The Heart-Shaped Bubble He Made for Her at 30 Meters Chapter 07

The Heart-Shaped Bubble He Made for Her at 30 Meters Chapter 07

Evan stayed in Santa Fe.

He didn’t move into my casita. Instead, he booked a room at a small inn one street over.

Every morning, he left a thermos of warm honey-lemon tea hanging from my gate.

A note was always tucked into the carrier.

[It’s windy today. Stay off the exposed ridges.]

[Go easy on iced prickly pear lemonade.]

[I bought you two spare camera batteries. They’re outside.]

I never took any of it.

Eventually, my host couldn’t help commenting.

“Evan may not seem very approachable, but he certainly knows how to take care of someone.”

I was editing photographs when my fingers froze over the keyboard.

“He’s always been thoughtful.”

On the third day, I went to photograph a veteran metalworker who hand-forged wind chimes.

Miles came with me.

The walls of the craftsman’s workshop were covered with bells, and whenever the wind came through the open door, the whole room rang.

I crouched near the entrance and photographed him polishing a clapper.

Miles shifted to block the sunlight for me.

“Move your frame a little to the left. The lines across his hand will come through more clearly.”

I followed his suggestion and checked the image afterward.

He was right. The shot was stronger.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

He smiled.

“You have a strong eye. You’ve just spent too long framing the world around someone else’s vision.”

My grip tightened around the camera.

On our way back, Evan was waiting at the end of the lane.

He noticed the reflector in Miles’s hand, then looked at the photographs on my camera.

“You spent the entire day shooting together?”

Before I could answer, Miles said, “It was work.”

Evan looked at us, his voice cold.

“She used to photograph entire dive crews. That was far more difficult than this. She doesn’t need you teaching her.”

Miles didn’t get angry.

“That’s great. Now that she’s creating her own work, there’s nothing wrong with someone helping her.”

Evan looked at me.

“You’re just going to let him say that?”

“Was he wrong?”

Evan’s mouth tightened.

“Lena, I know you’re trying to get a reaction out of me, but don’t take chances with someone you barely know just to get back at me.”

I put my camera into its bag.

“I’m not taking a chance.”

“You’ve known him for a few days. Do you even know what kind of person he is?”

“At least he respects what I want to do now.”

Something dimmed in Evan’s eyes.

“I respect it too.”

I looked at him.

“Then go home.”

He didn’t move.

“Anything but that.”

That evening, Tessa called me.

“Evan contacted me.”

“Okay.”

“He asked if you had been unhappy all these years. I said yes. He didn’t say anything for a long time.”

I flipped through the photographs on my camera.

“It wasn’t as though he never noticed.”

“Maybe people are like that. Before they lose something, they always think there will be more time.”

Tessa paused.

“Things are going badly for Hailey too. I heard Evan pulled her from every project. She cried about it in the team chat and said you were trying to get her blacklisted and leave her with no way to support herself.”

I barely reacted.

“She can find another job like everyone else.”

“There’s something else.”

Tessa lowered her voice.

“There’s a problem with the promotional materials for the Blue Hole exhibition. People online found that a lot of the logistics records you created didn’t credit you at all and had instead been added to Hailey’s portfolio as work she had contributed to. Now everyone in the comments is asking who actually did the work.”

I sat up straighter.

“Who found it?”

“No idea. But the records are detailed enough that they probably came from someone inside the team.”

After we ended the call, I opened the page.

#BlueHoleProjectCreditDispute# wasn’t high on the trending list, but it had gained enough traction to draw attention.

The posts included screenshots of multiple spreadsheets.

There were the sea-condition contingency plans I had stayed up all night preparing, the backup boats I had arranged, and the insurance documents I had checked page by page.

All of them had been listed in Hailey’s professional profile as projects she had helped complete.

Someone commented, [So the person onshore wasn’t just running errands after all.]

My fingers went numb as I stared at the words.

Someone knocked on the door again.

When I opened it, Evan was standing outside with a laptop in his hands.

“I posted the records.”

His voice was rough.

“I reviewed the promotional materials and found out she had repackaged your work as her own. I’m sorry. I should have seen it before.”

I looked at him.

“So?”

His throat worked.

“I’ll issue a public correction and restore your name to every project credit. Anyone who needs to be held accountable will be removed from the team.”

The wind swept through the open gate.

His eyes were bloodshot.

I used to be terrified that something would happen to him. I worried about him wearing himself out or becoming hypothermic in the water.

Now I only asked calmly, “Evan, are you correcting the credits, or are you finally realizing how much you owe me?”

He couldn’t answer.

As I started to close the door, he reached out to stop it.

The door caught his fingers, and he let out a muffled grunt.

I stopped without thinking.

He looked at me and actually smiled.

“See? You still care about me.”

I released the handle.

“Reflex.”

Then I shut the door.