Off Kilter. Donna Kauffman
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we enjoy the rush of chocolate endorphins while drooling over naked men—even if I did grow up with most of them.” She paused then and made a face. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure I can be the least bit objective after all. I still remember what each of them looked like with freckled cheeks and the complete absence of body hair.”
Tessa wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”
“I know. But there is chocolate—which can only help.”
“I can be shallow enough for the two of us. Let’s proceed, shall we?”
Kira slid the pan of tiffin—chocolate and crushed cookies baked in warm, buttery goodness—and set it to cool on a rack on the butcher block counter, while Tessa propped open her laptop on the small kitchen table. She plugged in one of the three digital SLR cameras she’d used that day. It had been simpler than changing lenses back and forth.
Kira slid two heavy stoneware mugs onto the table and filled them with hot water, before dropping tea bags in each to let them steep. “I would ask why you need so many of those, but any explanation you’d give would go right over my head. I’m fortunate if I can get both the head and the feet of my subjects in the same shot. But let me tell you, I never cease to be amazed that you look through that little window and capture what you do. I look through that same tiny porthole and can’t even hope to decide where to frame the scene so that it looks like anything more than a disorganized jumble.”
Kira continued chattering away and Tessa kept one ear marginally tuned in, but the lion’s share of her focus was on the file download and creating separate folders for each subject.
It was only when the chatter died down that Tessa looked up and blinked. “What?”
“I know today was a pain in the arse.” Kira reached across the table and laid her hand over Tessa’s arm. Kira was a toucher by nature, a nurturer of the first order.
Tessa had discovered she was neither—which worked out well in her line of work. It was usually intrinsic to her job to operate apart from whatever was going on around her, so it was rare that anyone touched her deliberately, and certainly not so casually. Or kindly. When someone put hands on her, it was usually in an attempt to separate her from her equipment, or remove her bodily from wherever she happened to be standing at the moment.
That she could handle. That she expected. It went with the job.
This … this threatened her. She didn’t know how to handle it. Especially now. So she carefully slid her arm free under the guise of needing to type on the keyboard.
“I know taking pictures of any kind wasn’t what you came here to do. For that, I’m sorry.”
Tessa purposefully didn’t meet Kira’s direct gaze. She had made plenty of acquaintances in her years traveling the globe as a photo-journalist. But there was only one person who knew her. Truly knew her. Tessa was well aware that her story about wanting to take a little holiday and catch up with her old friend had only been accepted on the surface. She’d told Kira she was experiencing a little burnout, hoping that would explain her fatigue and general crankiness. She’d be fine if Kira would just allow them to operate under that pleasant façade.
“Maybe shooting half-naked Scots was exactly what I needed,” Tessa said, though not with any real conviction. “Who wouldn’t like a break from the ravages of war and mother nature for a little time spent staring at some beefcake instead? Who knows, could be the launch of an entire new career direction.” And God help me, I need one.
Her attempt at levity was met with a sincere smile that had everything to do with extending compassion and little to do with amusement.
“Do they give Pulitzers for beefcake shots?” Tessa asked, pretending to ponder the question quite seriously as she went back to her computer screen. And hid.
Kira picked up her tea mug and scooted her chair around so she could look over Tessa’s shoulder. “Lord, give me mercy,” she said on a choked whisper and put her mug down.
“Looking a little different to you now, are they?” Tessa’s smile came more naturally, and she was thankful to shift the focus to her work. Even if the series of shots weren’t exactly her proudest accomplishment.
“All I can say is, I’m thinkin’ the Pulitzer panel might create a new category just for you if they got a load of these.”
“Who knows, the world might be a better place if they did.” Tessa clicked open another file and forced her shoulders to relax. She was safe now. And, for the first time since she and her gear had been thrust back into service, she was thankful for the distraction of it all. It provided a topic of conversation, which was an easy way to keep the focus off her personally. The way she always preferred it to be. “Where is that chocolate, anyway? This is just the beginning. We’ll need stamina.”
Kira fanned her face as she pushed her chair back. “Well, it’s grueling work, but somebody must do it if we’re to help boost the local economy’s infrastructure.” She got up and went over to the counter. “We’re such altruistic, caring women, that’s what we are.”
“Hearts of gold,” Tessa said with a dry laugh. For the first time, she felt like she’d made the right choice, truly, in coming to Kinloch. She’d known Kira since they’d gone to boarding school together in London. She’d been bad at keeping in touch with everyone else who’d crossed her path, mostly because she hadn’t felt compelled to stay connected. But despite their lives taking completely disparate paths, Kira had doggedly refused to be dropped from Tessa’s orbit. Over the years, Tessa had done her level best to keep from exasperating her only true friend too badly, but even with her best intentions, long periods would elapse between their communications.
When she’d finally capitulated to the overwhelming evidence that she needed to exit the field for a bit … there was only one place she could go. Only one person she could trust herself to turn to. Being holed up alone somewhere was the last thing she needed. She’d at least admitted that much to herself. So she’d tracked Kira down, stunned and shamed to learn her happily settled, London-based friend was recently divorced and had retreated to her own childhood home with the same need to exit her personal battlefield.
Tessa was thankful Kira had found the solace and healing she’d needed in coming back to Kinloch, but that didn’t ease her shame in not being there for her best and only friend in her dire time of need. She was objective enough about herself to know that while Kira might love her despite her faults, she had probably also known that Tessa hadn’t been the one to turn to for help or comfort.
It made her deeply question what kind of person she’d become—because Kira would have been right. Keeping herself from feeling … well, anything, was the only way Tessa had managed to do her job.
Fortunately, Kira had had a real home to return to. The only home Tessa had wasn’t a place she could go. Frankly, and possibly quite pathetically, the only home she had was wherever Kira was.
She’d been blessed by the open-armed welcome she’d received when she’d shown up on her oldest and only friend’s doorstep—duffel bag and camera gear in tow—and a haunted, ravaged look on her face.
Kira busied herself cutting up pieces of tiffin and digging out plates, while Tessa slid mercifully into the autopilot zone of work. They weren’t challenging images. And that was fine with her at the moment.
Kira slid the plate of freshly baked heaven onto the table, and topped off Tessa’s mug with hot water. “Stop worrying.”
Tessa looked up and frowned, truly nonplussed. “About what? The calendar guys? I’m not worried. We’ve got some decent shots. It was good light out there yesterday. And the subjects were willing enough.” Most of them, anyway. Her thoughts veered to Roan and his affable grin and his big … sword, and she veered them right back. “You’ll have as good a chance of winning this thing as anybody else.”
Kira smiled. “I’ve always admired your ability to own your talent.”
Tessa shrugged.