I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. “No, he’s doing it right.” I trip the flash a couple more times to give him a minute to get the ring out and ready.
And then the entire world pauses for a moment, holding its breath, as he asks her, “Darcy Albrecht, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
I click a few perfect frames, his hands reaching up and all his love showing so clearly in his eyes. What I wouldn't give to have someone look at me like that, just once.
He fidgets a little and then says, “Darcy. Please. You have to answer me, okay?”
At which point she launches herself at him and tackles him to the ground. “You big idiot. Yes. Did you really think I’d say anything to you other than yes?”
I feel almost guilty for watching them. It's a private moment. Something that I wouldn’t ordinarily be privy to, but I am. I’m only here because I’m doing something that he asked me to do. Specifically, I'm capturing this particular time for them, so they can look at the photographs later and remember how this very special moment felt.
But then they start making out in earnest, and it's definitely time for me to wrap things up here and get packed up. My eyes skate over to the other handsome man, who is watching the two lovebirds with a far off look on his face. He looks like he envies them almost as much as I do, but when he catches me looking, he clears his face of anything other than a leer and he saunters over in my direction.
Here's the thing. I know he doesn't recognize me. I was nothing but a clumsy thirteen year old kid with a spectacularly bad haircut the last time he saw me in person, and he was the most gorgeous eighteen year old man breathing on the entire earth, my very first crush and the subject of many teenage daydreams for me all thanks to his bro-mance with my older brother.
My brother Elliott was the kind of guy who always made friends with an entire phalanx of handsome, athletic guys easily. He was the varsity sports player, and the honor society student, and he did all the usual "man" chores around our house--the trash stuff, the car stuff, and dealing with any bugs or vermin. He was popular and good at everything.
And me? Well, I was bookish. I was nerdy. I was a little bit artsy. But I was already plumper than I'd like to be and even the girls I thought of as my friends didn't hesitate to let me know they thought I was fat. Too fat to be attractive to the boys I was starting to really notice.
And then Ken Daniels moved in three doors down from us, and of course he became best friends with Elliott. And next thing you knew, Daniels was at our house all the time, making jokes, playing basketball, and goofing off. Guy stuff. Extra hot, delicious guy stuff, and all I could do was watch.
I might as well have been invisible to him even back then, Elliott's kid sister with the frizzy hair and the mouthful of braces. And now here he was, shirtless and grown into all the promise of his eighteen-year-old hotness. What had been a lean teenage physique has leveled up into hot, lickable muscles. What had been a cute face is now matured into the sharp angles of a bearded, handsome man. The only things that haven't changed about him at all are his ridiculous sense of humor and the fact that I am still completely invisible to him.
I don't want to be though. I am so tired of not existing to people, except for whenever they'd take it upon themselves to comment on whatever I was eating or tell me how much prettier I'd be if I would lose some weight. Then they'd see me, whenever they could find a way to make me feel a little bit terrible about myself just for being the person I am.
But it's clear he doesn't recognize me at all when Ken Daniels looms over me and flashes me an oily looking smile. "You should really put your hand on my pants."
I pause, unable to respond because what on earth is he talking about right now? I manage to close my mouth and then clear my throat. "Excuse me?"
He grins at me again, a dimple popping out on the upper side of his left cheek. "I said you should really put your hand on my pants."
I wait, then shake my head as if to clear his words from my ears. "Um, no. No thanks. I'm good."
He comes a little closer until I'm eye level with his knees. Can a man even have hot knees? Because somehow Ken Daniels does. Somehow even his freaking kneecaps are sexy to me and it makes me want to either run away or scream.
I take a deep breath, but instead of steadying myself with a rush of oxygen, I get a deep, heady whiff of his spicy cologne, hot male skin, and a little undercurrent of smoke. He smells delicious. My mouth is practically watering now.
"Go ahead and feel them." He pauses and waggles his eyebrows at me. "They're boyfriend material." He winks then, the punchline to his little joke. And it's embarrassing to me, but I do think he's kind of funny, just probably not in the way he means to be.
Who am I trying to kid? He’s hot enough that it’s beyond okay for him to use tacky ass jokes as pick-up lines. I think Ken Daniels is about eleventy million times hotter than he was when we were growing up, and I've never quite gotten over my tender adolescent daydreams of him being my first kiss. Except the version of that kiss that floods my mind right now involves teeth and tongue and a lot of moaning. Maybe even a little bit of hair pulling. Definitely some heavy petting.
But I really need to stop thinking about moaning and hair pulling right now. I can't let him see what his proximity does to me. Everyone knows this guy lives to get with the hottest women he can on a short term basis, and I'm wasting yet more of my life mooning around after him like a dope, exactly like when I was nothing to him but an awkward little kid. Time to focus on the job at hand, not Ken Daniels' hot as hell half-naked body.
I gesture toward the box of puppies. "Why don't you go over there and see if you can find an especially cute little buddy to snuggle with and I'll take your picture, okay?"
His face unfolds into a genuine smile then, the kind that shows he has an actual heart and some feelings underneath all that fake joking he does.
"Aw," he coos tenderly as he reaches carefully into the box. "This one's so tiny." He lifts the smallest of the puppies close to his face, cupping it gently in his large palm. The puppy responds by licking him enthusiastically.
I mean, yes. That does seem like the best possible response to being that close to this particular hot guy's face. I'd certainly like to lick him.
My face heats up at the thought.
"Hey Lily," he says, drawing my name out in a sing-song type of way that makes it sound like he might like my name at least. The shape and feel of the word in his mouth. "What's the deal with the puppies anyway?"
My cheeks are burning hot and I hate how easily I get embarrassed, but I can't seem to help it, and especially not with a man like him. Everything he says to me has got me back in my thirteen-year-old first crush type feelings today. Or maybe it's the roomful of half-naked hot guys that has me all wound up tight today.
I lick my lips and watch as his eyes flash down to trace the movement. Heat unfurls in my stomach and the knowledge hits me that it's definitely not all the unusually hot firefighters in our county parading around half-naked that’s having this effect on me.
Just this one particular firefighter. The one who's watching my mouth.
"Um, well they're all up for adoption at the shelter. We're hoping that featuring the puppies will help bring in some donations for the shelter's operating costs, but also might result in one or more of these little ones getting a good home." I shrug a little. "It was Darcy's idea."