candace kneeling down, looking at some of my mattes that are stacked against the wall. Stepping next to her, she looks up at me.

“I’m sorry,” she says as she puts the mattes down and stands up.

“For what?”

“I wasn’t snooping or anything, I just noticed these and was curious,” she nervously explains.

“Candace, I have nothing to hide. I told you to make yourself comfortable, and I meant it.” I take a seat in one of the overstuffed leather chairs and drink my water.

“Where did you get those?”

“They’re mine,” I tell her.

“Yours?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I get bored and like to mess around with my camera.”

“That’s pretty amazing for just messing around,” she says as she continues to stand against the large panoramic window. “You only shoot people?”

“For the most part, yeah.” I get up and walk over to the photos and pick up the one lying on the top. It’s the shot I took of Gina. It’s a nice photo, but makes me almost feel guilty for having it. For spending so much time working on it, only to have Candace admire it.

“She a model?” she asks as she looks at the photo with me.

“No, just some chick I used to know.” I toss the matte down and motion for her to sit with me on the couch, and when she does, she continues, “So, when did you get into photography?”

“When I was in college I took some art classes. So, one day I just decided to buy a camera and started taking pictures. Like I said, I pretty much have no clue what I’m doing. Just a little hobby of mine I mess around with every now and then.”

“You ever do anything with them?” she asks.

“No.”

I watch her as she begins to relax, getting more comfortable the longer she’s here. Having her here in my space—I like it.

“Maybe you should,” she encourages, and when I look into her eyes, I’m at a loss for words, so I simply repeat hers, “Maybe I should.”

We sit here for a few moments without speaking. I don’t pull my eyes away from hers, and when I see the nervous shift in her, I cut the intensity and ask, “You sure you don’t want to come out to the bar tonight to see Mark play?”

Taking a deep breath and looking down, she says, “I told you, I have to work.”

“I just picked you up from work.”

“I know, but I have to go back. One of the girls quit and Roxy hasn’t hired anyone to replace her, so I’ve been picking up extra shifts,” she explains. “Plus, I’d probably be tired and no fun to be around.”

“I can’t imagine it not being fun to be around you,” I admit much too honestly, and when she shifts her eyes to look out the window, I take her cue and ask, “You ready to finish the run?”

Standing up, I reach out for her hand. She doesn’t take it at first, but when I smile down at her, she slips her hand into mine. I keep a strong hold on it as I lock up and we head out.

When we get outside and to the end of my driveway, I still have her hand. This is the longest she’s ever let me touch her.

“Wanna make it a long run, or are you ready to head back?” I ask.

She takes a moment, and then looks up at me, saying, “Long.”

I give her hand a soft squeeze before letting it go, and something about the way she’s looking at me right now makes me feel like I’m finally having an effect on her.

Leaving now. See you in two hours?

I read Candace’s text as I’m working in my office at home. She’s been really busy this past week, but we managed to grab another run a few days ago. We decided to meet up after her dance practice today before I have to go into work.

I’ll meet you in the parking lot.

OK, catch you later.

Before I can type another response I get an incoming call from my mom.

“Hey.”

“Hi. What are you up to this weekend?” she asks.

“Not much,” I tell her as I stand up to go get a drink from the kitchen. “I’m supposed to meet up with Candace in a few hours then go to work.”

“Really?”

She’s surprised, knowing that I have never shown interest in a girl before.

“So . . . you really like her?” she asks, not even skating around the subject.

I grab a water and flop down on a chair in the living room. “Yeah,” I sigh as I lean back and stare up at the exposed beams.

“Have you told her?”

“It isn’t like that,” I tell her. “She’s slow to warm up to people. Well . . . at least with me.”

“But you’ve known her for over a month. Seems like enough time.”

“Not with her.”

“So what are the two of you going to do later?” she asks.

“She’s at the dance studio now, so we’re just gonna grab a coffee afterward.”

“And how’s work been going?”

“Same as usual. What about you?”

When she starts talking about some fundraiser that she went to with her sister, I lose focus as my eyes shift to the stack of mattes that are still lying on my floor. The photos that Candace had been looking at last week.

“Well, I better let you go. I just wanted to check in,” she says as she pulls my attention back to her.

“I love you, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Love you too, dear.”

Shoving my phone into my pocket, I walk over to the photos and grab them. It seems like forever ago when I shot these when really it was only four months back. I was so distracted then, but now . . . now I feel focused. I’m not quite sure if anything will ever happen with Candace, but I love spending time with her regardless. But, God, I do hope that something will happen. I’ve never had to fight for a girl’s attention or affection, but this one . . . she makes me work, and I find myself liking it.

I take the photos back to my office and shove them inside my credenza, not wanting to think about that time—about all those women. Sliding the door shut, I turn to get some work done—anything to kill time while I wait to see Candace.

Pulling into the studio lot, I park next to Candace’s car. Stepping out, I take a moment to enjoy the chill in the December air. The dark clouds roll through the misty sky.

My eyes dart to the doors when I hear them bang open and see her storming out. She’s upset—frustrated—and when she looks at me, she freezes, startled to see me, with tears streaming down her cheeks. When I rush over to her, she quickly wipes her face with her hands, trying to hide what she knows I already see.

She drops her head, but I catch it with my hands, cupping her cheeks as I tilt it up for her to look at me. “What happened?”

“Nothing, honestly. Just a tough rehearsal.” Her voice trembles as she speaks, and seeing her this upset has something panging inside of me that I’m not used to—protectiveness.

I look down at her as a few tears seep out of her eyes, and I wipe them away with my thumbs. When I do this, I feel her tension melt, and she falls into my chest, wrapping her arms around my waist. This unexpected affection is like a reward I’ve been waiting so patiently for. And here it is. Sliding my arms around her, I hold her close, and she doesn’t flinch away from me. I can feel her body relax, and when this happens, I lean down and rest my cheek on top of her head.

She sniffs and I know she’s crying. Having her like this, in my arms, is an intimacy that’s completely foreign but comfortable. I’m sure she can hear my heart pounding, but I need her to hear it. I need her to feel it as it thuds in my chest because I need her to hear me falling for her, ‘cause that’s what’s happening here—I’m falling. I never wanted to before, but with her, all I want to do is fall. Fall into her. Fall so deep inside of her heart so that I never have to be without her. That’s what this girl does to me. That’s how powerful she is even when she thinks she’s at her weakest. She’s broken. I see it clearly, but whatever it is that’s haunting her, I wanna make it fade. I wanna make it fade and make her fall too—with me.