The photographer wants to change the set up and the lenses of his camera. He tells Bryce and me to change our outfits so I head to my glam station.

After a few moments of chatting cheerfully with Margret, my long-time makeup artist, a warm paper cup briefly touches the back of my left hand. I look down at the cup and then up at Bryce who silently offers me the drink. Without breaking eye contact. I take the cup and for a moment we just stare.

This time there is no silent conversation; just blank space in my head as I watch light dance in his eyes and bounce off his light brown hair.

“Thank you.”

My voice is whispery. My heart thumps in my ears. He nods his head, acknowledging my thanks, and then walks away to his glam station. Placing a hand on my chest, I catch Margret’s quirked eyebrows and knowing smile. I glare at her playfully and stick out my tongue. She laughs and turns to her makeup station. 

Taking a sip from the cup, I realize it is Chai tea, not coffee. He never forgets. That thought causes a funny feeling in my stomach that I am scared to explore.

Our stylists have finished steaming our matching linen outfits for the next shoot. Alice, my stylist, holds out the shirt for me and I remove the one I am wearing. 

I’m pretty proud of my body. That may sound conceded, but I work hard to maintain the lean muscle that ripples under my pale skin. I’m not shy about changing in front of a room full of people. Unfortunately for me, neither is Bryce.

He stands shirtless, talking to his stylist, Amber. He is wearing his linen bottoms low on his hips, and I can’t help but stare at the natural V shape that disappears below his waistband. 

While I work out at the gym religiously, Bryce maintains his lean shape with soccer, jogging, and rock climbing. Working out in a traditional gym would bore him to tears.

Suddenly, Bryce looks up as if I’ve called his name and stares at me with a blank expression. I quickly look away, realizing Alice has been trying to get my attention. I try to focus on her, but my heart hurts from beating recklessly in my chest.

Before emotions can overcome me, I shake my head and will myself to get a grip. It’s imperative that I separate my real life from the character I play for work, or I would get lost again. That wouldn’t be fair to him or me.

Good thing Bryce and I don’t have any joint projects in the near future. The next one is a month from now. Surely, I can get it together before then.  I just need to get through this photoshoot and then I’m going to need a moment to clear my head.

 A long moment.

Oh, help. The photographer has brought in an ornate couch, floor lamps, and giant house plants. It’s supposed to look like we are relaxing at home in our living room. Bryce is lounging on the couch, and I am positioned between his legs, engulfed in the scent of his soap and that unmistakable scent that belongs only to him. 

It’s making my head fuzzy.

The photographer snaps away as we move in sync to different versions of this position. We often have these moments where we operate with one mind. We look up at the camera simultaneously. We stare off into the distance at the same time. I lean into him, and he wraps his arms around me. I lean forward and he leans over my shoulder.

 It’s a familiar and natural dance.

Something calls my attention to him, and I look up. He’s still looking towards the camera, and I can’t help but think he is beautiful, even from this angle. 

He’s made up of soft yet strong, elegant lines. He is handsome, but up close, you realize he is also really pretty. He has long brown lashes, soft olive skin, a pronounced cupid’s bow shape on his kissable pink lips. 

His brown hair falls over his forehead as usual. I reach up and absently brush his baby soft bangs out of his face, smiling as his hair falls gently back into his eyes. Even his hair is adorably stubborn.

Oh no. It’s happening. I’m slipping. Maybe I can hide this until I am able to bolt out of the door.

I pray that he doesn’t notice but when he looks down, I see that I’m too late. That look in his eyes speaks volumes. 

He knows.