#tom hiddlestory

“Another fabulous photoshoot makes its debut by none other than the famous mystery photographer herself-”

I exit out of the Gossip magazine’s Instagram story and go back to searching.

There’s another photoshoot coming up and up and I need to find some inspiration for it. There’s not much time and for once, I don’t have anything planned. No theme, no wardrobe, no style of portrait in mind- nothing. It’s like my brain has taken an unauthorized vacation.

I’ve photographed some of the biggest celebrities Hollywood has seen in the 21st century. From Lady Gaga and Beyoncé to Meryl Streep, Justin Bieber and Post Malone to Robert Downey, Jr. and Barack Obama. I even got hired to shoot a couple of the Kardashians. Name a celebrity, I’ve probably taken their picture.

My rise to fame was unconventional. I had started taking pictures of some of my friends, editing them, and posting them. Somehow they caught the attention of Hollywood. They loved my anonymity and how I dressed in a different disguise with every person. No one knows what I truly look like. My career blew up from there.

When I got the call for next week’s job, I almost had a heart attack. I’ve never been more nervous for a shoot before. Hence the total brain fart on creativity.

How do you capture perfection?

Because that’s what he is.

I’ve wanted to take his picture for years but was never given the opportunity to until now. Every idea I ever came up with before now has either been overdone or was too wild. He’s a simple man on the outside with a complicated/complex mind. How do I translate that through a couple of pictures?

Not only do I have to come up with what to do with him, I have to ask designers for wardrobe options for him AND for my disguise for the day. Casual or dressy? Suit or tux? What color? Pattern or solid? There are million different combinations out there! That’s only suits! Casual could be a nightmare!

I step away from technology and breathe.

In and out…

In…

And out.

If I had known doing this could have caused me anxiety, I probably wouldn’t have said yes.

But if I said no, how would that make me look? Awful! There was no way I could have refused possibly one of the nicest and most kind-hearted men in Hollywood.

I know no matter what I decide, I want him to love the finished product. No, I need him to love it.

After sending a quick text to my publicist to contact his team for opinions, I focus on what I could go in. My walk-in closet holds all of my choices for hair. Black bob? Blonde pixie? Beach waves? Red curls? So many options.

My phone starts ringing from the other room.

“What’s up?” I answer to my publicist. She’s the only one who knows me inside and out. Well, she kind of has to. It’s technically her job to know after all. But it’s more than that. She wants to know me in depth. She’s been more of a friend than an employee, and I’ve appreciated it more than she realizes.

“You want his opinion on the shoot?” Her surprise isn’t hidden at all. Yes, it’s strange for me to want the client’s input. I am usually very on top of everything and don’t give anyone else any say. But this guy is different. I want him to enjoy the whole experience, from beginning to end. His opinion means the most to me.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask why? You’ve never wanted anyone else’s opinion- oh my gosh! You like him!”

Yep. I’ve had the biggest crush on my now client for many years now. A hopeless infatuation with a man who would never look at me the way I do him. My friends back home try and say, “You don’t know that for sure, he could surprise you,” and “maybe he needs a woman like you,” and everything else friends are supposed to say. I brush it off and try and change the subject.

When I told them who my next client was, they were beyond excited for me. A million questions were asked to which I had no answers.

A few days went by before we heard back from the client’s team. They were no help at all. Their client said, “Whatever she has in mind will be alright with me.”

…

Bupkis.

The hours following that phone call were spent researching all of the photoshoots he had ever done to eliminate any possible duplicates. All of them were so incredibly sophisticated. He’s almost always in a suit no matter what the concept. He looks immaculate in suits so that’s no surprise at all.

So the question is do I continue the trend or change it up?

My brain immediately says yes to the latter.

Well, more like screams it.

With that, everything comes together in my mind. I call my manager and let her know the plan so she can start making whatever calls she needs to make to get everything together. I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally.

I’m sure this will be exceedingly different for him. It will definitely be out of his normal realm of photoshoots. Although he did something similar in one of his movies, this will be a lot more fun since he doesn’t have a script to go by or follow any directions. The more I think about it, the more excited I get.

The day finally comes and I could not sleep the night before. 50% nerves, 50% excitement. I get to meet the man I’ve been crushing on for years.

I’m setting up my camera when my name was called.

“You haven’t given me your disguise,” my publicist says from the doorway with her phone to her shoulder. I thought long and hard about what disguise I wanted to use to meet this special client. Many ideas came to mind, they were picked and laid out on my bedroom floor for days. I waited for one of them to scream at me “PICK ME!” I wanted the “aha!” moment like I had when deciding what to do for this photoshoot.

But that didn’t happen.

“I’m not doing one this time.” I say back to her before returning to my task.

She hangs up the phone rather quickly before she was at my side. “Are you feeling alright?” She lays the back of her hand on my forehead as if she suspected I was running a fever.

I gently bat it away. “I’m fine, honest.”

“But you’ve never not had a disguise.”

“I’m aware.”

“So, why the sudden change?”

I sigh, “It’s not a permanent change. It’s just this once. Besides, he won’t know that. Like everyone before him and everyone after him, he will assume this”- I gesture to my very casual white long-sleeved t-shirt and cropped high-waist, light-wash mom jeans- “is also a disguise. No one will know any different.” She raises her eyebrow at me skeptically but she accepts it and goes about her job.

I’m informed when he arrives. He’s immediately off to wardrobe though so I don’t meet him yet. It gives me time to make any last minute adjustments before seeing him. After a quick chat with my tech guy, I start taking test shots to get the right lighting. He is fair-skinned so I don’t want to completely wash him out with the current white background. I’ll have to adjust again after… I make many mental notes as I go about my routine. All voices are drowned out as I get into it. All angles must be covered and adjusted. All bases must be covered. After a few back and forths, I finally step back and lower my camera (my tell for being done) feeling satisfied and confident enough to start.

My name draws me back to reality. “I’d like to introduce you to…”

I turn around to finally take in the God in front of me.

Tom Hiddleston.

The God of Mischief himself, dressed in a white V-neck and light-wash loose denim jeans. His long ginger locks are perfectly tousled and slicked back. He’s barefoot as I requested. I’d say he looks like a snack but the whole world knows he’s an entire ten-course meal.

“Wow,” he almost unwittingly blurts before recovering. He holds his hand out to me which of course I take. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m a massive fan of your work.”

“The honor is mine, really.”

And what an honor it is…

His hand is so warm around mine. I can feel it migrate all the way up through my arm, directly to my heart. His smile and his bright blue eyes are so welcoming, it’s impossible to feel anything else.

The clearing of a throat reminds us that we’re kind of just staring at each other. We retract our hands and get back to business. I explain to him what I want to do. As I do, he never looks away from me. If he does, it’s only for a second. He listens intently and enthusiastically. I have a difficult time getting through it all without stammering and stumbling on my words. His gaze was just so intense, it threw me.

My idea is a simple two-parter. Part one: He will be covering the large canvas behind him with paint until there is as little white as possible. Once that is dry, I will peel off a stencil I have on it to reveal the concept of the photoshoot. All while taking pictures of him. It will be messy, but hopefully it will be worth it.

“Feel free to use whatever method you prefer: brush, roller, hands. We have it all,” I conclude.

“Will you join me?” He asks as he steps up to the canvas.

The blood rushes to my face at his invitation. No one has invited me to help before. To hide the tinge of red in my cheeks, I bring my camera up and take his picture. It was the perfect angle. His body was facing the canvas, his right hand was resting on it and he was perpendicularly looking towards me. It was the best before shot I could think of. I already had the idea of having it black and white except for his eyes.

“If I have to,” I answer him before he begins.

The more pictures I take of him, I find out he did not have a bad angle. I already knew he didn’t, doing this only confirms it.

But as I predicted, he was too tame with the paint. He was deliberate with his strokes. Even though it was most a total turn-on to watch, it’s not what I was wanting.

I instruct him to continue while I put my camera down, I pour some paint into one of the trays, dip the paint brush in it, and step up to him. I run my thumb over the bristles, creating a mist on the side of his face. The blue paint pops against his skin tone. I’m almost mesmerized.

“You need to loosen up a bit.” My voice comes out as a whisper. Don’t ask me why. “Don’t be so controlled. This is meant to be fun.”

“Show me?”

I take his brush and throw both aside. “Bring out the balloons.”

One of my assistants brings out one of the buckets of paint filled black balloons I had prepared for this scenario. I grab one, throwing it gently into the air as if to test it out. He watches me every move with an intensity I’ve seen multiple times in his movies.

Throwing it at the canvas is cathartic. Watching it explode into a bright orange over the green he had been painting with felt even better than I expected.

“Your turn.” I hold one out to him and wait.

He takes it, gently squeezing it before raising an eyebrow at me. I raise one back, challenging him to be very un-Britishlike and loosen up. Then with perfect accuracy, he launches it at the canvas. The balloon pops revealing a very vibrant purple.

“That’s a start.”

We throw a couple more before I decide to kick it up a notch. The blue mist on his face was looking a little lonely…

When his back is turned, I pick up a balloon and swiftly pop it… on his head.

The yellow paint drips down his back. His shoulders tense at the initial impact, but release again once I stand back, I have my camera ready for his reaction.

It was gold. Literally.

The paint had also dripped down his face and over his forehead, even down his nose. The yellow mixed well with his ginger hair, I couldn’t have picked a better color.

But the best aspect of the photo was his face. What I attribute to being the “Loki” smile was plastered across it. Now it will be immortalized forever with yellow paint dripping down his face.

“You have no idea of the war you have just started, darling.”

My heart skips at the simple nickname I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by. I take an “innocent” step back towards the bucket. “Did I though?”- I shrug- “maybe this was my intention?”

He smirks, “Game on.”

Twenty minutes later, we are both covered in paint. The canvas is complete and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Tom really does know how to let loose. He’s the reason I have paint in places no one should have paint. Our white shirts are splattered with all sorts of different colors. Our light-wash jeans are relatively unscathed minus a brush stroke or two and my entire left thigh being covered in red. Tom is standing directly behind me with his hand on my waist as we take a look at some of the shots I’ve taken so far. His neck has a very large white brush mark on the left side and his entire right side (including his face) is purple. I’m trying extremely hard to have a conversation with my editor about some of the pictures, but I can’t concentrate.

Tom’s proximity is both extremely calming and entirely too distracting. The paint is now mixed with his intoxicating cologne. His strong arm that was once wrapped entirely around my middle is just leisurely there like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I call for a break after I get through everything to let the paint dry.

I turn to him, “Now I’m giving you the option to stay like this for the next portion or to get cleaned up. There’s a bathroom with a shower just down the hall.”

“I’m quite alright. I think I’ll keep it.” He runs his fingers through his paint covered hair trying to settle it back to how it was before. However a small piece decided to be a rebel and not want to stay back.

I pull him in front of a white wall and grab my camera. “Close your eyes.” Again, my voice fails to come through. He does as I say. I play with the aforementioned piece of paint-heavy hair and place it directly in front of his purple face. Up close I see some red on his forehead with the blue mist on his left cheek. I’m thankful his eyes are closed so he can’t see the stupid smile on my face. I quickly snap a few more pictures, adjusting the angle a couple times before I had him open his eyes again to take a few more.

“You are a photographer’s dream,” I say while viewing them on the small screen.

“How so?”

Feeling bold, I run my finger over his cheekbones, “These,” then down his jawline, “and this,” before dropping it completely, “and it helps that you don’t have any bad angles. Every picture I take is flawless.”

He chuckles, “Well thank you, darling, but it helps to have an amazingly talented photographer who can capture such moments.” He wanders back over to our masterpiece and takes it all in. I snap a couple more pictures seizing the opportunity to look at his ass through the camera lens. “This is honestly the most fun I’ve ever had at a photoshoot.” He turns around as I snap a picture. “I’m not particularly fond of them altogether, but I’d do this again in a heartbeat.”

“Wow,” I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling like an idiot, “that’s some high praise I’m not sure I deserve.”

“Oh no, you deserve it all and so much more. I’ve seen your other work.”

I glue my gaze to my camera, slightly uncomfortable by his compliments. This is the reason I’m anonymous. I get awkward and don’t really know what to say. I also hate being the center of attention. That’s why I’m behind the camera, not in front of it.

He continues, “Your landscapes and water pieces are breathtaking. You capture the utter beauty Mother Nature has given us effortlessly. Every single time I see one of them I’m even more awestruck.” He finally looks back at me, taking in my unease. “I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable. I’ve been waiting to meet you and tell you all of that and how much I’ve loved your pictures.”

The blood rushes to my cheeks once more. He has wanted to meet me?

“I didn’t know what I was expecting, but you’ve managed to blow all of my expectations out of the water by a landslide. I honestly didn’t think this could go any better.”

The more he talked the more I realized he’s rambling. He’s fidgeting and shifting where he stood. If he were wearing his glasses I’m sure he would be fidgeting with them as well as running his fingers through his mane, rubbing his hands down his chest to straighten his shirt out and dewrinkle his pants. The usual poised, calm and collected man was… nervous?

What would he possibly have to be nervous about? It’s not like I’m anything special. I don’t do anything to contribute to society. I’m not a Nobel prize winner or a very well-known and respected actor in Hollywood. I’m just a small town woman whose hobby caught some attention. There’s no reason to be nervous around me. Unless-

No. No way.

When he noticed his rambling, he chuckles to himself and apologizes again and confirms my suspicions. “I’m sorry, but this is like me meeting William Shakespeare or Leo Tolstoy, I’m a big fan.”

“In all honesty, I should be saying all of that to you, I’ve been a fan of yours for years. You were number one on my list of people I wanted to photograph.” He looks away smiling. “So you essentially made my dreams come true. I don’t think there’s any way I could top that.”

“I can prove you wrong.” He locks eyes with me, all hints of shyness gone. Instead, seriousness with a bit of confidence takes over. And loads and loads of charm. He oozes charm from every molecule of his being. That alone gets me to ask-

“How so?”

Okay, maybe more than his charm made me ask, but my curiosity was piqued. If it meant getting to see him again after today, I’m all for it.

Before he could answer, everyone returned from their breaks. I step up to the canvas and test it to see if it’s dry enough. The slight give against my fingertips tells me it’s not completely dry but it’s good enough that it won’t run into the white of the outline of the stencil we’ve painted over.

My assistant brings over the black iron table and chair I want Tom to sit on for this next part and I’m back in work mode. I peel off the pre-taped X on the paint-covered floor for placement of everything. A few test shots were taken before the main stencil was removed. One after one, each feather of rainbow wings were revealed behind the crazy paint. Tom will be sitting in the middle giving him an angelic presence.

As I snapped pictures, my editor started experimenting with filters I might like and showing me for approval. There were so many photos that I will be obsessed with for weeks to come; that are so unbelievably perfect that this may be my favorite photoshoot I’ve ever done. The sharpness of his jawline and cheekbones are a perfect contrast to the background, especially when Tom is in black and white with the colorful backdrop. That turned into one of my favorite pictures of him.

I took so many pictures that I forced myself to stop, otherwise I would have gone for hours on end. I couldn’t help the disappointed look on my face when I knew I had to call “that’s a wrap.” I never wanted it to end.

“Excuse me,” Tom steps up to the tech desk, “could I ask for a few more?”

I look to my editor. He’s just as shocked as I am. “Uh, sure.” I turn back, “what did you have in mind?”

“Could I get a few with you?”

…

If my jaw could hit the ground and my eyes could pop out of my skull, they would.

For years I’ve avoided pictures being taken of me. Group pictures are my least favorite. I have no control over them. Selfies I can manipulate to make it look halfway decent. Even then those are few and far between. Taking pictures of others; showing them how the world sees them; letting them see the inner beauty instead of what’s on the surface. I try to do it with people and nature.

Never has a client asked for a picture with me as a part of the photoshoot. They usually ask afterwards which I have no problem with, mostly because I always have a disguise; I never look the same in every picture. But for someone I’ve admired for years, who has had photoshoots with gorgeous actresses, to want a couple shots with me? It’s unbelievable. Especially with me as I am sans a disguise.

I switch back and forth between my editor and Tom. He seems just as shocked at Tom’s request as I was. He’s been with me for my entire professional career, so he’s seen a lot. He’s been around when some of the most famous people in the business ask for a picture with the infamous mystery photographer. Not once has one asked me to actually be a part of the project in front of the camera.

“Oh, no,” I blurt turning my attention back to Tom, “I take the pictures. I’m not in them.”

“You have the tripod and your remote,” my editor speaks up, “it’d be easy.”

I want to send him a death glare for suggesting that, but I don’t. I scramble to come up with an excuse. “Yeah, but how will I know what they look like? It’s not like I can be the photographer and be in the picture.”

“I think by now I know your eye,” he comes back with completely obliterating my only valid excuse.

My brain tries to think of the positives that could come from doing this with him…

Reason #1: More time with him. If I agree to it, it would mean that much more time I get to spend with a man I’ve been dying to meet.

Reason #2: Taking pictures with him means I’ll get to be super close with him. I don’t know what kind of ideas he might have but I honestly don’t care. Being that close to him and his intoxicating cologne might just be enough reason to say yes to his request.

Reason #3: However slight, there is a chance to get some quality pictures. If he’s in them, they’re automatically going to focus on him and not me. “They” being anyone who might see them.

I so badly want to say no and let my fear of getting my picture taken take over, causing me to run out of this room. However, my desire to stay and spend time with Tom is stronger than my flight response.

Huffing, “As long as my face isn’t in full view…” my editor nods, I turn to my assistant, “Can someone please find my tripod and wireless remote?” I excuse myself to actually find out what my appearance looks like. I only have the smallest inkling based on my paint covered clothes.

The mirror in the bathroom revealed to be much worse than I was expecting. The dried paint is matting my hair into a rat’s nest. There is a rainbow of colors all over my entire person. Handprints from Tom are on my shoulder, back, and side. Splatters of orange and bright royal blue with smears of yellow are in the mix. In other words, I look like a disaster.

Why in the world does Tom want to have his picture taken with someone who looks like a clown barfed on them?

To make myself a tad more presentable, I do what I can to tame my hair at least a bit before going back out there. I don’t wash any paint off. That would ruin the whole thing. If Tom is going to stay the same then I figure I should as well.

My tripod is set up and my camera is already mounted by the time I come back out. Tom is patiently waiting for me and continues to wait while I adjust the aperture and lighting, taking a few test shots so neither of us get washed out in the process.

I turn to him placing my hands on my hips, “So what did you have in mind?”

“Here,” He gently pulls me to his chest. He puts my hands on his chest before wrapping his arms around my waist. His face is obstructing my view of the camera, his mouth just at my ear. My heart sped up at the close vicinity, my palms get damp- I have to tightly grip the wireless remote before it falls out.

My mind goes fuzzy for a minute at his proximity before I press the button. The flash of the camera captures the moment, I can’t wait to actually see it.

He squeezes my sides effectively tickling me. His baritone laugh fills my ears as he buries his nose in my hair. The flash goes off multiple times without me pressing the button. I bury my face in his neck as the flashes continues. I pull back slightly with my back to the camera still.

We lock eyes and suddenly everything else in the room disappears. It’s just us. His are filled with such joy at first, quickly changing to… intensity and intrigue. They sparkle in the light. The blues of his irises pop against his pale skin, ginger locks with all of the paint spattered everywhere.

He brings my right hand up to his lips, never breaking eye contact with me. He places a lingering kiss on my knuckles. I watch his lips completely mesmerized by him. The soft stubble around even softer lips brush against my fingers sending light tingles up my arm… or maybe that was just the effect of his lips alone. His beautiful, long eyelashes brush against his cheeks and linger for longer than a split second- his utter beauty astounding me the more time I spend with him. I’m actually anxious to see how these photos will turn out…

It takes my brain a few moments to register everyone else around us again. Stepping back from him almost felt criminal. The bubble we created popped as soon as our eye contact broke.

We take a few more before he insists on taking one of me in front of the wings. Instinctually I cover my face. When he shows me the picture, I’m amazed at how much I like it. He continues to snap a few more before I snatch my camera back. He throws his arms around my waist, pulling my back into his chest. I take a few selfie-like photos like that.

It’s then that his manager comes in, reminding Tom that he has another engagement to go to soon. Given that he’s covered in paint, he will need to shower before that. Which means he has to leave…

The way his manager is eyeing me in his arms makes me slightly uncomfortable. Tom seems to sense it as he lets go-rather reluctantly, I might add. He clears his throat after turning to me. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” Just like that he’s back to being the professional I know him to be. He holds his hand out to me.

“As I said before,” I slip mine into his, “the pleasure is all mine.”

He lets go and starts to walk away, but comes back, “Could I please have a hug? I’m a hugger.” Before he can even finish his sentence, I wrap my arms around his neck. He sighs in relief into the crook of my neck as his arms lock around my waist. “Would it be too much to ask,” he whispers in my ear before pulling back enough to look in my eyes, “if I could see the finished product before publication?”

My head quirks a little in confusion, my brows slightly furrow. It’s an odd request that I’ve also never gotten before. Most clients trust my vision and want to wait to be published to see the final product.

He must take my reaction to be offended because he rushes to correct himself, “No, no, please don’t think I’m being offensive, that’s not my intention at all. Please forgive me if I’ve offended you. I trust you; I trust that whatever you do will turn out brilliantly. I just…” He seems to get lost in thought or is trying to think through his words carefully before speaking again, “I’d like to see… you… again.” How shy he got within those last few words had to be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen him do. You could see the doubt in his posture- shoulders slightly slumped and yet his spine seemed to tense- as well as hear the confidence wane the more he spoke. It reminded me of a little kid who got their parent the best present in their opinion and nervously explained why they thought it was awesome, only realizing they may not have the same opinion. The dejection fills their entire being, I can see Tom wanting to crawl into himself and hide if I were to reject him.

Which I have no plans to do.

A smile slowly appears on my face at the realization of his words. He wants to see me again. He wants to see me. The butterflies in my stomach are set awry at the thought of seeing him again. I nod, “I think we can make that work.”

The smile that took over his beautiful features was one I wish I could have caught on camera. He hugs me one more time, kissing my cheek before he leaves.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind. Tom sent his personal contact information to my manager, we’ve been talking just about every day since. He posted an outtake on his social media pages gushing about how excited he was for his shoot. That alone floored me knowing how much he doesn’t use social media anymore. My website crashed with how much traffic it received from his fans wanting to be reminded of his pictures launching.

Speaking of his pictures, they were flawless. Absolutely flawless. That man does not have a single bad angle. Even the ones with me in them, he was perfect. I edited them only slightly- no photoshop. I pride myself on never using it to make anybody have a smaller waist or change someone’s skin to make them poreless a.k.a. unrealistic. Tom needs no photoshopping. It was the most difficult decision I’ve ever made when it came to picking the pictures to post.

However, I didn’t have to make that decision alone. True to my word, Tom and I set up a meeting to go over all of them once I was finished with “my magic” as he called it. He invited me to his house in London when he had a short break from filming. The idea was daunting but I was excited to finally see him again.

He sent a car to pick me up from the airport at my insistence. He wanted to pick me up himself- being the gentleman he was- but I thought it would be better if we weren’t seen together by anyone. Even if no one would be able to recognize me, I was paranoid. Thankfully he understood. He greeted me at the door as soon as the car pulled up. He welcomed me into his home as if we were old friends. He had cleared off his coffee table in his living room so I could set up my laptop, he offered me a cup of tea while I pulled everything up. He was the most hospitable host, always make sure I was comfortable before starting.

Every new slide he saw he had the same reaction, “Wow,” or “Amazing,” and “Each one just keeps getting better.” He was floored by what I had done. He repeatedly complimented my eye and my artistry. He says how he knew they would be great but every one of them has blown his expectations out of the water. I hated and loved all of his positive feedback. I loved it because he was someone I especially wanted to impress. His opinion meant more to me than anyone else’s. The only reason for hating it is because I don’t take criticism well whether it was positive or negative. And I was getting quite a lot of it from Tom.

We got to the last one before he turned to me, “Now, darling, you know how much I love those, but I think you know which ones I’m dying to see more.” He smiles close-lipped like he was begging for something while putting on the charm trying to persuade me to say yes.

I bite my lip and sigh before setting up the second slideshow I knew he would have wanted. This one I was even more nervous about. He would continually ask how these ones were going specifically throughout the last few weeks. He was just as anxious to see them as I was. Not knowing exactly what shot my editor was taking, if any physical characteristics of mine could be differentiated from any other person. It took everything in me that day to relinquish that kind of control. It also took an equal amount of restraint not to delete every single picture with me in it. Tom’s constant nagging stopped me though. He would know if I deleted one, or so he says.

“After this one, we have to pick the finals from the other ones.” I pass him my laptop to go through them himself before excusing myself to go sit outside. I was not about to sit through that one with him. I sat on one of his back steps and watched the gray clouds move across the London sky. I always enjoy coming here. Most people hate how dreary the weather is, but I love it. I feel most at peace when it rains and is overcast. I’ve thought about getting a flat here but I don’t know how difficult that would be.

It’s several minutes before the door opens behind me. “You can come back in, darling.” He holds his hand out for me to take as he guides me back in the house and over to resume our previous spots on the couch.

He sits with me facing the computer which has since gone dark. His thigh is touching mine completely as if he couldn’t bear to be even a hair’s breadth away from me again. He doesn’t let go of my hand as his elbows rest on his knees and I lean my chin against his shoulder.

He reaches with his free hand to wake up my laptop. One of the pictures pops up on the screen. It’s one of the ones he personally took. He managed to get my face before I covered it. Completely candid, which is normally my favorite kind of photo, except when it’s me as the photo subject. He squeezes my hand as he whispers in my ear, “You are so beautiful.”

Paging through some of the other photos of the two of us, he lands on the one that surprised me the most when I was going through them. My editor managed to sneak one of my full-face just before Tom kisses my knuckles. I was in such a trance that I didn’t notice anything outside our bubble. The only picture I could compare it to is the iconic one of the Duchess of Sussex during her wedding to the Duke. The love is extremely evident in her eyes in that moment, it was made clear to all she was marrying the love of her life.

He flips to one more picture. It’s of his face moments before mine. I feel his eyes on the side of my face as I stay glued to his picture. “I only hope you can see yourself as I do.” I spent hours staring at this one, willing myself to see something else other than what I saw: mirrored emotion. Everything I saw in my expression was directly identical to his. Softened eyes, relaxed jaw, mouth slightly ajar forming the most content smile… all I saw was admiration. Deep admiration for who he was gazing upon. My crushed-out brain wanted to call it something else but there was no way it could be anything close to that. Not that quickly at least…

“The fact that you’ve gone without your usual disguise twice now around me has not gone unnoticed. It has allowed me to see your outer beauty as well as your inner beauty through your art and through our conversations.” He stops for a beat. “I’ve found myself wondering after we say goodnight, ‘how did I get so fortunate to be able to see the beautiful, inspiring woman that you are when you hide it from others?’”

I should have known that if anyone could see right through me it would be him. He’s extremely perceptive and intuitive. He’s capable of seeing through layers and layers of walls built by people who don’t want to be seen. He looks deeper to comprehend more than people realize. He saw right through me during our first meeting, yet he still wanted to see more. He’s done so every time we’ve talked on the phone or Facetimed.

I’ve allowed it to happen. I didn’t know why at first. I don’t open up to many people in this line of work. No one really cares to know. From everything I had seen and read about Tom, I knew he was different. I knew I could be myself around him without any fear of judgment. I didn’t need to hide from him to get respect, like I’ve had to for every day of my career. Tom would never base an opinion on me until he met me. He’s nothing like the rest which is why I felt comfortable enough to let those walls down and continue to be myself. I can’t say I’m disappointed that I have.

“I knew you would never judge me, which is extremely rare especially in this industry. And…” My eyes drift away from the screen to meet his intense stare. I swallow down the lump that was forming in my throat. He squeezes my hand encouraging me to continue. His thumb is lightly rubbing the back, sending tingles up my arm. My next words only come out as a whisper, unable to trust my own voice, “…you were the only person I didn’t want to hide from.”

I can’t help but get lost in his gorgeous baby blues as they were locked on mine. The kindest soul lives behind those seas of blues. And right now that soul was questioning why I’ve opened my heart to him. The real question is “why not him?”

Confirming what I already knew, he huskily whispers back, “Darling, you never have to hide from me.”

Overwhelming feelings compel me to do just that so without giving it a second thought I close the small gap between us. It only lasted for a few seconds. My lips pressed to his until I came to my senses. He didn’t even have enough time to react. I pull back and immediately separate myself from him. The entire right side of my body goes cold, instantly missing the warmth his body brought me.

“I’m sorry.” I can’t believe I just did that. How could I have completely lost all composure and flat out kissed him? He is my client! I may have the biggest crush alive on him but I should show a little professionalism while we’re still working together…

He clears his throat, “It’s alright.”

“No, it really isn’t.” I stand, even though my body screams at me to sit back down. “You are my client.” I keep hoping by reminding myself of that it will actually sink in. “I should be professional with a client. Not making house calls or asking for input or breaking the one rule I made for myself…”

My golden rule: Don’t get personal with clients. Be friendly but professional. Give them a memorable experience and then let them go. Don’t get attached. All of this… for years I haven’t had a problem. Until him. He shattered every boundary I set for myself. I’m not faulting him; it’s not his fault at all. It’s 100% mine. I let it happen. I broke my rule because of who he is and my stupid crush on him.

A laugh erupts from me unexpectedly. I may or may not have lost my mind…

“And the worst part of it is I can only blame myself. I knew of my hopeless crush on you before I said yes.” At this point I have no control over what is coming out of my mouth. The filter or brakes I had before have all but evaporated. “You’d think that because of said crush I would have made doubly- triply sure I don’t get personal, that I used the best disguise I could possibly think of. But no… instead I let you see everything I’ve purposely kept inside for my entire career, maybe even longer.” I’m also well-aware that I’m rambling, however I can’t stop myself. “But I couldn’t help myself. You are just so comfortable to be around, even from the beginning. You were so easy to talk to and so kind, my walls sort of just crumbled.”

I groan at the memory of that day. Just with the way he looked at me in that one shot, it set all of my nerves alight, the butterflies in my stomach awry, everything in me screamed at how much it wanted him. “And the way you were looking at me… it was like you could see every part of me; like you could see right through me. Like even if I wanted to lie or hide, you could see the truth. You-” I finally get up the nerve to turn to face him, only to find he was already standing right behind me. He had the same intensity to his face as he did that day, except somehow even more so if that were possible.

His eyes are locked on my lips. My breath is lost as everything I said sinks in. I just admitted to having a crush on him. I could have backtracked and said I don’t anymore had I not just kissed him.

Only a beat goes by before he grabs my face and brings our lips back together. This time he places an open mouth kiss on me like I’ve seen so many times in his movies. His soft but firm lips move against mine like a man starved, like he could no longer hold back. His tongue gently pokes between my lips but is never too intrusive. The passion he puts into his kisses can be felt down to my toes. I never want him to stop, even when my brain is begging for oxygen. I don’t think I could love him more than in this instance.

One of his big hands cradles the side of my face, the other moves down to gently grip my waist before snaking around to the small of my back. He pulls me flush against him. Mine instinctually wrap around his waist and up his muscular back, exploring every inch I could reach, never wanting to let go.

“I see you, darling. For all that you are.” His already baritone voice takes on a whole new bass as he catches his breath.

He rests his forehead against mine as we both try and get our breathing and racing hearts back to normal. Once he’s ready, he kisses my forehead and pulls back slightly to look me in the eyes again. This time I see elation and satisfaction plaguing his features. “… and I’m falling in love with you because of it.”

I swear my heart stops in that moment. The shock of his words nearly knock my knees out from under me, I never dreamed I would ever meet him, let alone hear him say those words directed at me. But this isn’t a dream. This is real life. My real life.

Sighing in relief, I throw my head back, “Oh, thank you!” I stretch to my tiptoes to kiss him again. I wrap my arms around his neck as he sighs happily at the contact and giggles at me.

“Is it fair to assume you’re falling for me as well?” He secures his arms around my waist, keeping me as close as possible.

“Oh, honey,” I playfully scold, “I’m already there.” A smile stretches on his lips nearly making them disappear. “But don’t worry” –I brush my nose against his, letting my own happiness shine as brightly as his- “you’ll catch up.”

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~*~

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