Through the Lens (Click Duet #1) (Bay Area Duet Series) Persephone Autumn (black authors fiction TXT) 📖

she says in a rush. If we were on FaceTime right now, I would see her jumping up and down, hands flailing. That’s just Shelly. A big ball of unending enthusiasm.

“Bet I can.” I burst her bubble of excitement.

“Wait, wha—?” she stumbles. “How did you know?” She actually sounds bummed to not break the news to me.

I huff into the phone, wishing to escape all things related to Gavin Hunt. But as usual, everything cycles back to him. “Because he’s the model I’m currently shooting.”

A shriek tears through the line and I hold the phone away from my face until she stops. “Shut the fuck up. Are you serious? How weird. Or maybe not. Is it weird?”

What is she talking about? “Huh?” It is all I can say.

“You know it’s not his fault he moved to California years ago. Maybe fate has found a way to bring you back together,” she says, words all dreamy.

Although she has been single for some time, Shelly is adamant about the topic of love and fate and how everything happens for a reason. I have lost count of how many times she has told me I will find my Prince Charming one day soon.

While she can’t see me, I roll my eyes. Fate. What a load of bullshit. If fate existed, things between Gavin and I wouldn’t have ended how they did. He would have done more. Would have at least tried.

“I know it wasn’t his fault, but he didn’t even try for long. It’s like he gave up or caved or moved on. Like I no longer mattered. It…” I will not fucking cry. Nope, I refuse to shed another tear over Gavin Hunt. I tip my head back and blink in rapid succession. I inhale deep and continue. “It hurt seeing him today. He acted as if nothing existed between us before. He’s not the same Gavin I once knew.”

“Yeah, I get that. I’m sorry if him being here is digging up old memories. But you know something?” Shelly’s voice escalates in pitch the more she talks.

“What?”

“I love you,” she croons, wrapping me in a virtual hug. “And we should go out and grab dinner and a couple drinks. You should be celebrating your new contract. Not worrying over Gavin or the past.”

As much as I would love to lay in bed, watch reruns of Supernatural and eat leftover Chinese food with Luna at my side, how can I say no to Shelly. Still somewhat early, it would be nice to chat with her about how I am in emotional overload right now. Shelly’s the only person who knows everything there is to know about me. She is the one person I can pour my heart out to and she won’t judge me.

“I can never say no to you. Where should we go? No karaoke. I’m still having strange dreams from the last one.”

Her laughter pierces the air, one I would recognize in a room full of strangers. “We can hit that Thai and sushi restaurant on Patricia. I’ve been craving green curry for days.”

Now it is my turn to laugh. Not only does my best friend know me well, she also caters to my hankering for Asian food. I also believe I have made her as equally addicted, which warms my heart.

“Sounds good. I’ll meet you there in thirty.”

“Thirty,” she agrees and disconnects the call.

The server sets down a plate of Pad See-Ew with tofu in front of me and I lean over and breathe deep. My mouth waters at the sweet and savory aroma and I can’t wait to dive in. What is it about Asian food that makes me so damn happy? No one knows the answer—not even me—and I will die happily oblivious. Years ago, Shelly joked I must have been Asian in a former life. When she suggested it, I shrugged and continued shoveling udon noodles in my mouth.

After the server walks off, I finish my last spring roll while Shelly begins attacking her rice and chicken with green curry. A moan rips from her throat and I laugh at her lack of shame. It is one of her many qualities that makes me love her. Shelly is just one of those humans who is one-hundred-percent herself. Her candid nature refreshing.

“Good?” I inquire with a layer of sarcasm.

“Mmm. You have no idea,” she mumbles around the food in her mouth.

All I can do is shake my head and laugh again. It is at the exact moment when I am shoving my noodle-packed chopsticks between my teeth that Shelly decides to ask me a question. Is that a secret rule at the dinner table? To ask people questions when it is most inconvenient? Seems the case.

“So, what was it like seeing him again?” Her question is innocent, but I almost choke on my noodles when she asks.

What was it like?

Like thirteen years vanished and I saw the first guy I fell in love with standing in front of me. My heart beat behind my rib cage as if I had locked it in a coffin and tossed the key. My heart has never thumped and thrashed so hard, so loud, so uncontrollably in my chest. I broke out in a sweat, nervous to be near him. Nervous to know if he missed me in all the ways I missed him. Nervous to know if he ever thought about me as often as I did—do—him. It was—is—terrifying.

“It was strange,” I lull. I want to own my truths, but I don’t know what they all are yet. How can I express emotions I don’t quite understand right now? How can I express the cacophony of feelings when they’re a cyclone in my skull?

Was I ecstatic? Without a doubt. Did I freak out? Definitely. I still am. Did every memory of him come sprinting to the forefront? Most of them. My favorite memories, anyway.

But it has been several years since we have seen or spoken to each other. He