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surveyed her flower garden, which had grown more expansive throughout the years. The powdery-fresh fragrance of the crepe myrtle with its fuchsia popcorn trusses and the sweetness of the purple four o’clocks perfumed the air. When his kid sister Sara was young, she loved helping Marilyn water and prune and pull weeds. She loved chasing the butterflies that flitted and floated around the bushes too.
    “You know what they say about early birds.” Wisps of sweat-dampened hair escaped from beneath her hat and stuck to her neck. She pulled off her gloves and her hat, revealing a messy bun and cheeks pinked by the heat. “Did you get my message?”
    Davis scratched his jaw. “I did.”
    She held up her hand. “Now before you say anything, I think you should know what you’d be saying no to. Sara and I were up late last night, brainstorming ways to make the campaign into something bigger. And we came up with a charity fashion show. It’d be a great way to highlight my dresses, bring some excitement to Greenbrier, and raise money for a good cause.”
    His curiosity piqued. “What’s the cause?”
    Marilyn’s face lit up. “You know that new art program Sara’s been talking about? I’m hoping we could raise enough funds to bring that program to Greenbrier’s community college. We’d have all the proceeds from the fashion show, along with twenty percent of the sales I make from now until next year.”
    Davis blinked, completely unprepared. Marilyn’s suggestion undid his resolve, tangling his motivations into a knot that was impossible to tease apart. A couple of months ago, Grandfather had read about the program in the newspaper—some leading-edge art program for the visually impaired, founded by Frank Calvin Boritz, a world-renowned painter who also happened to be blind. Part of Davis wanted to jump in and say yes, of course. Anything for Sara. But the other part of him resisted. Who was to say he wasn’t merely jumping on the first excuse to take up his camera again?
    Marilyn looked up at him, hesitant and hopeful. “Thoughts?”
    He scratched his jaw, watching as a Carolina wren hopped along the alabaster branch of the crepe myrtle. It stopped, cleaned its plumage, then spread its wings and flew away. “If I say yes, what would I be getting myself into?”
    “You’d do the editorial shoot for Joan. After that, I’d want you to do some photographs for advertisements—a brochure, maybe even some billboard space along the highway. And then, of course, I’d need you for the fashion show. Not just to shoot pictures, but to help organize it. You know much more about this stuff than I do.”
    Too much. He knew too much.
    His aunt reached out and touched his arm, as if sensing his thoughts. “It’s time to put that knowledge to good use, right?”
    Davis stuck his thumbs through his belt loops and chewed over the proposition. He had vowed to himself that he was done with photography. He had no business taking up his camera when Sara could no longer take up her paintbrushes. But what if picking up his camera again meant giving his sister back a piece of what she’d lost? a piece of what he’d taken?
    “Joan’s convinced my bridal wear is going to be the next big thing. I’m not sure about that, but I already know your pictures are going to bring in customers. You’re brilliant, Davis.”
    He let the praise bounce away. He didn’t need to hear it. His ego had inflated enough last time. “How long of a commitment are we talking about?”
    “A couple months, give or take a few weeks.”
    A couple months. He could reinstate his vow after that, right? Sure, he’d be doing photography again, but this time it wouldn’t be about him or his selfish desires. It would be about helping Sara. Besides, it was wedding photography in South Carolina, a world apart from high fashion in New York. He let out his breath and made a quick decision. “Okay.”
    “You’ll do it?”
    Ignoring the tightening in his stomach,