mold.”
Marjo smiled. “That’s a really nice way of putting it.”
He moved closer to her, making room for Louella Purcell. The older woman lumbered past him, thefeather on her wide-brimmed black hat bobbing along and her little dog, JoJo, trying to squirm out of her tight grip.
“I noticed something else, too,” Paul went on when Louella had passed them. “The pictures Gabriel took captured different elements of Indigo than mine did. He saw details that were important to him. A chair on a veranda, a baby bird in a tree. When you look at his pictures, you see the town through his eyes.”
“And if I looked at your photos,” she said, moving closer still as the room filled up, “would I see it through your eyes?”
“Those were shot through the vision you gave me,” he said, his voice low and soft.
“Me?”
“The story you told about La Petite Maison, the passion you have for this place—it’s all impacted the way I now see this place.”
She considered Paul for a long time, the conversation with Jenny still fresh in her mind. Maybe…maybe there was a possibility she could get Paul to support the opera house, to see it the way she did. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”
“No, not at the moment.” He grinned. “Why? Do you have plans for me?”
She winked. “Nothing nefarious, I promise.”
“Pity.”
The way he said that made her wish she did, indeed, have some other purpose in mind. “Meet meat the opera house at ten. I did promise to show it to you.”
She was called away by Henry to answer the phone, but as Marjo left Paul, she felt more buoyant about the future than she had in weeks. If it was the last thing she did, she would bring Paul Clermont around to her side.
And then, maybe, she could win back the support of the rest of the town. Of the two, she suspected Paul was the harder sell.
Maybe Cally was right. It was time to get out a little honey.
W HEN P AUL GOT BACK to his room at La Petite Maison, he saw the green light on his cell phone flashing, telling him he had a message. He unhooked the phone from the charger, then took it outside on the veranda to enjoy the cool evening breeze.
Frogs croaked somewhere in the bayou, crickets chirped, night birds sang their songs. It was the melody of Indigo, and it was oddly peaceful.
When he connected with his voice mail, he heard the deep bass of Joe, his editor, barking into the machine. “Hey, Paul, I’ve got one you’re going to like. Right in your own backyard, too.”
Indigo?
He quickly realized that wasn’t the place Joe meant.
“There’s this group of fishermen in Nova Scotia,” the message continued. “Survived a near sinkingand a hell of a storm. Sort of like The Perfect Storm, but with a happier ending.” Joe chuckled. “Anyway, I want you to get up there ASAP and get me some photos of the guys, the boat, for next month’s issue. They’ve avoided the media, wouldn’t even take the money from the Enquirer for a shoot, but I know you can get their story. Hell, you could pull a story out of roadkill. Besides, this one’s got human interest written all over it. Might even get you one of those awards.” His editor laughed, then hung up.
There it was, the out he had wanted. But for the first time since Paul had picked up a camera, he didn’t want to rush out on assignment. He wanted to stay right here, snap another picture of a cypress or an alligator, take a few minutes to show Gabriel how to make the most of every shot, help him find the story in each picture.
And most of all, he wanted to show Marjo a bit of his world.
Hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to show Marjo more than that. He wanted to spend time with her, this spitfire woman who pushed all the wrong buttons and yet still managed to intrigue him as no one ever had before.
She was fire and ice, both strong and distant, full of a passion that lurked beneath that all-business exterior.
For the first time since his divorce, he found himself
Marjo smiled. “That’s a really nice way of putting it.”
He moved closer to her, making room for Louella Purcell. The older woman lumbered past him, thefeather on her wide-brimmed black hat bobbing along and her little dog, JoJo, trying to squirm out of her tight grip.
“I noticed something else, too,” Paul went on when Louella had passed them. “The pictures Gabriel took captured different elements of Indigo than mine did. He saw details that were important to him. A chair on a veranda, a baby bird in a tree. When you look at his pictures, you see the town through his eyes.”
“And if I looked at your photos,” she said, moving closer still as the room filled up, “would I see it through your eyes?”
“Those were shot through the vision you gave me,” he said, his voice low and soft.
“Me?”
“The story you told about La Petite Maison, the passion you have for this place—it’s all impacted the way I now see this place.”
She considered Paul for a long time, the conversation with Jenny still fresh in her mind. Maybe…maybe there was a possibility she could get Paul to support the opera house, to see it the way she did. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”
“No, not at the moment.” He grinned. “Why? Do you have plans for me?”
She winked. “Nothing nefarious, I promise.”
“Pity.”
The way he said that made her wish she did, indeed, have some other purpose in mind. “Meet meat the opera house at ten. I did promise to show it to you.”
She was called away by Henry to answer the phone, but as Marjo left Paul, she felt more buoyant about the future than she had in weeks. If it was the last thing she did, she would bring Paul Clermont around to her side.
And then, maybe, she could win back the support of the rest of the town. Of the two, she suspected Paul was the harder sell.
Maybe Cally was right. It was time to get out a little honey.
W HEN P AUL GOT BACK to his room at La Petite Maison, he saw the green light on his cell phone flashing, telling him he had a message. He unhooked the phone from the charger, then took it outside on the veranda to enjoy the cool evening breeze.
Frogs croaked somewhere in the bayou, crickets chirped, night birds sang their songs. It was the melody of Indigo, and it was oddly peaceful.
When he connected with his voice mail, he heard the deep bass of Joe, his editor, barking into the machine. “Hey, Paul, I’ve got one you’re going to like. Right in your own backyard, too.”
Indigo?
He quickly realized that wasn’t the place Joe meant.
“There’s this group of fishermen in Nova Scotia,” the message continued. “Survived a near sinkingand a hell of a storm. Sort of like The Perfect Storm, but with a happier ending.” Joe chuckled. “Anyway, I want you to get up there ASAP and get me some photos of the guys, the boat, for next month’s issue. They’ve avoided the media, wouldn’t even take the money from the Enquirer for a shoot, but I know you can get their story. Hell, you could pull a story out of roadkill. Besides, this one’s got human interest written all over it. Might even get you one of those awards.” His editor laughed, then hung up.
There it was, the out he had wanted. But for the first time since Paul had picked up a camera, he didn’t want to rush out on assignment. He wanted to stay right here, snap another picture of a cypress or an alligator, take a few minutes to show Gabriel how to make the most of every shot, help him find the story in each picture.
And most of all, he wanted to show Marjo a bit of his world.
Hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to show Marjo more than that. He wanted to spend time with her, this spitfire woman who pushed all the wrong buttons and yet still managed to intrigue him as no one ever had before.
She was fire and ice, both strong and distant, full of a passion that lurked beneath that all-business exterior.
For the first time since his divorce, he found himself
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