Read Online Picture Perfect (Butler Island) by Nikki Rittenberry - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nikki Rittenberry
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Apparently the magazine was beginning to appreciate her unique
perspective, her freelance compensation proof of her hard work and talent.
Photography had always been
rewarding—not always monetarily—but personally. She loved capturing moments in
time through the lens of her camera, sharing
her perspective anonymously through her still shots. It still amazed her
that photographs could evoke such emotion—without sound or movement: anger,
inspiration, empathy. Sorrow. Illustrating catastrophe in current events was
only part of the job—extracting emotion from the person viewing her work was of
utmost importance.
Since her return to the small island,
she hadn’t captured many shots. But that was soon going to change. She needed
to speak with Chief Handler and ask permission to accompany the firefighters on
future calls. Most likely she’d only capture the rescue of the occasional
stranded cat in a tree. But on the off-chance that another “ suspicious” fire broke out, she wanted to be prepared.
The sun was finally beginning to win
its battle with the murky clouds, its warm radiance glaring upon her skin.
After quickly heading inside, she reached for her camera and her keys. Her
destination: the beach. The jellyfish encounter robbed her of the opportunity
to capture still shots of the powdery sand, clear gulf water, and the hypnotic
horizon several weeks ago and with the clouds finally dissipating, a quiet
afternoon with her camera at the beach was long overdue.
Raising his forearm to his brow,
Grant wiped a bead of sweat away. He’d been sanding the exterior siding of his
beach house for most of the morning, preparing the wood for a fresh coat of
paint. He’d inherited the home after his grandpa died five years earlier. Over
the years he’d made improvements to the interior: painted the walls, refinished
the hardwood floors, and updated the kitchen and bathrooms. But he’d saved the
dull, lackluster exterior for last.
Grandpa Gibson was eighty-four when
he passed, his frail frame unable to manage the upkeep of his beloved home any
longer. When Grant had first moved in, the task of restoring the historical
stilt-home seemed daunting. He’d been so overwhelmed. After the initial shock
had subsided, he’d set a plan into motion and little by little, transformed his
inheritance into his personal coastal sanctuary.
The radiant sun chased the remaining
dismal clouds from the sky, casting its warm, rejuvenating rays upon his bare
back. A break from his hard work was long overdue. After tossing his sandpaper
into his toolbox, he sauntered inside, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and then
returned to the deck. He sat at the patio table and then took a pull from his
beer, scanning the horizon.
He hadn’t been able to get his date
with Olivia out of his mind. It was by far his best first date ever. He’d
learned a lot about her and had even shared a glimpse of his past—something he
didn’t do very often. In fact, come to think of it… that was a first for him,
too.
The Ferris wheel ride couldn’t have
gone better either. She’d been terrified, but had trusted him. Olivia stared
fear in the eyes, refusing to let it cripple her and observing it had
fascinated him. Hell, who was he kidding?—everything she did fascinated him!
He’d thoroughly enjoyed their kiss and judging by her erotic moans, she had as
well.
After they’d left the boardwalk she’d
driven him home. He’d kissed her goodbye—this time with more control and
restraint—and before he’d exited the car, she’d promised she’d call…
That was four days ago.
He’d carried his cell phone with him
everywhere, afraid he’d miss her call. He even dialed her number a time or two— okay,
more than a time or two— but had always hesitated to press the final digit. She’d said she would call. Maybe he was just overreacting? Maybe she’d been
busy…
Yeah, that was probably it. She was
probably organizing her closets or…
Listen
perspective, her freelance compensation proof of her hard work and talent.
Photography had always been
rewarding—not always monetarily—but personally. She loved capturing moments in
time through the lens of her camera, sharing
her perspective anonymously through her still shots. It still amazed her
that photographs could evoke such emotion—without sound or movement: anger,
inspiration, empathy. Sorrow. Illustrating catastrophe in current events was
only part of the job—extracting emotion from the person viewing her work was of
utmost importance.
Since her return to the small island,
she hadn’t captured many shots. But that was soon going to change. She needed
to speak with Chief Handler and ask permission to accompany the firefighters on
future calls. Most likely she’d only capture the rescue of the occasional
stranded cat in a tree. But on the off-chance that another “ suspicious” fire broke out, she wanted to be prepared.
The sun was finally beginning to win
its battle with the murky clouds, its warm radiance glaring upon her skin.
After quickly heading inside, she reached for her camera and her keys. Her
destination: the beach. The jellyfish encounter robbed her of the opportunity
to capture still shots of the powdery sand, clear gulf water, and the hypnotic
horizon several weeks ago and with the clouds finally dissipating, a quiet
afternoon with her camera at the beach was long overdue.
Raising his forearm to his brow,
Grant wiped a bead of sweat away. He’d been sanding the exterior siding of his
beach house for most of the morning, preparing the wood for a fresh coat of
paint. He’d inherited the home after his grandpa died five years earlier. Over
the years he’d made improvements to the interior: painted the walls, refinished
the hardwood floors, and updated the kitchen and bathrooms. But he’d saved the
dull, lackluster exterior for last.
Grandpa Gibson was eighty-four when
he passed, his frail frame unable to manage the upkeep of his beloved home any
longer. When Grant had first moved in, the task of restoring the historical
stilt-home seemed daunting. He’d been so overwhelmed. After the initial shock
had subsided, he’d set a plan into motion and little by little, transformed his
inheritance into his personal coastal sanctuary.
The radiant sun chased the remaining
dismal clouds from the sky, casting its warm, rejuvenating rays upon his bare
back. A break from his hard work was long overdue. After tossing his sandpaper
into his toolbox, he sauntered inside, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and then
returned to the deck. He sat at the patio table and then took a pull from his
beer, scanning the horizon.
He hadn’t been able to get his date
with Olivia out of his mind. It was by far his best first date ever. He’d
learned a lot about her and had even shared a glimpse of his past—something he
didn’t do very often. In fact, come to think of it… that was a first for him,
too.
The Ferris wheel ride couldn’t have
gone better either. She’d been terrified, but had trusted him. Olivia stared
fear in the eyes, refusing to let it cripple her and observing it had
fascinated him. Hell, who was he kidding?—everything she did fascinated him!
He’d thoroughly enjoyed their kiss and judging by her erotic moans, she had as
well.
After they’d left the boardwalk she’d
driven him home. He’d kissed her goodbye—this time with more control and
restraint—and before he’d exited the car, she’d promised she’d call…
That was four days ago.
He’d carried his cell phone with him
everywhere, afraid he’d miss her call. He even dialed her number a time or two— okay,
more than a time or two— but had always hesitated to press the final digit. She’d said she would call. Maybe he was just overreacting? Maybe she’d been
busy…
Yeah, that was probably it. She was
probably organizing her closets or…
Listen
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