Page 49 of You Met Me There

Luke throws a hand in the air, motioning back at me as he says over his shoulder, “Ask her, Natalie.”

It’s the right thing to do, I know it is. But I already feel vulnerable enough being here. I’m out of my element, trying to fit into my past like a puzzle piece in the wrong box. Nothing feels right here. It never really did. That’s why I left.

I’ve been thinking about how I can get back to the photography I really love, and I think I’ve come up with a great idea. While I usually get hired for big shoots and travel around the states, I don’t want to leave Maple Lake right now if I don’t have to. A lot of families have been interested in family portraits, which I’m happy to do, but I miss being creative when I can take the liberty to do so.

With a deep breath, I hit share now on my newest social media post and cross my fingers. The post states that I’m in the Maple Lake area for a limited time and offering my services for a small discount for the summer.

Hopefully more content creators will reach out to book me. I need more than fake smiles from tired couples and crying toddlers. But I also know that most people who live in Maple Lake don’t make a ton of money. We don’t have billionaires in this part of the state, which is why I lowered my prices for a season.

Relaxing my shoulders, I set my phone on the little round table and look around the cafe. Le Fou is busy today. There’s a line reaching to the door, and I see more people gathering outside.

I’m glad I got here before the crowd since I’m not usually a morning person, but now that I have my post up, I’m ready to walk around town and snap photos for Juliet’s cabin.

I stand and gather my things, tucking a paper bag of maple sugar cookies into my purse for Luke. Jules’s friend Ali is behind the counter. She waves at me, and I smile and wave back before I grab my camera, toss my empty cup in the trash, and slip out the door, passing the growing line as I go.

Warmth covers my bare arms once I step outside. It’s already hot, the sun promising to melt the makeup off my face by noon. But I don’t mind; I love the sun. It’s one of the reasons why I love Florida.

Outside Le Fou, a wooden sign hangs over the door, displaying a jester with a silly hat. He laughs down at me, and I raise my camera to snap a photo, enjoying the way the sun trickles across his face. My feet carry me toward Maple Lake Diner next, where patrons sit on the other side of the windows, enjoying homemade breakfasts with coffee from white porcelain mugs that sport the diner’s logo. A curly-haired waitress with a short white apron stands beside a table by the nearest window, taking an order.

I photograph the moment, unseen in my shadowy spot on the sidewalk.

For a few seconds after, I click through the images I’ve captured, squinting to see the screen against the glare of the sun. Birds sing their peter-peter-peter in the background of my thoughts. A gentle breeze caresses my cheek and tousles the loose curls at the base of my neck.

The photos all look amazing, and I keep skimming through them. Click, click, click. I finally come across one that makes me stop and stare; it would look great as a black-and-white print.

“Natalie.”

I jump at the sound of my name. Twirling, I find two gray-haired ladies have taken up residence on my five-by-five-foot sidewalk square. One I think I recognize. The other I don’t remember ever seeing before.

“Miss Paula?” I say.

The taller woman’s eyes light up. “I thought that was you! You’re back.”

I can’t tell if her statement is more of a question or a statement, but I nod. She leans in to hug me, and I hold my camera to the side as I kindly accept the embrace.

“I’m here for the summer,” I explain. “It’s nice to see you.”

Her eyes linger on my face for a moment before her friend clears her throat. “Oh,” Paula stammers, “this is Natalie Berns, Juliet’s sister.” She gestures to me with a wide smile.

The shorter woman, in her red capris and a white T-shirt that reads Not Your Regular Grandma in embroidered pink letters, extends her hand. I shake it. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she says. “It’s nice to finally see you here—to put a face to the name.”

I don’t know who she is or what she’s heard, but if she’s in Miss Paula’s circle of friends, she could have been told anything.

“I’m Rose,” the lady adds. “Jerry’s wife—Jerry from the gas station.” She looks down the street where the bend in the road leads to the gas station called Jerry’s.

My eyes widen in recognition. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. It’s been a while,” I say sheepishly, tucking my hair behind my ear. “How is the business going?”

Rose shrugs her slightly hunched shoulders. “It’s business. Everyone needs gas, right? Or, they used to, anyway. Now with the new vehicles everything is changing. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

I chuckle nervously. “Right. Well, I was just taking photos around town.” My camera strap tugs on my neck as I hold it up for the ladies to see.

“Are you a photographer?” asks Miss Paula. Her purple sweater looks too hot to wear on a day like this, but I appreciate the color and how soft it looks. Her lemon-yellow pants blend into her yellow sneakers. I imagine myself wearing outfits like hers when I’m in my sixties.

“Yup. I have my own photography business.”

Miss Paula’s smile broadens. “That’s amazing. What do you photograph?”

Rose cuts her off. “Do you ever bird-watch? Maple Lake is a gold mine for bird-watchers.” She points a knobby finger at the camera. “I bet you’d get some great photos. I saw a pair of blue jays over that way this morning.” Her finger swings toward the lake.