She turned the camera over, ran fingertips over the leather casing.
She’d not taken photos of people back then, so much as old leaves piled up in their backyard, jasmine trailing over their broken fence, a flat tyre dumped in the pristine creek that ran behind their place.
Chaos and harmony. Death and rebirth. Themes that had helped her make sense of her nomadic reality had resonated with people far beyond the boundaries of their small town after entering a few online contests had brought her attention. Prizes. Money. Opportunities. Notoriety. And, ironically, a way out of the nomadic existence that had led to her interest in the first place.
She tilted the thing towards the window, around waist height, and looked down into the small viewfinder.
The first time she’d seen Rafe had been through that lens.
She’d been lying on the bank of the river, the camera to her eye, stones digging into her back, a hank of her long tatty hair floating in the water, trying to get the best angle on the crooked branches hanging overhead, when a face had suddenly blocked her view.
And a deep, male, teenaged voice had said, “What you lookin’ at?”
Sable moved the camera a fraction, until the angles were sharp. She held her breath as she waited for the waft of the gauzy white curtain hanging from her old bedroom window to hit the right spot and...
Click.
She blinked, pulled the camera away from her eye. A quick check of the gauge showed her a small black number eight. She turned the crank over, watched the word Kodak appear, then the number nine.
“Huh.” Would the film still be viable? Unlikely. Nevertheless, Sable slid the frayed rope attached to the camera around her neck, popped her phone case in her pocket, then headed out into the fray.
It must have rained while she dozed, the sky now a dome of pale grey cloud that refracted the weak light in such a way it made a person squint. Still, surrounded by towns with names such as Bright and Mount Beauty, it really was a pretty part of the world. And at its prettiest now, bolstered by the array of rich autumn colours.
Sable tucked her hands as deep as she could in the satin pockets of her coat. Her breath made white clouds in front of her as she walked. Her feet turned numb in boots made for form over function. Her belly rumbled.
When she spotted a sign that read The Coffee Shop she could have wept with relief.
She ducked inside, a small brass bell tinkling as the door sprang shut behind her. The place was warm and lovely. Retro black-and-white-tiled floor, recycled wooden bar, huge shiny coffee machine, ironic quotes hung in mismatched frames on the matt black walls—Radiance had gone hipster.
“Sable Sutton.”
Sable spun to find a huge, bearded man grinning at her from behind the counter.
“I’m Bear,” he said, banging a meaty paw against his puffed-out chest. “You don’t know me. New in town. But I know who you are.”
For a beat Sable felt that slight lift in her chest that came when people recognised her. Once upon a time it had felt like validation. For her work. Her tenacity. For the hard choices she’d made in order to make something of herself.
But nowadays she was far better known for being “that famous chef’s ex-girlfriend, the one he cheated on”.
She looked to the door, regretting the fact she’d have to head back out into the cold, her stomach still empty.
When Bear called, “Sorry. That sounded creepy. Please stay. I make great coffee.”
Sable turned to see a face screwed up with chagrin, and beyond the gruff exterior a pair of kind eyes.
She moved to the counter. Sat. Unhooked the strap of her old camera from around her neck to lay it on the bench.
“There we go. What’ll it be?” asked Bear.
She glanced at the chalkboard, an order for cool, weak, green tea on the tip of her tongue. But the thing was, she didn’t much like tea, green or otherwise. The chef had his own line of them, so that was what they’d drunk in public. Like so much of her life, it had been easier to go with the flow.
No more.
“Double espresso, please,” she said. “Strong. Scorching hot.”
“Dark, strong, hot,” he repeated. “Just how I like my men.”
He held out a fist, she gave it a bump in solidarity.
Bear grinned. “When I moved here, I imagined I’d find hordes of them. Strong silent types. All scarred and muscled from chopping wood all the time.”
They both paused, as the coffee machine hissed and steamed, imaginations whirring.
“No luck?” Sable asked when all was quiet.
Bear slid her drink across the counter. “Well, I won’t say I’ve had no luck...”
Sable smiled and found herself wondering if Rafe still fitted that bill. Or he might have a beer belly. Thinning hair.
She hoped he was content. Had tearing down his father’s house exorcised the demons he’d carried with him as a kid? Or had the fire in his belly morphed into something darker?
Was he single? What if he had kids?
No. No kids. That she was sure of. It had been their one sticking point, the one thing they’d ever truly argued about. For him children would never be on the cards. Growing up the way he had—his mother deserting them, his father an angry drunk—having all but raised Janie on his own had devoured any desire on that score.
She’d cried into her pillow more than once, knowing that choosing him would mean giving up her own dream to have a family. A very different family from the way she grew up.
Before she’d taken the decision off the table entirely by leaving.
Only now, with her newfound clarity, she’d figured out a way for them both to get what they wanted.
Bear leant his elbows on the counter, bringing his face near level with hers. “Fair warning,” he said. “Now that we’re proper friends I feel like I should tell
