Ian twisted his lips in irritation and lowered the camera from his face. “I was taking pictures of a beautiful woman while she slept, but the moment has passed.”
Bree leaned over the side of the bed, scooping up her shirt from the floor. She pulled it on. “Why would you want to take pictures of me?”
“Why would you want to take pictures of other people?” he countered.
Bree frowned, an expression that brought the opposite reaction to Ian’s face. “You don’t like having your picture taken,” he said.
She wrinkled her nose. “No, I don’t.”
“A photographer who hates having her picture taken. How is that possible?” he wondered aloud.
Bree smoothed out the wild strands of her hair and tugged the blankets even higher under her arms. The fabric of the shirt was thin and did little to make her feel covered. “I prefer to be behind the camera, if you must know.”
Ian raised the camera again and snapped another picture before she could turn away. “Now that you mention it, I seem to remember you were always the one taking pictures in college. I didn’t think much of it at the time because that was your thing. But I remember going through old pictures after you transferred to UT and being frustrated because you weren’t in any of them. I guess this is a lifelong aversion. I just didn’t notice it before.”
It was hard for Bree to imagine Ian poring through old pictures, looking for her after she was gone. She thought he’d already forgotten her, even before she’d left. “I’ve been avoiding photos of myself since my parents bought me a camera for my tenth birthday.”
“That’s a shame. You’re more beautiful than most of the women I see in magazines. You should spend more time in front of the camera for a change. For the benefit of society.”
She shook her head, ignoring his attempts at flattery. Instead, her thoughts drifted to last night’s discussion of nude portraits. “Before these pictures...benefit society...you didn’t take any shots of me naked, did you?”
“You were naked in all of them, but you were sleeping on your stomach. There’s nothing to see.”
Bree’s mouth tightened. “If I see so much as a nip slip when I go over those images, Ian...”
He held up his hands defensively. “You won’t, I promise. There’s nothing on this camera but images of a golden angel sleeping in my bed.”
She’d believe it when she saw it. Her glance shifted over to the bright streams of sunlight coming in the window. “What time is it?”
“About eight-thirty. I woke up at six today like I usually do. Yesterday was a fluke. I showered, dressed, made coffee and watched a little of the weather forecast. I’ve got some good news for you.”
Good news? “You’ve made me breakfast in bed?” she guessed.
“No,” he said, twisting his lips in thought, “but that isn’t a bad idea. I should’ve thought of that.”
Bree flopped back against the pillows. It was too early for a guessing game. “Then what is it?”
“The weather station is reporting it should get to almost fifty degrees today. I heard the snowplows going by this morning. They’re expecting most of the snow on the plowed roads to melt. With any luck, we should be able to head home tomorrow morning.”
Bree smiled because she knew she should, but for some reason, the news didn’t make her happy. Somehow, being trapped in the snow
was the ideal environment for the two of them. They’d spent so much time talking, getting to know one another again. It felt like old times, except that it wasn’t. And that fact would be crystal clear the moment they arrived back in Nashville.
“That’s great,” she said, feigning excitement. “I guess we should make the most of our last day here then.”
“You’re right,” he said, setting her camera on the nightstand. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
Bree sat patiently waiting for Ian to return a few minutes later. He had a tray with some fruit, toast, jam and coffee. Ian carried it over to the bed, setting it down between them and kicking off his shoes before sliding under the covers.
“Breakfast in bed!” he announced.
Bree leaned in to kiss him and he captured her, pulling her closer. She wanted to melt into him, to make the most of these fleeting moments, but she knew she shouldn’t. The closer she let herself get to Ian, the more she would be disappointed when it all fell apart. “Be careful,” she said as she pulled away. “You don’t want to spill the coffee.”
Ian reluctantly sat back and they both started to eat. Bree slathered her toast with butter and strawberry jam before taking a bite. It was sourdough bread from the loaf they’d used to make grilled cheese the first night. It had a bite to it that mixed nicely with the creamy butter and sweet jam.
“Can I ask you something?”
Bree hesitated, her toast hanging midair. What could he ask that needed an introduction like that? She’d been awake less than ten minutes and had had two sips of coffee. “Sure. What?”