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any feelings for him other than anger, and if she would soon take the chance to unload on him.  He also wondered whether she may be in a good, committed relationship with another man, and knew he wouldn’t handle that news well.  He could only imagine Emory with him.   Don’t get your hopes up .   She was still a knock-out and could have any man she wanted -- and probably did. 
    The cab dropped him at Freedom Park about twenty minutes early.  Mason paid the fare and made his way towards the bridge, drenched with sunlight, as if he was walking towards a pot of gold.  As he drew closer, his pace quickened; he couldn’t wait to see her again.  On a field below, he spotted Emory, laying on the ground with camera in hand, facing two small children, her long, blonde hair glistening in the sunlight.  He leaned against a tree, far enough away so she wouldn’t spot him, watching her work -- as he had so many times before in the dark theater -- and couldn’t help but notice how her jeans perfectly framed her tight, little ass.   Did she wear those on purpose?   He adjusted his pants.
    Emory at times peeked around the camera and made a funny face at the baby.  There was an elegance to her work; it was fluid and quick, like her dance.   She was happy and made the children happy.  This didn’t look like work to Mason.  Emory wrapped the shoot, then held the baby on her hip, the older child holding Emory’s leg.   That could be us.  No, that could have been us.   Emory chatted with the children’s mother writing her a check.  They left, and Emory gathered her equipment.  It was game time.  Mason walked towards her, his palms sweaty and legs weak, not knowing what to say first and wondering if this was a bad idea, worried this meeting was more important to him than to her.  It occurred to him she wasn’t very friendly at the bar or on the phone.   For a moment, he thought to turn back, but his heart wouldn’t let him. 
    Emory looked up from her bags.  He gave her a slight wave with his good arm, as he came down a small hill in jeans, a t-shirt, and a dark brown leather jacket thrown over his shoulder in a sling.   Ugh, he’s early.  Why does he have to look so damn yummy !   She was so flustered last night at the bar she hadn’t fully appreciated his body -- the NFL had made him broader and harder.  Her pulse quickened as he approached, but she caught herself.   He’s just an old friend.  An old, married friend.
    “Let me help you with all that, Em.”
    “You’re the one with the bum shoulder,” she said, zipping up the bag.  “I do this all the time.  It’s fine.”
    Mason picked the camera bag off the ground.  “I still have one good arm.”
    Emory smiled but only made brief eye contact.  “Just follow me to my car while I lock this stuff up.”  They barely spoke on the short walk, other than for Mason to comment on the Charlotte weather and Emory to describe the layout of Freedom Park. The ease with which they once had spoken seemed lost.  She could sense the tension between them and figured Mason felt it, too.  Emory popped the trunk, and Mason loaded her equipment.  For her own sake, she sought to put Mason in his place and make clear this wasn’t going anywhere.  She closed the trunk and looked directly into Mason’s eyes.  “Did Alexis come with you to Charlotte?” 
    Her direct question startled Mason, his eyes opening wide.   Why didn’t I plan what to say about Alexis?  I’ve been too busy looking at your ass !   He’d forgotten how tough and strong Emory could be, her sweet face so deceiving.
    “No,” he mumbled and changed the subject.  “Why don’t you show me around the park?  Show me some of your favorite spots to take pictures.”
    As they walked, Emory was proud of her direct question, and that it threw Mason off his game, but regretted she learned nothing from his answer.  She realized there was no need for Alexis to accompany him to Charlotte