Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Usually, I could cram minimal edits between the time that the slopes closed at four p.m. and seven or so, but we’d never had an opening day crowd like this. Ever. I had set up just down the trail from the new lift, and the line hadn’t stopped all day. It was nearing three and I hadn’t even taken a break for lunch.
The family scrambled in their gear, moving away from the picturesque background, and I waved goodbye to them as they skied and boarded down the hill, motioning for the next family to come forward.
I scanned their pass so I could upload their photos.
I posed them.
I clicked.
I moved on.
I was good. I was quick. I was efficient…and I was bored out of my ever-loving mind. This definitely wasn’t what I’d had in mind as a starry-eyed freshman majoring in photography. This was…monotonous. But it pays the bills. Mary Ellen Mark wouldn’t have been caught dead in this click-and-smile routine, but she hadn’t been a single mom, either.
“How’s it going?” Reed asked as he came over to my side, trudging his way through the snow. He wasn’t dressed for skiing, so I made the assumption he was here for resort purposes.
“Busy,” I said with a smile, waving the next family into position. “Welcome to Madigan!” Reed stood by while I posed and prepped the family, then took the picture.
“You need an assistant,” he noted, scanning the dozen families in line.
I blinked. “What?” Was I not moving fast enough? Was there something else I should read into that statement?
“I’ve seen the crowds on both lifts, and I know how quickly season passes are selling today. You’re going to need an assistant.” He took my scanning device and helped the next family in line.
It cut the time in half, and ten minutes later, I’d caught up.
“Thank you,” I told him, taking the device back and hanging it around my neck. “I’m glad you found me.”
“The bright yellow parka that says photographer on the back is a dead giveaway,” he replied with a familiar grin.
“You look like Weston when you smile.” I scrolled through the last few photos on my view screen and nodded to myself. The lighting was good, so they’d all be fast uploads, depending on if the family chose the retouching package or not. When I looked up, Reed was staring at me like he’d never seen me. “What’s wrong?” I lifted my sunglasses just in case they were somehow distorting my view. “Is it going okay?”
“I’ve just never been told that,” he replied slowly. “At least not since we were kids.” He rubbed the back of his neck—the same nervous tell that Weston had. “Or maybe it’s just been that long since I’ve seen him smile. Who knows.” He kicked at the snow as another family came up for photos.
I got them through the process, and they took off down the slopes. When I turned back to Reed, he had his arms folded across his chest, his gloved fingers tapping on the arms of his Madigan-embroidered coat. “What do you want to ask, Reed?”
“I just want to know if he’s happy.” He took off his sunglasses and wiped the snow from them. “And yeah, I know this is as inappropriate as it gets.”
“Because you could just ask him yourself.” I adjusted my hat lower on my ears.
“I could do that.” His jaw popped.
“But he wouldn’t answer you, would he?”
Reed shook his head.
“He’s…” I shrugged, looking for the right word. “Weston.” We’d been living together for five weeks, which didn’t exactly make me an expert, but I got to know him a little better every day. It was also becoming infinitely harder to keep my hands to myself, not that his brother needed to know that. Crap, now heat flooded my cheeks. “He doesn’t have to look happy to be happy, if you get what I’m saying.” I shifted my weight, my boots crunching on the snow. “He’s not exactly the poster child for emotional displays.”
Reed snorted. “Yeah, that’s putting it lightly.”
The sound of rotors filled the air, and my gaze jerked skyward as Weston’s helicopter crested the peak, low enough for me to make out the details of his paint job but high enough not to blow snow over everyone. It was probably my imagination, but I could have sworn he slowed over where I stood before flying down the slope toward the helipad.
“Have to admit, that’s pretty fucking cool,” Reed muttered.
Incredible was a better word.
“They had two tours this morning and a private one this afternoon,” I told him, noting that not only were there no more families in line but the chairlift was empty coming up the slope. We were closed for the day.
“It’s a great launch for that kind of operation.” Reed’s gaze followed Weston until he landed all the way down the mountain. “Ride down with me?” He motioned back to the chairlift.