hoping the brisk walk would take my mind off Brandon. It wasn’t like I was lacking in the friends department. So really, it was his loss.
At least that’s what I told myself.
Two
I spent the next few weeks in a funk, and the Brandon Brushoff was only in part to blame. What made matters worse was how often I’d catch sight of him around town. And when he wasn’t around, my brain seemed particularly fond of conjuring thoughts of him up whether I liked it or not. In an effort to power through it, I’d taken treks along the river walk with only my camera for company, clicking away at anything that caught my eye.
Fall in Heartsville is a photographer’s wet dream: a riot of autumnal colors, morning frost glistening along the riverbanks, brisk days filled with an abundance of natural light, and brilliant hues dancing in the horizon at dusk.
But after my excursions, I sat at my iMac sorting through image after brooding image, becoming plagued by an unfamiliar level of discontent. I made half-hearted attempts at editing a few, but each action and filter applied merely magnified the sense of loneliness and isolation conveyed in the stark images. I needed to get out of my head for a bit, and a visit to Bookmarked was my best hope to accomplish it.
Bookmarked is a bookstore a few buildings over owned by my bestie, Mark Werner. Clever name, isn’t it? His place has a great vibe and is one of my favorite hideouts… I mean hangouts. Okay, fine. But my editing queue is a scary beast, and sometimes a guy needs to step away and breathe. If only I could squeeze more hours into a day.
Mark has been my bestie for as far back as I can remember. We met, we clicked, and that’s all she wrote. He got me, without explanation. He didn’t need decoder ring to decipher my mood when the snark took the wheel. Nah, he’s sorta the antidote to my bitchy, ranty side.
I watched with interest as Mark darted around the counter to assist an elderly customer. His cheerful smile and easy manner made him an engaging proprietor. He was a rock-solid friend who would call my ass out for being an antisocial workaholic, as can happen when a design project turns into a nightmare.
With the sale completed, he returned to the lounge area and sat on the ottoman in front of me. “So, what do you think?”
I admired the excited gleam in his eyes. It’d been absent in recent weeks. He’d been concerned with the store’s future success. Rightfully so, as the neighborhood bookstore was quickly becoming a thing of the past. But Mark’s plans were solid.
“It’s perfect.”
Not bothering to hide his suspicion, with one eyebrow lifted, he asked, “Yeah, what part do you like best?”
Ugh! This again? “I’m gonna start singing ‘Let it Go’ at the top of my lungs every time you bring this up,” I threatened. “Besides, I was paying attention.” Folding my arms defensively, I slouched further into the comfortably worn couch and pouted.
Both eyebrows shot up, but he remained silent, waiting me out. Apparently I had to suffer the indignity of a pop quiz. “Let’s see… the part where Aaron at Market Café agreed to provide treats and refreshments. Then there’s the part where you’ve corralled the mighty Shepherd Knight for a book signing. And finally, there’s the part where I’m going to be taking pictures of the event.” I was tempted to add a neener-neener. But that’d be childish, so I settled on an eye roll.
Slouching into the well-worn couch, I grumbled, “I haven’t spaced out mid-conversation in a long time.” Well, not with Mark at least. I’d learned my lesson. He was an expert hand at guilt trips. I had the ability to split my focus. Yes, I’m going with ability. It’s a skill, I tell you. One day I’ll convince him it’s my superpower. Until then, he just thinks it’s super rude when I zone out.
I grinned at his exasperated huff. “I still can’t believe you let me ramble on and on,” Mark said.
At least that’s what I told myself.
Two
I spent the next few weeks in a funk, and the Brandon Brushoff was only in part to blame. What made matters worse was how often I’d catch sight of him around town. And when he wasn’t around, my brain seemed particularly fond of conjuring thoughts of him up whether I liked it or not. In an effort to power through it, I’d taken treks along the river walk with only my camera for company, clicking away at anything that caught my eye.
Fall in Heartsville is a photographer’s wet dream: a riot of autumnal colors, morning frost glistening along the riverbanks, brisk days filled with an abundance of natural light, and brilliant hues dancing in the horizon at dusk.
But after my excursions, I sat at my iMac sorting through image after brooding image, becoming plagued by an unfamiliar level of discontent. I made half-hearted attempts at editing a few, but each action and filter applied merely magnified the sense of loneliness and isolation conveyed in the stark images. I needed to get out of my head for a bit, and a visit to Bookmarked was my best hope to accomplish it.
Bookmarked is a bookstore a few buildings over owned by my bestie, Mark Werner. Clever name, isn’t it? His place has a great vibe and is one of my favorite hideouts… I mean hangouts. Okay, fine. But my editing queue is a scary beast, and sometimes a guy needs to step away and breathe. If only I could squeeze more hours into a day.
Mark has been my bestie for as far back as I can remember. We met, we clicked, and that’s all she wrote. He got me, without explanation. He didn’t need decoder ring to decipher my mood when the snark took the wheel. Nah, he’s sorta the antidote to my bitchy, ranty side.
I watched with interest as Mark darted around the counter to assist an elderly customer. His cheerful smile and easy manner made him an engaging proprietor. He was a rock-solid friend who would call my ass out for being an antisocial workaholic, as can happen when a design project turns into a nightmare.
With the sale completed, he returned to the lounge area and sat on the ottoman in front of me. “So, what do you think?”
I admired the excited gleam in his eyes. It’d been absent in recent weeks. He’d been concerned with the store’s future success. Rightfully so, as the neighborhood bookstore was quickly becoming a thing of the past. But Mark’s plans were solid.
“It’s perfect.”
Not bothering to hide his suspicion, with one eyebrow lifted, he asked, “Yeah, what part do you like best?”
Ugh! This again? “I’m gonna start singing ‘Let it Go’ at the top of my lungs every time you bring this up,” I threatened. “Besides, I was paying attention.” Folding my arms defensively, I slouched further into the comfortably worn couch and pouted.
Both eyebrows shot up, but he remained silent, waiting me out. Apparently I had to suffer the indignity of a pop quiz. “Let’s see… the part where Aaron at Market Café agreed to provide treats and refreshments. Then there’s the part where you’ve corralled the mighty Shepherd Knight for a book signing. And finally, there’s the part where I’m going to be taking pictures of the event.” I was tempted to add a neener-neener. But that’d be childish, so I settled on an eye roll.
Slouching into the well-worn couch, I grumbled, “I haven’t spaced out mid-conversation in a long time.” Well, not with Mark at least. I’d learned my lesson. He was an expert hand at guilt trips. I had the ability to split my focus. Yes, I’m going with ability. It’s a skill, I tell you. One day I’ll convince him it’s my superpower. Until then, he just thinks it’s super rude when I zone out.
I grinned at his exasperated huff. “I still can’t believe you let me ramble on and on,” Mark said.
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