Love Is Crazy (Love Is… #1) (3 page)

I
can’t believe
I met Dominic Frickin’ Kane last night. And he’s as good looking as his pictures. And he’s as down to earth as he seems online. There’s no way I’m not going to see him again before he leaves. I have too many questions.

What’s it really like to live without a home?

What is his favorite place to visit?

His favorite picture he’s taken?

How does he afford to live out of hotels?

Has he ever had to sleep in the street?

How close has he been to a lion?

He said he’s staying at a bed and breakfast which is all the information I need. Townsbury is small. So small it really doesn’t warrant a B&B, but somehow it earned one anyway. Good news for me is that there’s only one possible place Dominic could be staying. Bad news for me is that I haven’t figure out just how crazy stalkery it makes me if I just show up uninvited and start asking him questions.

Well. I take that back. I’m fairly sure that means I fit squarely into the definition of a crazy stalker, but I’m just not sure how much I care. How many times will I have an opportunity like this? I may never actually get to travel. I’d be a fool to pass up the chance to talk to someone who makes a living doing it.

But, because I’m not so sure if Maya and Chelsea will count hanging out with Dominic as dating, I can’t help but feel like I need to clear it with them first. Okay. I take that back again. I definitely know they’ll count it as dating. I also know that they won’t approve because he pretty much doesn’t meet a single one of their criteria. That’s why I’m heading over to Maya’s this evening. I’ll just tell her about why he’s so awesome, why he doesn’t really fit into their anti-criteria and we’ll be good to go. Surely, as soon as I explain everything to her, she’ll understand why I have to hang out with Dominic.

We can just put this whole Find the Right Guy for Dakota plan on hold while he’s in town. There’s no way they can’t see how much sense it makes. Well, I take that back, too. There’s no way Chelsea will understand. She’ll see me getting all excited about a guy who just spells trouble in her eyes and that’s all there is to it. Chelsea sees the world in black and white. There are right answers and wrong answers and very little wriggle room between them. That works for her.

But me? I’m all about the shades of gray and all the other colors in between.

Which is why I’m bringing this up to Maya first. She’s been caught between our arguments pretty much since I came into existence. If anyone can smooth the way for me to explain this to Chelsea, it’s Maya.

It’s one of those great days at the end of summer where it’s still warm enough to wear shorts but not at all humid. Where the light is bright and perfect and the wind blows just enough to rustle in your hair without messing it up. I drive over to Maya’s house, singing along to the radio as if I actually had a decent voice. Which I don’t. But hey! It’s my car and I love to sing. No one can judge what they don’t hear. I pull up in front of Maya’s perfectly sensible house and admire her perfectly weeded flowerbeds as I wander up the walk towards the door.

She’s waiting for me in one of her lounge chairs on the front porch, eyebrows lifted, gaze locked onto the bottle of wine in my hand.

“You want something,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“Sure I do. To hang out with my sister.”

Maya shakes her head. “Nope. You only bring wine when you want to get me tipsy and butter me up.” She narrows her eyes. “You met someone.”

“I did not.” Technically that’s not a full on lie. I already knew who he was. Kind of. Through Instagram. That kind of counts as knowing him already.

Maya purses her lips and stares me down. “No. You met someone. And you’re afraid we won’t like him.”

“Now that is definitely not true. I know you’ll like him.”

Maya stands up and takes the bottle from my hand with a sigh. “Well come on in. Let’s get some glasses and you can tell me all the reasons you don’t want Chelsea to know about him.” She hits me with a knowing look and heads into the house. I follow her dutifully and plop down on her couch, kicking off my shoes and tucking my feet underneath me.

“Where’d you meet him?” she asks from the kitchen.

“Uhhh…” Great. She’s going to pull a Chelsea and tick off all the boxes on the list they made for me. “At the bar.”

She just laughs at me, shaking her head as she puts two empty glasses down on the coffee table and pulls the cork out of the bottle.

“But he’s not just any guy.” I pull out my phone and open up Instagram, click on his profile and hand it over to Maya.

Her brow crinkles and she brings the phone closer to her face. “Is that you?”

“Huh? No. That’s Dominic Kane. The world renowned travel photographer who just happened to come into The Bad Apple last night.” I go right ahead and pour the wine, going a little heavier than I had originally planned.

“No. I’m not dumb. I know how to Instagram. But here. This picture. It’s you.” Maya sits down beside me and I peek at the pic on the screen. That’s me all right. All cropped in close, the rows of bottles and lights behind me a blur. It’s somehow stillness and chaos all in one.

“Damn,” says Maya. “If there was ever a picture that described you. This would be the one.”

I look a little closer and then sit back, shaking my head. “Nah. That girl is too mysterious to be me. Look at that smile. The secret in her eyes. I’m just plain old Dakota. That girl has magic in her soul.”

“Exactly,” says Maya as she hands me back the phone. I take one last look at the picture. It had to be the one Dominic took while I was getting his drink. “I’ll be honest. I wish I looked like that. He’s just that good of a photographer that he can me me look that good. Look, he took this one, too.” I close out Instagram and pull out the picture of the two of us together.

“Wow.” Maya takes the phone from me. “He’s so intense! All that dark hair and five o’clock shadow? He’s so everything you ever look for in a guy.” She pulls the phone in close again. “And look at you. He caught everything that makes you who you are in this one, too. I want those pictures.”

I send them to her and make her promise not to post them anywhere, remembering Dominic’s stern warning about his intellectual property last night. I’m mostly sure he was joking around with me, but it’s probably better to err on the side of caution there.

“So, can I date him?” I ask after we’re about halfway through our first glass.

“Did he ask you out?”

“Well, no. Not officially. He did ask me to show him around town.”

“That’s another check in the no category.”

“How is that a no?”

“Dakota. He didn’t even ask you out.” Maya says it like that explains everything.

“So? I’m sure he wanted to. And I bet he will. Or hell. I’ll ask him out.” I widen my eyes. “Shocking, I know!”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“Hey wait. You said
another
.
Another
check in the no column. What’s the first check?”

“You met him at The Bad Apple. That’s like, one of the biggest reasons to say no that I can think of.

“Yeah, but…”

“Don’t yeah but me.” Maya slides her hand up into her dark hair and props her elbow on the arm of the couch. “Does he have a job?”

“Yep.” I smile proudly, glad to be able to answer in the affirmative. “A fucking cool one.”

“Right. Travel photographer.” Maya takes a long drink of her wine. “Gotta admit, of all the possible jobs out there, that one really is a good match for you.”

“Exactly!” I say. I knew Maya would understand. “So maybe that’s one in the yes column.”

“Does he have a house?”

“Well see, that’s the thing. He doesn’t have a house because he travels all the time. Which makes total sense when you think about it and I don’t think it should count against me. I mean him.”

Maya raises an eyebrow. “Car?”

I shake my head.

“Does he meet any of the requirements we talked about the other night? Any of them at all?”

“He has a job.”

“Right,” she says, drawing out the word. “A job that means he travels all over the world and won’t even be here for you to actually date.”

I take a long breath and let it out slowly. “I mean, when you put it like that, it’s pretty clear that Dominic Kane is bad news and I should just leave him alone.”

“But you’re not going to do that, are you?”

“There’s not one chance in hell.”

S
ometimes
, when I’m out in the world, watching the sun chase the dark out of the sky, I feel so small and so insignificant that it’s almost soothing. Today is one of those days. The bed and breakfast that hired me is the only building for miles. Set high on a hill. Surrounded by fields and trees. This morning, the dew is still wet in the grass as the sun sets the sky on fire. I put my camera down on the ground, let it capture the glimmer of water on the grass, the gleam of light in the sky outlining the stately house up on the hill. I just need a few more shots of the outside of the place before I can head inside and start capturing the charm of the interior.

With the light cooperating like it is, I should be able to sell the shit out of this place. They’ll get some great pictures for their promotional work, but as a sort of bonus, I’ll post some pics to my Instagram account and I bet they will have the rooms booked full within days. Maybe I can figure out a topic for a YouTube video while I’m here. Get some shots of the area while I do.

Whatever I do, I’m going to need some coffee. I stayed out way too late last night, talking with that cute bartender at that raggedy old bar. One look at The Bad Apple told me it was not my kind of place but for whatever reason I stopped in anyway. Turns out I’m really glad I did. Dakota London might turn out to be one of the most intriguing people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.

Which is saying a lot because I’ve met a lot of people in a lot of places. Imagine my surprise when I find someone who captures my attention the most in a town just a few miles away from where I grew up.

I head inside and wander into the dining area, snapping pictures as I do. I fully expect to be alone, given that not many people on vacation choose to be up at the butt crack of dawn like me, but there’s an elderly couple sharing a table in the corner when I walk in. I watch them as I drink my coffee.

They hold hands across the table. Look deeply in each other’s eyes. Smile. Laugh at each other’s whispered comments. It’s so different than so many elderly couples I’ve seen, who stare past each other in silence. Or worse, gripe at each other over every little thing they say or do. This couple has happiness etched into their wrinkled faces. Laugh lines instead of frown lines.

With the way the light spills through the window near their table, landing on their clasped hands and splashing up onto their smiling faces, they would make such a fantastic subject for a picture that I can’t bring myself to pass up the chance to photograph them. I grab my gear and head their way.

“Good morning,” I say as they look up.

“Morning.” The old man dips his head in greeting.

“Thought I’d be the only one up this early.” I pull out a chair at a table near theirs and take a seat. We talk for a while. I ask them why they’re here and they tell me they’re celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

“And I love her now just as much as I did when I met her.” The old man reaches for his wife’s hand. Pats it twice before twining his fingers with hers.

“I believe it,” I say. “One look at the two of you together was enough to make me want to come get to know you. You seem so happy. It’s irresistible.”

“We are.” The old woman’s voice is thin and gravelly, well worn by age, but still so thick with love and emotion, it would be just as easy to believe that they were twenty-something and newlyweds.

“Mind sharing your secret?” I ask, leaning in. Elbows on knees. Smile on face. Friendly. Curious.

The old man looks at his wife. “I let her be her and she lets me be me,” he says after a bit of thought.

“And the beauty of it is that we love each other anyway.”

I laugh because she meant it to be funny but I can’t help but think how profound that simple statement is. As I ask them to take their picture and then set up the shot, I wonder if that’s the secret to finding a relationship that lasts. Discovering that one person out there that has all the ingredients I admire. Someone who sees life the way I see it and enjoys all the things I enjoy. They say opposites attract, but maybe that’s where it should end. Maybe the trick to looking into your lover’s eyes and still smiling at them fifty years later is finding someone just like you.

Of course, as stubborn as I am, as much as I like to be in control, maybe that’s as much a recipe for disaster as finding my opposite. Finding someone just like me sounds like we would be in for a lot of fighting for power. Maybe there is no recipe for love. Doesn’t matter. I’m not interested anyway. Love is a waste of time. Might as well just sign up for a broken heart. No thank you.

Shit. I sound like a woman this morning. Thinking all my deep thoughts. I blame the beauty of the sunrise and the sweetness of the couple at breakfast.

Hell. There I go again.

I thank the couple and head upstairs to upload the photographs from today. The picture of Dakota London catches my eye. I smile and wonder how many people found her just as striking as I did last night. Opening up Instagram is sure to eat away my day, replying to all the comments that have been rolling in since yesterday, but I do it anyway, promising myself that I won’t reply, just take a peek.

The first thing I see is that someone with the username of DoLo has tagged me in a post. Only a few clicks and I see that it’s the picture I took of Dakota and me last night. It has a metric fuck ton of likes and comments already. It doesn’t take long to figure out that DoLo is Dakota. And the picture I posted of her last night? The one of her at the bar? It has even more likes and comments then the one she posted of us together. I message her without thinking.

I mess with my phone, replying to comments even though I said I wouldn’t while I wait for her reply.

I tap out a few more comments while I figure out just how to respond to her. Finally, I decide to just get right to the point.

I don’t have to wait at all for her response to come in.

I barely know the woman, but sitting here in my room, one of hundreds I’ve been in this year alone, I can hear the twist of wit in her sweet like candy voice. See the little toss of her head, the one that lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. The one that inevitably makes my eyes drop to her full breasts. And then to the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips.

Freedom is sublime,
I respond.

I’m sure that isn’t the answer she wanted. I bet she needed to hear that I’d be at her work this evening. But, a little anticipation never hurt anyone. I want her so keyed up by the time I get there, that seeing my face makes her light up. After all, waiting for something makes it all the more exciting. Anticipation sweetens pleasure.