CHAPTER SEVEN
Niko felt the weight of Summer’s judgment when he hobbled into the farmhouse’s kitchen the next morning.
“Someone got home awfully late last night,” she said conversationally to Carter, who was enjoying a cup of coffee at the island while the twins mashed bananas and strawberries between their fingers on their highchair trays.
Meadow spotted Niko and squealed a greeting to him. He booped her nose, stole a piece of banana from her brother, and limped over to the coffeepot.
“Someone’s also walking funny,” Carter observed. “We’re going to have to ask. It’s the neighborly thing to do.”
Summer nodded. “So, Niko. How was your night? Anything you want to tell us about?” She blinked her wide blue eyes in feigned innocence.
“I went to the gym.” He poured the coffee and fought the tremors in his biceps. His body felt like a tractor trailer truck carrying every flu virus known to man had hit it. He’d never had a workout decimate him like this before.
“Not the answer I was expecting,” Carter admitted.
“What did you do at the gym?” Summer prodded.
“What the hell do you think I did at the gym? Learned to macramé? I worked out and overdid it. Happy?”
Summer was unfazed. “You went to the gym by yourself in the middle of the night and pushed yourself so hard you can barely walk.” She eyed Carter. “I think we’re missing part of the story”
Playing along, Carter pointed an accusatory finger at Niko. “Were you alone at the gym?”
“I went there alone,” he hedged.
“Aha! You ran into a hot girl there and tried to impress her with your gym prowess!” Summer was triumphant in her hypothesis.
“And I’m paying the price now. Happy?”
“Did you at least get a date out of it?” Carter asked.
Niko shook his head, sipped the heavenly caffeine. “Struck out.”
“Who could turn you down?” Summer demanded. She opened a cabinet by the refrigerator and fished out a bottle of aspirin.
“Apparently the female population of Blue Moon is immune to my charm,” Niko said.
“No, seriously. Who would you have worked so hard to impress, and who would say no to all that perfection?” she frowned.
“Your husband is sitting right there.” Niko pointed to Carter.
Carter stroked his beard. “Hey. He’s right. I am right here.”
“Oh. My. God. It was Emma, wasn’t it?” Summer yelped. Meadow copied her mother’s tone and shrieked.
“Don’t worry, honey,” Carter said to Meadow. “Mommy’s just being nosey and excitable.”
“Oh, I am so winning this bet,” Summer rubbed her hands together.
“What bet?” Carter asked, plucking Jonathan from the highchair.
“I’ve got action on Niko getting a date out of Emma.”
“How many units?” Carter asked.
“Two.”
He let out a low whistle. “Let’s hope you can pull this off, Romeo. We could use a win.”
“What the hell is a unit around here? A skein of wool?”
--------
Emma locked the front doors of the brewery behind Rupert and Lila as they headed out to their cars. For a Monday night, the crowd had kept them busy enough that Emma’s dinner was still sitting under the heat lamp on the expo line.
Julio had left her an overly generous serving of shepherd’s pie that she was looking forward to finishing over paperwork with a beer now that everyone else had gone home.
Not that the paperwork needed to be done tonight. She could just as easily come in half an hour early tomorrow if she wanted to do something… else. She’d thought of her Saturday night with Niko more often than she cared to acknowledge. And not just because of the lingering soreness from overdoing it at the gym that still had her clomping around with the grace of a drunken Clydesdale.
It also wasn’t just his sweaty form that replayed over and over again in her head, though that certainly wasn’t absent. She’d given his confession a great deal of thought, too. He was a man in the middle of an artistic crisis, or a life crisis, depending on how one looked at it.
And she had an idea on how he could begin to shake it.
Of course, that would involve seeing him again. And given her physical attraction to him, it probably wouldn’t be wise to tempt herself with more alone time with Niko.
She stared at her phone debating for a solid minute before she decided. Emma called up Niko’s contact information and typed up a text.
Hey, night owl pal. Interested in some shepherd’s pie and some unsolicited advice?
His response was immediate. Yes definitely and possibly. When/where?
Brewery. Back patio in ten.
She wasn’t setting the scene of a seduction. Emma scoffed at the thought as she lit the fire in the brewery’s patio fireplace and set up a tray stand behind the Adirondack chairs that faced the fire.
It was the warmest night of the year that Blue Moon had enjoyed since last summer, and she wanted to take advantage of the clear night sky.
Back in the eerily silent kitchen, she divided her dinner onto two plates, which she left under the heat lamp, before heading out to the bar to choose two drafts.
She trayed everything up and was carrying it out onto the concrete patio when the dark shadow of Niko appeared around the side of the building.
“A midnight picnic?” he asked, climbing the stone steps to take the tray from her and settle it on its stand.
“A friendly midnight picnic,” she corrected him in case he’d gotten any objectionable ideas since Saturday.
“Is there any other kind?”
“You have your choice of an IPA or a lager,” she said, gesturing at the pint glasses and ignoring his question.
He chose the IPA, and they took their plates to the chairs by the fire. They ate in silence for a few minutes, staring into the flames and enjoying the background chorus of crickets and frogs that sang from the fields and creek.
The inky night sky sparkled with a thousand stars. A sky full of stars was something Emma hoped she never grew accustomed to, never took for granted.
She finished her meal and leaned back to stare up. “You know how some people say that looking at the stars makes them feel small?”
Niko set his plate aside, nodded. “Insignificant specks. How do they make you feel?”
“Like I’m part of it all.”
“A significant speck then.”
She laughed lightly at the way they slid back into the rhythm of intimate conversation despite the fact that they were little more than strangers. “That’s exactly it. I am a significant speck and part of the cosmos.”
“When’s the last time you left Blue Moon? I’m worried about what they put in the water here,” Niko teased.
Emma bit her lip. She hadn’t bothered taking any of the vacation time the Pierces had generously given her. When she’d started, there’d been too much work to do, and once she’d settled in, she’d talked them into expanding into catered events, which created even more work.
“Haven’t you heard? Once you come to Blue Moon, you can never leave,” she joked.
“They do seem to want to suck me in,” Niko agreed. “Summer sent me into town for diapers yesterday, and I ended up shaking hands with half of Beckett’s constituents who all pitched in to help me pick a brand.”
“Okay, that’s weird even for Blue Moon,” Emma admitted. Usually they’re nice to newcomers but not completely smothering. That happens after you buy property here.”
“I feel like the whole town is really invested in making me like it here.”
“Sometimes in Blue Moon, it’s best not to know why Mooners do the things they do,” Emma said sagely.
“Let’s talk about this unsolicited advice you’ve got for me,” he said, changing the subject.
Emma scooted her chair around to face his. “Before I get to the doling out part, do you remember why you got into photography?”
He nodded once, gazing into the flames. “I remember exactly why and when.”
Emma pulled her knees up to her chest and waited.
“When my mom died, the funeral home suggested we pull together our favorite pictures of her so they could be displayed at the viewing.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I dug through every album we had. Mom was the amateur photographer of the family. There were hundreds of shots of me, dozens and dozens of my father and me. Christmases, birthdays, first days of school. But nothing of her.
“My father and I never thought of picking up the camera and turning it around on her. Sure, there were a handful of shots here and there but nothing that would be considered a documentation of her life. We’d lost her, and without pictures, we lost all those memories with her.”
Emma reached out and laid a hand on his arm, her heart hurting for the young man and his father.
“We’d been lucky enough to have this wonderful, amazing woman in our lives, and neither of us ever thought to document her. To capture and keep her moments. And we lost the chance to when we lost her.”
“So you became a photographer.”
Niko nodded. “I was obsessed with it. Capturing the moments where you really see someone.”
“And that’s why you’re so brilliant at it.”
He shrugged, a desolate lift and drop of his shoulders. “It’s what made me good at it. But if I’ve lost it… Why are we talking about this?”
“Because I have an idea. And you haven’t lost anything,” Emma told him.
“You sound confident in that assessment.”
“You’re just having some kind of creative crisis, and it’s something that most artists struggle with from time to time.” At least, she assumed it was. She didn’t exactly have any strong data to back up her theory. “These stagnations usually occur right before the artist breaks into a higher level of their art.”
“I get the distinct impression that you’re bullshitting me.”
Emma waved away his concern. “Bear with me here. You haven’t suffered a physical trauma that would impact your skillset, correct?”
“I have not yet been kicked in the head by a cow, but Summer did let a goat chase me yesterday.” He shuddered at the memory.
“Traumatic, but your issues began before Clementine. Are you suffering from a drug problem? Mental illness?”
“No, and I don’t think so.”
“Then I think we can assume that your creativity hasn’t just collapsed in on itself leaving you with nothing but a black hole of nothingness,” Emma continued.
“You’re sure we can assume that?” Niko eyed her.
“Of course we can. You’ve still got your eyes and your shutter-pushing finger. What we need to figure out is how to get you back to the point where pictures were about capturing moments.”
“And how do we do that?”
“My dad and Phoebe’s wedding is coming up.”
“Oh, no.” He was already shaking his head.
“They don’t have a photographer.”
“Uh-uh. I don’t do weddings.”
“You did Summer’s,” Emma countered.
“That was different. She scares me, and she made me do it.”
“You not doing weddings is the whole point,” Emma said in exasperation. “We can’t just shove you back into some fashion photo shoot. We have to take you out of what’s familiar to break whatever psychological crap you’ve got going on. Which means you need a new challenge.”
“I’ll admit that has the potential to make sense, but I don’t think adding the pressure of documenting the happiest day of someone’s life is going to help me break out of my shitty mental funk.”
“This isn’t some bridezilla who needs fifteen bridal albums of Photoshopped bliss. It’s Phoebe and my dad. They’re just thrilled to finally tie the knot. We can use that to help you.”
“We?”
It was Emma’s turn to shrug. “Friends helping friends.”
Niko rubbed his hand over the stubble on his jaw.
“Look,” Emma tried again. “My dad and Phoebe have been looking forward to this day for a long time coming. It’s the blending of two families. It’s the beginning of new history. You’re going to have moments out the ass to capture,” Emma told him.
“Exactly! This is a big deal. What if I say yes, I shoot it, and I have nothing but lifeless crap to give them because I now suck at photography?”
“Drink your beer, Nikolai,” Emma ordered gently.
He picked up his glass and sipped morosely.
“Look,” she began. “They didn’t want all of the traditional fuss. They just want to celebrate their special day with friends and family. You’re not going to be doing group portraits and wrangling ring bearers. You’re going to tote a camera around and capture the moment my dad sees his new bride for the first time. You’re going to shoot me and my sisters crying like babies when we stand up there next to our dad and all of the Pierce kids running amuck. You’ll have fun doing it. And that’s the point. Take the work out of it and just let it happen naturally. Just see what you find behind the camera.”
“What if I don’t find anything?”
“Then we’ll start looking for jobs for you around Blue Moon. How do you feel about auto detailing? Or do you by chance have any experience in the law? I’m sure Beckett could use a partner.”
“Maybe I could wrangle goats?”
Emma grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
He looked at her and sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
She nodded briskly. “That’s all I ask. Wedding’s on Sunday.”
Niko leaned in over the arm of his chair, his expression intent, and suddenly the evening chill was replaced with a wave of heat. His fingers brushed hers where they lay against the wood of the chair, and he picked up her hand, holding it in his.
“Why do you care, Emma?”
She looked away from the questions she saw in those dark eyes and instead focused on their joined hands. His grip was warm, solid. She felt her blood heat as if he had the power to warm her from the inside out with just a casual touch.
She should pull free, reestablish the rules. But Emma answered him first.
“I’m a fixer. You confided a problem in me, and now it gives me great joy to force solutions on you until the problem is solved.”
She couldn’t read the thoughts happening behind those serious eyes. But her pulse picked up, an instinctive warning. Dangerous territory.
She reclaimed her hand and put some space between them, ordering her heart rate to steady. Just friends, she reminded herself.
Niko shed his intensity like a jacket. “Now that we’ve worked through my creativity crisis, what’s next on the evening’s agenda?”
Emma produced a deck of cards. “Know how to play Dutch Blitz?”