Part 1

By Monday night, Joanna Paige had looked at enough wedding photographs to stop seeing people as people.

They became exposure problems. Crooked boutonnieres. Half-closed eyes. Champagne glasses caught at unfortunate angles.

Her cousin Emily’s wedding had ended two days earlier, and Joanna was barefoot at her desk in Reno, sorting through thousands of images from the ceremony and reception. Melissa, the lead photographer, had already taken the formal portraits. Joanna had spent most of Saturday moving wherever she was needed—fixing details, catching candid moments, carrying equipment, and occasionally rescuing a bride whose veil seemed determined to destroy itself before the vows.

Now came the less glamorous part.

Sorting.

Deleting.

Correcting.

She adjusted the exposure on a wide reception shot and almost moved on.

Then she noticed the man.

He stood behind the dance floor in a dark suit without a tie, far enough from the celebrating guests that he seemed detached from them. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t dancing. He wasn’t speaking to anyone.

He was looking toward the camera.

Joanna enlarged the photograph.

Thirty-something, perhaps. Dark hair. Tall, judging from the people around him. The expression on his face wasn’t threatening, exactly.

Just attentive.

She assumed he was one of Daniel’s friends and continued working.

Twenty minutes later, she found him again.

Outdoor bar.

Same dark suit.

Different timestamp.

Joanna stopped.

She returned to the contact sheet and began scrolling backward.

Reception.

Cocktail hour.

Patio.

Ceremony.

There.

Near the rear seats before the vows.

Joanna leaned toward the monitor.

“Who are you?”

The photograph, unhelpfully, did not answer.

She kept searching.

He appeared near the edge of the patio while guests were being moved inside. Later, he stood behind a group near the lawn. Then near a doorway. Then beside a flower arrangement.

He had been there for hours.

Yet Joanna couldn’t find him in any guest portrait.

That was strange.

Emily knew everyone. Daniel came from a large family, but Joanna had spent enough time around them during the wedding weekend to recognize most of the important faces.

This man wasn’t one of them.

She cropped one of the clearest photographs and sent it to Emily.

Who is this?

Her newly married cousin was on her honeymoon and took several minutes to answer.

No idea. Why?

Joanna typed back.

Because he was at your wedding almost the entire day.

The typing bubble appeared.

Disappeared.

Returned.

Finally:

Asked Daniel. He thinks he knows him. He’s driving. I’ll ask later.

Joanna stared at the message.

“That’s somehow worse.”

She put the phone down and returned to the photographs.

Now that she had noticed the stranger, she couldn’t stop finding him.

At 10:18 p.m., someone had taken a wide photograph near the exit. The doors were open, and guests were preparing to send Emily and Daniel away.

The stranger stood beside them.

Joanna zoomed in.

He wasn’t watching the bride.

He wasn’t watching the groom.

His face was angled toward the opposite side of the room.

Joanna followed his line of sight across the photograph.

Her stomach gave a small, inexplicable turn.

She knew exactly where she had been standing.

Across the room.

Camera in hand.

Her phone buzzed.

Joanna reached for it without looking away from the screen.

The message wasn’t from Emily.

It was an email forwarded by the wedding venue.

A man named Richard Baker had called that afternoon. He was trying to contact the photographer who had worked Emily and Daniel’s wedding.

Joanna slowly looked from the email to the man on her monitor.

Richard Baker.

Apparently, the stranger had a name.

More interestingly, while Joanna was trying to discover who he was, he was trying to find her.

Emily called the following morning while Joanna was making coffee.

“Daniel knows him,” she announced.

Joanna held the phone between her shoulder and ear. “Yesterday Daniel thought he knew him.”

“He was driving.”

“Driving doesn’t cause amnesia.”

“He was merging.”

“Emily.”

Her cousin laughed. “Fine. Richard Baker is a restoration consultant. He worked with Daniel’s uncle Patrick on that old ranch property outside Carson City.”

That sounded disappointingly ordinary.

Joanna measured coffee into the machine.

“So he was invited?”

“No.”

Her hand stopped.

“Then why was he there?”

“Patrick found some old Mercer family photographs while clearing out a storage cabinet. Richard was meeting him about restoration work anyway, so Patrick asked Richard to bring Daniel an envelope with the photographs. They were supposed to be a surprise.”

Joanna glanced toward her computer.

“Okay.”

“He arrived before the ceremony when everyone was running around. Daniel was changing, so he apparently told Richard he could leave the envelope or wait until things settled down.”

“And that’s it?”

Emily laughed.

“Joanna, that’s the explanation for the first twenty minutes.”

Exactly.

It didn’t explain the other five-plus hours.

By the time the coffee finished brewing, Joanna had found Richard Baker’s business website. There was a photograph of a restored stone building, several project descriptions, and an email address.

She opened a new message.

I believe I accidentally photographed you approximately forty times on Saturday.

Joanna read it once.

Then sent it.

His reply arrived eleven minutes later.

Forty seems aggressive.

Before she could answer, another email appeared.

Were you the photographer with the green camera strap?

Joanna looked at the camera bag beside her desk.

A bright green strap spilled over its edge.

He remembered her.

The realization shouldn’t have pleased her.

It did.

By afternoon, an exchange that began as an investigation had become progressively less professional. Eventually they agreed to meet for coffee in Carson City.

Joanna brought her laptop.

Richard was already waiting.

She recognized him immediately, although the photographs had failed to capture something important about him.

His eyes.

In the images, they had seemed guarded. In person, when he stood and looked directly at her, they were startlingly focused.

For one embarrassing second, Joanna forgot the opening line she had rehearsed during the drive.

“Joanna.”

“Richard.”

His gaze dropped to the laptop beneath her arm.

“You brought evidence.”

“Extensive evidence.”

He pulled out the chair opposite him.

Joanna sat and opened the computer before she’d even ordered.

Richard watched.

“No small talk?”

“You attended an entire wedding by accident.”

“That’s not exactly what happened.”

“Excellent. Explain the remaining five hours.”

He laughed.

Joanna immediately disliked how much she enjoyed the sound.

Richard ordered another coffee while she opened the gallery.

He explained the envelope again. Patrick Mercer had found several family photographs while clearing storage. Richard happened to be meeting him about restoration work, so Patrick asked him to deliver them.

“I expected to stay ten minutes,” Richard said.

“Instead?”

“Daniel told me I could hang around.”

“You delivered the envelope eventually?”

“Yes.”

“And then you left.”

Richard took a drink.

“No.”

“I know.”

“The appetizers were good.”

“You weren’t assigned a table.”

“I didn’t say dinner was good.”

Joanna looked over the top of her laptop.

“The appetizers kept you there until ten?”

Richard considered his coffee with suspicious seriousness.

“There were other factors.”

“What factors?”

“I don’t think we’ve reached that level of trust.”

“You appeared in my files forty times.”

“Allegedly.”

She rotated the laptop toward him.

“There.”

Richard studied the photograph.

Joanna clicked.

Another Richard.

Click.

Another.

Click.

Another.

His mouth twitched.

“Maybe thirty.”

“You’re negotiating with timestamps.”

Instead of answering, Richard pointed toward the screen.

“Can I see the rest?”

Joanna assumed he wanted to find a photograph in which he looked less like a man accidentally conducting surveillance at somebody else’s wedding.

She opened the full gallery.

Richard moved through it slowly.

Strangely, he barely paused on photographs containing himself.

He passed the ceremony.

Daniel’s family.

The reception details.

Emily preparing before the vows.

Then his hand stopped.

“Wait.”

Joanna looked.

Melissa had taken the photograph shortly before the ceremony.

Emily stood beside a window in her wedding dress. Joanna herself was crouched near the floor, repairing the bottom of Emily’s veil after it caught on her heel.

Joanna occupied only a corner of the image.

Her hair was messy. Her green camera strap hung from one shoulder. A safety pin remained between her fingers.

Richard leaned closer.

“That’s the one.”

Joanna turned toward him.

“The one what?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“Can you send me that?”

“Why?”

“I’d like a copy.”

“You’re not even in it.”

Richard met her eyes.

“I noticed.”

Joanna stared at him.

She had spent two days wondering why this man had appeared in dozens of photographs.

Now he’d ignored almost every picture containing himself.

And the only photograph he wanted…

was one containing her.

She lowered the laptop screen halfway.

“Richard.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re making this significantly stranger than it needed to be.”

He smiled into his coffee.

“I know.”

Richard came to Joanna’s studio in Reno the following afternoon.

The place was narrow and practical: two desks, a wall of sample prints, equipment stacked wherever it fit, and a printer that protested loudly whenever asked to perform more than one task at a time.

Richard looked around.

“So this is where the forty photographs happened.”

“Thirty-eight.”

He looked at her.

“You counted?”

“I verified.”

“That feels worse.”

Joanna ignored him and opened the image he’d requested.

Richard leaned toward the monitor.

“I saw that happen.”

Joanna glanced at him.

“At the wedding?”

He nodded.

He’d been waiting in the hallway for Daniel when Emily’s veil caught. Joanna had noticed, handed her camera to Melissa, and disappeared.

“You came back with a safety pin,” Richard said.

“And fixed it.”

“Yes.”

“That’s generally what safety pins are for.”

Richard gave her a look she couldn’t interpret.

Joanna clicked to the next image.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

She could tell.

They began going through neighboring photographs.

Twenty minutes later, Joanna noticed something else.

Richard’s appearances weren’t random.

They had a pattern.

A geography.

When Joanna moved outside after the ceremony, Richard appeared near the patio not long afterward.

During golden-hour portraits, he was visible behind a group of guests on the lawn.

When Joanna worked near the reception entrance, Richard surfaced there too.

She checked another timestamp.

Then another.

Slowly, she turned in her chair.

Richard was examining the screen with exaggerated concentration.

“Were you following me?”

He looked over.

“‘Following’ is a strong word.”

“It’s the correct word.”

“I was repeatedly nearby.”

Joanna laughed.

“That’s worse.”

“It sounded much better before I said it.”

She enlarged another image.

Richard had noticed the camera and turned his face away.

Joanna clicked forward.

In the next one, he was looking down.

Another showed only the side of his face.

“You hate photographs.”

“I don’t hate photographs.”

Joanna reached for the camera on her desk.

Richard immediately leaned away.

She froze.

“There.”

“What?”

“You just did it.”

“Did what?”

She raised the camera.

Richard turned his head.

Joanna lowered it.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I don’t like being photographed.”

“You survived a six-hour wedding.”

“Apparently not without documentation.”

Joanna lifted the camera again.

Richard put his coffee cup in front of his face.

She burst out laughing.

“Very mature.”

“Thank you.”

For the next half hour, she attempted to catch him off guard.

She failed.

Every time Joanna so much as thought about lifting the camera, Richard seemed to sense it.

Once, she aimed deliberately toward the prints behind him.

Richard looked straight at her.

“I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“You can’t prove thoughts.”

“I’ve learned not to trust photographers.”

By the time they stopped, evening had settled outside the studio.

Richard glanced at the time and closed the laptop.

“Food?”

Joanna raised an eyebrow.

“Is that part of the investigation?”

“There is no investigation anymore.”

“Exactly what a suspect would say.”

They got takeout and walked through downtown Carson City with paper containers warming their hands.

The air had cooled. Traffic had thinned.

For the first time, Joanna stopped interrogating him about the wedding.

Instead, she asked what restoration consulting actually meant.

The question transformed him.

Richard took out his phone and showed her photographs of a ranch house outside Gardnerville. In the first image, the porch sagged and stonework near the foundation had deteriorated.

He showed her what had been preserved.

What had been repaired.

What the owners had wanted to tear out.

He explained why some imperfections were worth saving.

Joanna listened.

At the studio, Richard measured his answers. Here, talking about old buildings, he forgot to be careful.

His hands moved while he explained structural details. His voice changed when he talked about original materials surviving another generation.

Joanna found herself watching him more than the photographs.

He stopped halfway through an explanation about a warped beam.

“You have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about.”

“None.”

“You could have stopped me.”

“I wanted to see how long you’d continue.”

“That’s manipulative.”

“Research.”

They kept walking.

At Joanna’s car, neither seemed particularly eager to say goodnight.

She threw away her empty container.

Richard stood beside the driver’s door.

Conversation faded.

For a moment, the city seemed unusually quiet.

Richard looked at her.

Joanna became acutely aware of the distance between them.

Or lack of it.

He shifted closer.

A bicycle bell rang behind them.

“Move!”

Joanna jumped.

Richard caught her arm and pulled her onto the sidewalk as a cyclist shot through the bike lane they’d been blocking.

Something irritated was shouted over the cyclist’s shoulder.

Neither caught the words.

Joanna stared after him.

Then at Richard.

Then at the painted lane beneath where they’d been standing.

“Well…”

She started laughing.

Richard looked genuinely embarrassed.

“That was going somewhere.”

“It was going under a bicycle.”

“That too.”

Still laughing, Joanna unlocked her car.

Richard waited until she was inside.

“Goodnight, Joanna.”

“Night.”

She drove away smiling.

The mystery should have been over.

Instead, the following morning Emily called with one more detail.

“Daniel remembered something.”

Joanna put down her coffee.

“About Richard?”

“During the wedding, Richard asked him who the photographer was.”

Joanna went still.

“What exactly did he ask?”

“Just that. ‘Who’s the photographer?’ Daniel thought he wanted a business card, so he told him, ‘Joanna, bride’s cousin.'”

Joanna sat quietly after the call ended.

Richard had known her first name before the wedding was over.

Which created a new question.

If he’d already known who she was…

why had he needed the venue to find her afterward?

Part 2

Joanna lasted until lunchtime.

Then she texted him.

You knew my name?

His answer came while she was exporting a gallery.

Good morning to you too.

She called him.

Richard answered on the fourth ring. Wind battered the microphone.

“You knew my name.”

“I knew Joanna.”

“That’s generally how names work.”

“I didn’t know Paige.”

She leaned back.

Somewhere behind him, a truck door slammed.

Richard was at a job site outside Carson City.

He explained that Daniel had been in the middle of his own wedding when Richard asked about her. Requesting a surname, phone number, employment history, and formal introduction had seemed excessive.

Afterward, he’d searched the photography studio’s website.

Melissa was listed.

Joanna wasn’t.

She freelanced and had never bothered getting herself added to the staff page.

“So eventually you called the venue.”

“Yes.”

“You could’ve asked Daniel. He has a phone.”

“He also had a honeymoon.”

“And?”

“I was trying not to become the man contacting a newlywed to ask for his cousin’s number.”

Joanna smiled despite herself.

“You were comfortable staying at his wedding for six hours.”

“We’re back to that?”

“We never left.”

Richard laughed.

And with that, the last practical piece of the mystery disappeared.

Joanna had expected solving it to make Richard less interesting.

Instead, two days later, her phone lit up with a message from him.

Dinner.

She looked at it longer than necessary.

Evidence related?

No evidence.

Suspicious.

She went anyway.

After that, they stopped inventing excuses.

Dinner became coffee the next week.

Richard came to Reno after Joanna finished an editing job, and she spent forty minutes arguing that a convenience-store hot dog was not dinner.

Richard disagreed.

Joanna considered this a serious character defect.

Then he mentioned a restored ranch property near Washoe Valley that was reopening after renovation.

Joanna had been searching for locations to photograph for her portfolio.

“Can I come?”

Richard looked surprised.

“You want to watch me inspect windows?”

“I want the property.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Saturday morning, Joanna rode north with him.

The ranch stood beyond a narrow road, open land stretching toward the mountains. Weathered timber remained along the porch, and restored stonework wrapped the lower walls of the main house.

Richard disappeared inside with the property manager.

Joanna went to work.

When he emerged later, she was crouched beside a fence, photographing the house against the pale Nevada sky.

Richard crossed the yard.

Joanna lowered her camera.

“You’re ruining my shot.”

He stopped.

“Thought you liked me in the background.”

Her mouth threatened to smile.

“That joke gets one use.”

“Worth it.”

He deliberately continued through the frame.

Joanna took the photograph anyway.

They spent the afternoon moving separately around the property, their paths intersecting every so often.

Richard pointed out original details he thought she’d want.

Joanna showed him what afternoon light did to the texture of the stone around a doorway.

By late afternoon, the wind strengthened.

Joanna stood near the porch reviewing images when Richard finished with the property manager and came over.

He looked at the camera screen.

“Am I in that?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Delete it.”

“No.”

“Joanna.”

She moved the camera away.

“Make me.”

Richard reached for it.

She pulled it behind her.

He leaned closer, trying to see over her shoulder.

And then neither moved.

The camera was trapped between Joanna’s hand and her coat.

Richard’s face was inches from hers.

She looked up.

“You’re very distracting.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“I could try again.”

“Don’t.”

He hesitated.

Joanna caught the front of his jacket before he could misunderstand.

Then Richard kissed her.

The wind blew Joanna’s hair across her cheek.

When they separated, Richard brushed it away.

For once, neither had a clever remark ready.

Joanna looked down at her camera.

Richard followed her gaze.

“Still deleting it.”

“Absolutely not.”

He laughed.

On the drive home, Joanna sat with one boot tucked beneath her leg and changed radio stations whenever she felt like it.

Richard complained about her method.

“There is no method.”

“That’s the problem.”

By the time they reached Reno, they had plans for Wednesday.

Things were, to Joanna’s surprise, uncomplicated.

For several days.

Then she walked into Richard’s office on Thursday afternoon carrying coffee and heard him say:

“I haven’t told her.”

Joanna stopped.

Richard stood in the hallway with his back partly turned, phone at his ear.

Daniel’s voice was faintly audible through the speaker.

Richard continued.

“I’m waiting until Emily decides.”

Joanna’s fingers tightened around the coffee cup.

Richard turned.

Saw her.

His expression changed immediately.

“I’ll call you back.”

He ended the call.

Joanna placed the coffee on the reception desk.

“What hasn’t Emily decided?”

Richard glanced at his phone.

“It’s something she’s working on.”

“Something involving me?”

He hesitated.

That hesitation was enough.

“Richard.”

“I really think Emily should tell you.”

Joanna folded her arms.

“Very reassuring.”

“It’s not bad.”

“People always say that immediately before refusing to explain something.”

Richard reached for the coffee.

Joanna moved it away.

“Hostage coffee.”

His mouth twitched.

“Seriously?”

“Until further notice.”

Twenty minutes later, Joanna left with no answer.

And Richard did not get the coffee.

From her car, she called Emily.

“Why was Richard talking to Daniel about me?”

Silence.

Joanna straightened.

“Emily?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How complicated?”

“Not very.”

“Those are contradictory answers.”

“I just can’t tell you yet.”

Joanna closed her eyes.

“Do you understand how terrible that sounds?”

“I know.”

“Does this have something to do with Richard?”

Another pause.

Then Emily said, too carefully, “Sort of.”

That was all Joanna needed for her imagination to become actively unhelpful.

She ended the call without learning anything.

Richard’s coffee sat untouched on the passenger seat.

She stared at it.

Then started the engine.

By Friday afternoon, she was finished guessing.

She called Richard.

“Before you say anything,” Joanna began, “I still have your coffee.”

“I assumed I’d lost custody.”

“You may qualify for visitation.”

“Encouraging.”

She didn’t laugh.

“Tell me what’s happening with Emily.”

Richard went quiet.

“Joanna—”

“I asked her. She became weird. You became weird. Daniel is involved. Everyone insists everything is fine while simultaneously refusing to tell me what ‘everything’ is.”

Richard exhaled.

“Where are you?”

“Studio.”

“I’ll come over.”

He arrived half an hour later.

Joanna let him inside and returned to her desk.

Richard spotted Thursday’s coffee sitting beside the printer.

He picked it up.

“You kept this?”

“I was annoyed.”

“This is physical evidence of your annoyance.”

“Don’t drink it.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

He threw it away and pulled a chair beside her.

“Emily is having something made for you.”

Joanna’s irritation faltered.

“What?”

“A photograph.”

She stared.

Richard explained.

Daniel had contacted him earlier in the week because he needed a framing shop. Richard had used one in Carson City for old maps, restored documents, and other fragile materials.

Emily needed somebody capable of handling an older photograph without damaging it.

“What older photograph?”

Richard paused.

“You should ask Emily.”

Joanna gave him a look.

He reconsidered.

“Actually, we’ve established that strategy doesn’t work.”

He called Daniel.

Twenty minutes later, an image arrived on Joanna’s phone.

She opened it.

And said nothing.

The photograph had been taken shortly after Emily and Daniel’s ceremony.

Joanna sat at the end of a wooden bench behind the venue. Her camera rested beside her.

Emily leaned over her, both arms around Joanna’s shoulders.

Joanna remembered the moment immediately.

She just hadn’t known anyone had photographed it.

Her father had died two years earlier.

When Joanna was eleven, he’d placed an old Nikon in her hands and spent an entire summer teaching her photography. He had also spent that summer explaining, repeatedly, that cutting off the tops of people’s heads in every frame did not automatically qualify as artistic experimentation.

He would have loved Emily’s wedding.

That thought had struck Joanna unexpectedly after the ceremony.

So she’d gone outside for a few minutes.

Emily had found her.

Apparently, Melissa had found both of them.

Richard said nothing.

Joanna enlarged the photograph.

After a while she managed, “Emily looks good.”

Richard glanced at her.

“You’re evaluating the composition.”

“It’s what I do.”

She wiped beneath one eye with her thumb.

“I’m also crying in high resolution, which is rude.”

Richard smiled gently.

Then he explained there was another photograph.

An older one.

Their uncle had kept it for years.

Joanna’s father had taken it when Joanna and Emily were children.

Emily wanted the two photographs framed together.

The surprise had nearly been completed when Joanna overheard Richard’s call.

Joanna lowered the phone.

“So when you said you hadn’t told me…”

“I hadn’t told you about the frame.”

“And when Emily said this ‘sort of’ involved you…”

“I recommended the shop.”

Joanna stared at him.

Richard waited.

“I had a more complicated theory.”

“I suspected that.”

“You’re not going to ask?”

“I desperately want to.”

“Don’t.”

“Okay.”

She closed the photograph.

Richard leaned back.

“Do you always investigate people you’re dating?”

Joanna’s head snapped up.

“We’re dating?”

Richard looked at her.

She immediately regretted how fast she’d said it.

“I mean… interesting.”

“Don’t.”

“You’ve said that twice today.”

Joanna pointed toward the door.

“You can still leave.”

“Are we dating before or after I leave?”

She grabbed a padded lens pouch and threw it at him.

Richard caught it.

“I’m taking that as unresolved.”

Joanna tried to remain annoyed.

She failed.

Later, downstairs, Richard headed toward his truck.

Joanna followed him across the street.

Near the curb, she stopped.

There was still one question she had never gotten him to answer.

The first question, really.

“Richard.”

His hand paused on the truck door.

“Why did you stay?”

He looked at her.

“The envelope was delivered,” Joanna said. “You could’ve left.”

Richard rubbed the back of his neck.

For perhaps the first time since she’d met him, he looked genuinely uncomfortable.

“I saw you before the ceremony.”

Joanna waited.

“You were helping Emily with her veil.”

Then she’d gone straight back to work.

Richard had intended to introduce himself once things calmed down.

Things never calmed down.

He tried during cocktail hour.

Joanna walked straight past him carrying equipment.

Later, he spotted her near the patio and headed toward her.

Before he could say anything, Joanna shoved a tray of champagne glasses into his hands.

She stared.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I did not.”

“You said, ‘Can you hold this?'”

Joanna searched her memory.

Something vague surfaced.

Outdoor portraits.

She had been late.

She’d needed both hands.

She’d grabbed the nearest apparently available human.

“Oh.”

“You came back almost ten minutes later.”

“What did you do?”

Richard looked at her as though the answer should have been obvious.

“Held the tray.”

Joanna covered her mouth.

Then laughter escaped anyway.

“You could’ve put it down!”

“I didn’t know where it belonged.”

“So you stood there?”

“There was a wedding happening. I was trying to be useful.”

Joanna laughed harder.

Richard opened his truck door.

She caught the edge before he could escape.

“Wait. You stayed for six hours because you were trying to talk to me?”

“I didn’t plan the six-hour part.”

“How long did you think it would take?”

“Significantly less.”

“Why didn’t you just say something?”

“You looked busy.”

“For six hours?”

Richard glanced toward the street.

“I made a poor scheduling decision.”

Joanna laughed again.

Suddenly, all thirty-eight photographs looked different in her memory.

The mysterious man at the patio.

The stranger behind the guests.

The figure near the exit looking across the room.

He hadn’t been watching the wedding.

He’d been waiting for an opening.

“So all those photographs…”

“I was repeatedly nearby.”

Joanna grinned.

“I thought you were never using that phrase again.”

“I’m not.”

She stepped closer.

“For somebody who restores old buildings, you’re surprisingly bad at finding an entrance.”

Richard studied her.

“That sounded rehearsed.”

“It wasn’t. I’m naturally gifted.”

He kissed her.

When he pulled away, Joanna was still smiling.

“Dinner tomorrow,” he said.

She pretended to think.

“Is this a date?”

Richard stared at her.

Joanna allowed him to suffer for one extra second.

“Seven-thirty works.”

“Good.”

He got into the truck.

Joanna stepped onto the sidewalk.

Richard lowered his window.

“And Joanna?”

“What?”

“If you bring the camera, I’m leaving.”

She smiled.

“We’ll see.”

Part 3

Three weeks later, Joanna was carrying a camera near Washoe Valley when Emily threatened to throw it into the lake.

“You invited a photographer,” Joanna said.

“I invited my cousin.”

“Same person.”

“Not today.”

Emily pointed toward the picnic table.

“Put it down.”

Joanna reluctantly placed the camera beside her bag.

The lakeside picnic had been Emily’s idea.

Nothing elaborate.

Daniel had brought a cooler and enough food to feed twice the number of people present. Richard had arrived from Carson City with folding chairs after Joanna mentioned that Emily had a lifelong inability to provide enough seating for any gathering.

At that moment, Richard and Daniel were engaged in an increasingly personal disagreement with the cooler lid.

Daniel pulled.

Richard held the opposite side.

Joanna watched.

“Do either of you need help?”

“We have it,” Daniel said.

The lid came loose abruptly.

Richard nearly stumbled backward.

Joanna’s hand shot toward her camera.

Richard pointed across the grass.

“Don’t.”

She stopped.

Barely.

Emily sat beside her.

In her hands was a flat package wrapped in brown paper.

“This,” Emily said, “is why I wanted you here.”

Joanna knew immediately.

All teasing disappeared.

Emily handed her the package.

“Go ahead.”

Joanna carefully peeled back the tape.

She folded the paper away.

Behind the glass were two photographs.

The older image had softened with age.

Joanna and Emily were children, sitting on the wooden steps behind Joanna’s childhood home.

Emily wore one of Joanna’s shoes.

Neither could remember why.

Their hair was a disaster.

Their smiles were completely unguarded.

Joanna knew who had stood behind the camera.

Her fingers touched the glass.

“You found Dad’s print.”

“Uncle Mark had it,” Emily said. “I didn’t even know until he brought those boxes over.”

Joanna kept staring.

“He always liked this one.”

“I know.”

Beside it was the wedding photograph.

Adult Joanna sitting on a bench.

Her camera abandoned temporarily beside her.

Emily holding her after the ceremony.

Two moments, years apart.

In one, Joanna’s father had been behind the camera.

In the other, his absence was the reason she had stepped away from hers.

Joanna moved her thumb over a corner of the glass as though she’d found dust.

There wasn’t any.

Emily shifted closer until their shoulders touched.

“I almost gave you the old one by itself.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Emily looked at the frame.

“Because I wanted that day in there too.”

Joanna nodded.

Nothing else needed saying.

Across the picnic area, Richard had become extremely interested in arranging drinks.

He hadn’t approached.

He hadn’t interrupted.

He had simply given Joanna the space to have the moment with Emily.

She noticed.

Later, after the frame had been wrapped again and safely placed in Joanna’s car, the mood lightened.

Daniel succeeded in opening another cooler without assistance.

Richard stood beside him.

Daniel glanced toward Joanna.

“So…”

Richard immediately looked suspicious.

“So what?”

“Six hours.”

“We’re not discussing that.”

Joanna heard him.

“We absolutely are.”

Richard closed his eyes.

Daniel grinned.

“I still don’t understand what you did for six hours.”

“I’ve explained this.”

“You held champagne for ten minutes. I’m asking about the other five hours and fifty minutes.”

Richard looked across the table at Joanna.

“This is your family.”

“You came voluntarily.”

“That was my first mistake.”

Emily handed him a plate.

“And yet you keep coming back.”

Richard accepted it.

His eyes found Joanna’s.

He smiled.

She smiled back.

By late afternoon, the food had mostly disappeared and sunlight over the lake had softened.

Emily suddenly announced, “Group picture.”

Joanna automatically reached for her camera.

Emily reached it first.

“No.”

“Hey.”

“You’re getting into this one.”

“Then who’s taking it?”

Daniel produced a folded tripod from behind the picnic table.

“Technology has advanced.”

Joanna stared.

“You brought a tripod?”

“I married into this family. I’m adapting.”

Emily mounted the camera while Joanna reluctantly joined everyone near the water.

Daniel set the timer.

Then Joanna noticed Richard.

He was several feet away, pretending to make himself useful near the table.

Apparently he’d concluded that remaining outside the photograph was the safest option.

Joanna walked toward him.

Richard saw her coming.

“No.”

She hooked one finger through his sleeve.

“Come on.”

“I’m terrible in pictures.”

“I have thirty-eight pieces of evidence.”

“Most of them support my argument.”

Joanna tugged.

Richard surrendered.

They hurried toward the others just as Daniel announced the timer was already counting.

“Wait,” Richard said. “Where do I—”

“Anywhere!” Emily called.

Richard landed beside Joanna.

The shutter clicked.

A few minutes later, everyone began packing.

Joanna checked the photograph while walking with Richard toward the parking area.

“How bad?” he asked.

“You weren’t looking at the camera.”

“I know.”

“Everyone else was.”

Richard glanced at her.

“I know.”

Joanna looked down again.

At the precise instant the photograph had been taken, Richard had turned his head.

Toward her.

Everyone else faced the lens.

Richard was looking at Joanna.

She locked the screen.

“You’re keeping it,” he said.

“Obviously.”

Richard held out his hand.

Joanna took it.

They continued toward his truck.

Near the passenger door, she stopped.

Richard saw her expression.

By now, he recognized it immediately.

“No.”

Joanna already had the camera out.

“One.”

“Joanna.”

“You survived thirty-eight.”

“Against my will.”

She lifted the camera.

Richard sighed.

But this time…

he didn’t turn away.

Joanna looked through the viewfinder.

Late Nevada sunlight caught one side of his face.

Richard looked directly into the lens, wearing the expression he usually reserved for the moment before accusing her of being difficult.

She focused.

Pressed the shutter.

“Done.”

“Can I see?”

Joanna checked the screen.

It was annoyingly good.

She switched off the camera.

“No.”

“Why?”

She opened the passenger door.

“I need something embarrassing to show your mother.”

Richard remained outside the truck.

“You’ve been dating me for three weeks.”

“And I’ve accomplished a lot.”

“You haven’t even met my mother.”

“I have photographic evidence. I’m prepared.”

Richard shook his head and walked around the truck.

Before putting the camera away, Joanna looked once more at the photograph.

Richard stood alone in the Nevada afternoon.

Looking directly through her lens.

Looking at her.

Three weeks earlier, she had found the same man hidden at the edges of image after image.

At first he’d been an anomaly.

A stranger where no stranger should have been.

Then a mystery.

Then a suspect in an investigation that existed almost entirely inside Joanna’s head.

She had enlarged photographs, compared timestamps, traced his movements across a wedding venue, questioned her cousin, contacted him herself, and constructed increasingly elaborate explanations for why Richard Baker had spent six hours at a wedding he hadn’t been invited to attend.

The truth had been almost embarrassingly simple.

He had noticed her.

Before the ceremony, he’d watched Joanna drop everything to repair Emily’s veil.

He had waited for an opportunity to introduce himself.

And waited.

And waited.

He’d tried during cocktail hour.

Joanna had walked past.

He’d tried near the patio.

She’d turned him into an unpaid champagne-tray attendant.

Every time he thought the wedding might finally slow down, Joanna moved somewhere else with her camera.

So Richard moved too.

Repeatedly nearby.

Thirty-eight photographs had preserved the evidence.

But the photographs couldn’t explain it.

That was the part Joanna understood differently now.

A photograph could capture where someone stood.

It could preserve the direction of a glance.

It could prove that a man in a dark suit had appeared near the ceremony, the patio, the lawn, the reception, and the exit.

But it couldn’t tell her why.

The same was true of the photograph Emily had framed.

It showed a bride embracing her cousin on a wooden bench.

Nothing in the image itself explained the father who was missing from that wedding.

Nothing showed the eleven-year-old Joanna holding a Nikon for the first time while her father patiently explained framing.

Nothing showed why Emily had searched for an old childhood photograph or why Richard had quietly helped find someone capable of preserving it.

A frame held evidence.

People supplied meaning.

Richard climbed behind the wheel.

“Dinner only if you’re paying.”

He started the truck.

Joanna settled the camera bag on her lap.

“Why am I paying?”

“Photography fee.”

“You took one picture.”

“Premium rate.”

Richard backed out of the parking space.

“I’m going to start charging you every time I appear in one of these.”

“You’d have to stay out of the background first.”

He glanced at her.

“Apparently I’m bad at that.”

Joanna smiled.

Outside the window, the lake slipped behind them as Richard turned onto the road.

Her camera rested quietly in her lap.

For once, she didn’t need to take another photograph.

She already had the one she wanted.

And this time, Richard Baker wasn’t an unexplained figure hiding at the edge of somebody else’s story.

He was exactly where he meant to be.