Park in Fort Myers would give her something to do, an excuse to stay up late.
“This will sure get his attention,” a woman sitting on a blanket said to her husband as she drew “We Love you B. J. Thomas” in thick red marker on poster board.
Vicki unfolded her blanket, spread it on the lawn, and sat down next to the couple. She missed her family and knew they would have loved to be here with her. She grew up on this music and had seen this guy many times in concerts back home.
To pass time before the concert started, Vicki walked over to the bridge and looked out at the Caloosahatchee River below. She pulled her camera out of her purse and peered through it, waiting for the clouds to shift before snapping the picture. It had to be just right. She always did this. She always tried taking perfect pictures, as if one day they might hang in a museum.
But the clouds weren’t moving. “Oh well,” she mumbled under her breath. “Hasta luego.” And she took the camera down from her face.
“Would you like me to take a picture with you in it?” A man in his late twenties wearing sporty sunglasses got off a black bike with no kickstand and laid it down on the cement.
“No thank you,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“Well, okay.” She handed him the disposable camera she had bought the day Rebecca wanted to take photos of a frozen Lake Michigan. Now she felt eager to use up all the pictures and get them developed, hoping she would have at least one shot of her friend in the twenty-four exposures.
As she stood in front of the setting sun, her eyes burned. It didn’t help that she had poured an ocean of eyedrops into them before the concert. She opened her eyes extra wide in an effort to hide the signs of sleep deprivation that might show up through the lens of the camera. She didn’t want the good-looking man taking the photo to notice the bags under her eyes. He didn’t. Good.
“Do you speak Spanish, or is hasta luego your main phrase?” he asked.
“I’m learning.”
“Muy bien,” he replied.
“You speak Spanish?” she asked.
“My parents are missionaries. I spent some time in South America as a kid.”
“Well, that sounds interesting,” she said with a smile. He took a few steps back and turned the camera, making it a vertical picture. “Oh, the music is starting. I don’t want to miss the opening.”
On “opening” he snapped the photo and handed the camera back to Vicki. The sun setting behind him made his sandy brown hair glow, and she noticed how gorgeous he was, like a Roman prince of sorts. The only thing missing was his halo. He wore a deep green T-shirt and black shorts. And he rode a black bike, not a flying white horse. If he’s a B.J. Thomas fan, Dad will give us permission to elope .
“My name is Ben O’Connor,” he said.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Vicki. You live around here?”
“I do,” he said. “And I bike just about everywhere, except when I’m working.” He handed the camera back to her.
“Well, thanks for taking the picture.”
“So what do you do? Are you in school, or do you work?”
“I’m in school in Michigan. I’m on summer break.”
“Michigan? Never been there. Nice state?”
“Great. They grow lots of Christmas trees, and the whole state has about fifty-four thousand farms.” She couldn’t believe her answer, although she knew his looks had caught her completely off guard, but she didn’t want to have an intelligent conversation. She wanted to stare. Maybe she could have written a great answer to his question, but it wasn’t an essay contest, just a conversational question. Grandma would have loved this one in a letter.
“Pride in one’s state. I like that,” he said.
She felt a smile stretching from ear to ear, and her face growing hot. “I’m only here for the summer, and I’ve got to find a job, quickly,” she added.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. Do you work around here?” Her sentences were becoming choppy. She
“This will sure get his attention,” a woman sitting on a blanket said to her husband as she drew “We Love you B. J. Thomas” in thick red marker on poster board.
Vicki unfolded her blanket, spread it on the lawn, and sat down next to the couple. She missed her family and knew they would have loved to be here with her. She grew up on this music and had seen this guy many times in concerts back home.
To pass time before the concert started, Vicki walked over to the bridge and looked out at the Caloosahatchee River below. She pulled her camera out of her purse and peered through it, waiting for the clouds to shift before snapping the picture. It had to be just right. She always did this. She always tried taking perfect pictures, as if one day they might hang in a museum.
But the clouds weren’t moving. “Oh well,” she mumbled under her breath. “Hasta luego.” And she took the camera down from her face.
“Would you like me to take a picture with you in it?” A man in his late twenties wearing sporty sunglasses got off a black bike with no kickstand and laid it down on the cement.
“No thank you,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“Well, okay.” She handed him the disposable camera she had bought the day Rebecca wanted to take photos of a frozen Lake Michigan. Now she felt eager to use up all the pictures and get them developed, hoping she would have at least one shot of her friend in the twenty-four exposures.
As she stood in front of the setting sun, her eyes burned. It didn’t help that she had poured an ocean of eyedrops into them before the concert. She opened her eyes extra wide in an effort to hide the signs of sleep deprivation that might show up through the lens of the camera. She didn’t want the good-looking man taking the photo to notice the bags under her eyes. He didn’t. Good.
“Do you speak Spanish, or is hasta luego your main phrase?” he asked.
“I’m learning.”
“Muy bien,” he replied.
“You speak Spanish?” she asked.
“My parents are missionaries. I spent some time in South America as a kid.”
“Well, that sounds interesting,” she said with a smile. He took a few steps back and turned the camera, making it a vertical picture. “Oh, the music is starting. I don’t want to miss the opening.”
On “opening” he snapped the photo and handed the camera back to Vicki. The sun setting behind him made his sandy brown hair glow, and she noticed how gorgeous he was, like a Roman prince of sorts. The only thing missing was his halo. He wore a deep green T-shirt and black shorts. And he rode a black bike, not a flying white horse. If he’s a B.J. Thomas fan, Dad will give us permission to elope .
“My name is Ben O’Connor,” he said.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Vicki. You live around here?”
“I do,” he said. “And I bike just about everywhere, except when I’m working.” He handed the camera back to her.
“Well, thanks for taking the picture.”
“So what do you do? Are you in school, or do you work?”
“I’m in school in Michigan. I’m on summer break.”
“Michigan? Never been there. Nice state?”
“Great. They grow lots of Christmas trees, and the whole state has about fifty-four thousand farms.” She couldn’t believe her answer, although she knew his looks had caught her completely off guard, but she didn’t want to have an intelligent conversation. She wanted to stare. Maybe she could have written a great answer to his question, but it wasn’t an essay contest, just a conversational question. Grandma would have loved this one in a letter.
“Pride in one’s state. I like that,” he said.
She felt a smile stretching from ear to ear, and her face growing hot. “I’m only here for the summer, and I’ve got to find a job, quickly,” she added.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. Do you work around here?” Her sentences were becoming choppy. She
Similar Books
