When Ava arrived the following morning, the boathouse was already bustling with activity. Carrying boxes of glassware, linens, and floral arrangements, vendors hurried in and out as workers strengthened the stage platform; the rhythmic thud of hammering blended with the murmur of voices.
With her tablet in hand and her heels clicking on the worn floorboards, Ava strode into the confusion. She flourished on mornings like this, when she had complete control over every detail and accuracy was essential to survival.
It was supposed to, anyway.
"Good morning," a soft, low voice from her left said.
Ethan.
With his camera hanging at his chest and his posture relaxed, he appeared to have endless time as he leaned against a column close to the entrance. He wore the same faded jeans from yesterday, but today he wore a clean white button-up shirt with the collar undone and the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He appeared incredibly... at ease.
With a curt greeting, Ava turned away from him and said, "Cole." She used her tablet to scan the delivery list. "You're running late."
He looked at his timepiece. "It is precisely eight o'clock."
"Exactly. At seven thirty, we get started.
Undeterred, he remarked, "I was out at sunrise." While it was quiet, I got pictures of the harbor. Those might be more appealing to the couple than the staged material.
Ava formed a line with her lips—pictures of the sunrise. Not scheduled and not authorized.
She reminded him that it was a wedding and not an art show. "You are here to record the events that I plan."
He glanced at her with amusement in his storm-gray eyes. "Maybe I was hired to record what you are unable to do."
Her head jerked upward. "Pardon me?"
Ethan moved closer, pushing off the column, his voice firm but not harsh. "Open and honest moments. Actual ones. That's the reason I do this. For the things they can't see until they're gone, people hire me.
Ava took a deep breath—this man's nerves were on edge. But there was something about his words that got under her skin—the things they don't notice until they're gone.
She was determined not to show it. With a sharp tone, she returned to her tablet and said, "As long as you stay out of my way."
"I can't guarantee that," he muttered.
She clenched her jaw.
There were fits and starts throughout the day. At every stage, vendors tried to win Ava's approval. She repositioned the lighting, adjusted the tablecloth drapes, and guided the arrangement of the centerpieces. Like a metronome, her incisive instructions cut through the commotion.
She also sensed Ethan's presence at all times.
His camera shutter would occasionally click softly behind her. Crouched low to frame a shot she didn't understand, sometimes across the room. She once saw him taking pictures of the bridesmaids while they practiced; he laughed so hard that one of them almost tripped over her own dress.
Ava reprimanded them for not taking the rehearsal seriously. The only thing that made Ethan smile was the picture he had taken, as if he had caught something precious.
At one point, her assistant whispered, "Ms. Bennett, he's... excellent."
Ava ignored her.
Later, though, she felt a pull of curiosity when Ethan put his camera down on a table. She looked at the display screen as she leaned in closer.
The sight took her breath away.
Sunlight streamed in through the boathouse windows, catching dust particles in midair and splattering across glassware and ribbon. Ava stood in the middle of it all, her tablet in hand, giving directions with a determined, piercing face. Ethan, however, had managed to capture her in motion: a streak of light tracing her cheek, her lips parted mid-command, her hair shifting as she turned.
She appeared to be a human.
Uncomposed. Not flawless. Put, alive.
Her chest grew constricted.
Ethan's voice touched her ear. "Do you see anything you like?"
She leaped backward. "Your camera should never be left unattended."
His gray eyes glinted as he tilted his head. It's funny. It seemed like you were eager to see more.
"I didn't." Her skin was pricked by heat. She used her tablet to keep herself busy. "Remove that picture."
"No."
She jerked her head up. "Pardon me?"
"That's good," he said plainly. "I also don't remove good."
They looked at each other for a moment. Outrage, mixed with something she couldn't identify, caused Ava's pulse to thud in her ears.
Ava was worn out by the end of the afternoon. There was still no finalized seating chart. It was threatened that the bride's mother would change florists. For the tux fittings, the groomsmen had failed to appear.
Standing on the pier outside, she breathed in the sea air as if it would calm her racing thoughts.
"Are you alright?"
Ethan once more. Naturally.
She avoided eye contact with him. "All right. Exhausted.
After silently examining her, he raised his camera.
"Avoid—"
Press the button.
She turned her head quickly. "What I said—"
"Don't be concerned." His lips quirked slightly as he lowered the camera. "That one is exclusively for me."
Ava's breath caught, but she quickly covered it up. "Unprofessional."
"Perhaps." His voice became softer. "Yet real."
Between them lingered something unsaid, as brittle as sea mist. Before it could get thicker, Ava turned her back.
She babbled and said, "I need you here at seven o'clock tomorrow."
Yes, ma'am.
He walked away with the camera swinging casually at his side after giving a mock salute with a smile tugging at his lips.
For longer than she intended to, Ava stared after him.
Ava went through her wedding plans that evening in her rented cottage, making sure everything was perfect. However, she was haunted by the image on Ethan's camera screen, showing how he had captured her not as she desired to be seen but rather as she was.
She also couldn't get the question out of her head, even though she hated the idea:
Could he see anything else?