The smoldering heat from the raging flames caused a flood of perspiration to cascade down my back. I got as close as I dared. I certainly didn’t need the police breathing down my neck, making me so nervous that my work would be sloppy.

I carefully focused the lens and snapped a few pictures. I moved a few feet to my right and captured the flaming scene before my eyes from a different angle. Several times I moved like this, until I had gotten every possible angle from behind the yellow tape encircling the building that read “Police Line—Do Not Cross.” Firemen thought I was a nuisance, but this was my job; it was what I lived for.

From the time I was a snotty-nosed kid in second grade, I had loved taking pictures. My fascination with photography started when I went on vacation with my family to a cabin, high in the snow-covered peaks of the Rocky Mountains. The mountains were so picturesque and majestic that I had to take pictures of them. Mom was reluctant to let me use her camera, but I’d begged and pleaded until she finally relented, realizing that using her camera was important to me. I took an entire roll of film, just of those mountains. As soon as we’d returned home, Dad sent the film off to be developed for me. When it finally returned, I’d sat up in my room for hours at a time writing fairy-tale stories to go along with each picture. Later, surprising to no one who knew me, I majored in photojournalism when I went to college.

I immediately snapped back to reality when I heard the piercing wail of a siren growing louder and louder. Another fire truck was careening down the street. I looked up and saw that the flames had spread to another window, leaping out into the oxygen-filled air that fueled it. They almost seemed to be alive.

I had to get closer. Glancing to my left, I saw the dark-coated police officers barking out commands for the crowd on the other side of the building to stay back. Deciding to take a huge risk since they weren’t looking in my direction yet, I cautiously slipped under the tape and moved a few feet closer. Steadying my camera, I proceeded to get several more shots.

“Whoa! Get back behind the line or we’ll have to arrest you! We don’t need any injuries today. We’re lucky no one was in there in the first place,” one of the older police officers yelled at me. Then I heard him mutter, “Stupid press.” I guess he thought I was too far away to hear him.

“Don’t worry about me. I was just leaving.” I said, raising my voice so he could hear me above the loud roar. “And the same goes to you,” I added under my breath.

“What was that?” he asked, his eyes burning into mine.

“Nothing, I’m leaving.”

He continued glaring at me until I gurned and began walking toward my car.

As I turned the key in the ignition, my mind wandered to my editor, Jason Westerfield. He’d be really pleased with the pictures I took today. Action shots were his favorites. Personally, I preferred nature ones. You can get so caught up in capturing the perfect action shot, that getting it can become dangerous. Today was the perfect example of that.

Chicago wasn’t very busy at two-thirty on a weekday afternoon. Since my co-workers and I basically come and go as we please at the office, I decided to stop for a bite to eat. I went through two stoplights until I reached Jackson Avenue, then took a right. Pulling alongside the curb, I noticed that my favorite restaurant wasn’t very full. “Good, the quicker I’ll get my food.”

When I opened my car door, the sunlight blinded my eyes. Considering that I was only a few blocks from the fire, my nostrils itched from the smell of smoke on top of the already polluted air. I walked into the restaurant and was greeted by my favorite waitress.

“Bienvenida a La Charreada, seńorita Michaels. Su mesa usual?”

“Sí, Margarita. Gracias.” I smiled at the dark-haired Spanish woman. She was fairly young, early thirties I’d guess, and was very beautiful. Her charcoal eyes smiled warmly at me.

She led me to my usual table and I sat down. I didn’t even need to look at the menu; I already knew it by heart.

“Margarita, I think I’ll have what I always do. A chicken taco salad fajita, no guacamole, a side of Spanish rice, and a Dr. Pepper.”

“Of course, Miss Michaels,” she replied in her Spanish-accented voice. If I hadn’t spoken Spanish myself, I don’t think I would have been able to understand her very well.

The food didn’t take long to arrive. The fajita was steaming hot, and smelled absolutely delectable. My favorite part of it is the tortilla bowl that it comes in. It’s fried to a perfect golden brown, and tastes out of this world.

I ate quickly, wanting to get back to the office so I could develop my pictures from the fire. Before I left, I placed a five-dollar bill on the table. This was more generous than my usual tip, but I was in a great mood.

When I finally got to the office, Jason was waiting for me.

“Where have you been? I’ve been anxious to see those shots from the fire! You know that I like to see them as soon as possible, so why did it take you so long? I was beginning to get worried! They put the fire out thirty minutes ago,” he practically screamed.

I guess they’d put it out not long after I left. I must have been gone longer than I’d thought. Did I forget to mention that Jason doesn’t like to wait?

“I was hungry since I skipped lunch to get those pictures, so I stopped to get something to eat so I wouldn’t starve to death around this place!” I retorted.

At first, Jason looked like he could blow steam. Then his frown turned into a smile and he started laughing. We were like that when we were working. One minute we would be on our last nerve, and the next it was like nothing had happened. I couldn’t resist smiling.

I hastily made my way to the back of the building, where the darkroom was located, and shut the door. I loved working there. Jason was one of the top photographers in Chicago, and I was lucky to get a job under him. He was truly appreciative of my work; one of the few who was not jealous if someone else took better pictures than he did.

I started the process of developing my pictures, and tried not to think about Jason . . . his rugged good looks, the way his dark brown hair constantly fell into his eyes, how he got so excited when I showed him an especially good piece. He was one-of-a-kind. His smile could lighten up any dreary day.

Then I realized what I was thinking about.

“Stop it!” I told myself firmly. What had possessed me to think those things? I’d never felt this way toward Jason before. I’d only thought of him in a professional, business-like manner.

I made myself concentrate solely on what I was doing. Messing up was very easy to do in this business, and if I kept letting my mind wander, I wouldn’t have pictures that were worth two cents.

Once I finished developing them (finally), I took the time to study them. They were extremely good—my best ever. I truly believed this and began to get excited. Forgetting my uncalled-for thoughts, I rushed to Jason’s office to show him the photos.

As I knocked on his door, I noticed that his secretary wasn’t at her desk. That was odd. Normally, she was there observing everything that went on. She was so nosy. One time I’d even caught her looking through my desk.

“Come in,” Jason yelled.

When I spoke, my voice wavered. What was wrong with me? I’m usually at ease when I’m around him. I quickly made myself sound confident. I hoped that Jason hadn’t noticed the slight waver.

“Jason, I developed those pictures from the fire, and if I do say so myself, they’re pretty good.” I spread the pictures out on his desk.

He only glanced at me before looking at the photos, but in that split-second I noticed his eyes for the first time. I mean really noticed them. They were the clearest shade of blue, and reminded me of the sky on a warm summer day. Why had I never noticed them before?

I caught myself noticing more about him as he sat there, poring over my pictures. He was hunched over, gazing at them intently. Dressed in a dark gray suit, crisp white shirt, and a gray-and-navy tie, he was incredibly handsome. I knew for a fact that he used the local gym quite often, and it showed. I remembered that he was twenty-eight, only two years older than I was.

He picked up one of the pictures to get a closer look at it. It was my favorite, and by far the best. It showed the burning building on the corner of the block, the flames leaping out of the top-story windows. The bottom half of the building looked so calm and peaceful, while the top was literally chaos.

“This is magnificent,” I heard him mumble. “The light, the action, the way the flames seem to leap out at you . . . wow!” He looked up at me, his sky-blue eyes dancing and leaping around. Standing up, almost knocking over his chair, he quickly closed the distance between u s, still clutching the picture I had taken only a few hours ago.

“Karen, this is absolutely amazing!” Something totally unexpected happened right them. Jason, the man I had previously thought of only as an excellent boss, put his arms around my waist and locked me in a tight embrace. To sty the least, I was shocked. His hands lingered on my waist for a second longer than they should have, but I wasn’t complaining. Realizing what he had done, he finally let go of me. Faint pink circles crept slowly onto his cheeks.

At that instant, when I knew that I had enjoyed being so close to him, I realized something I never would have guessed before today. I had a tremendous crush on Jason Westerfield. And unless I was mistaken, by the look in his eyes he had a few feelings for me, too.

“Karen, go out with me to dinner tonight. We should celebrate. I knew you were an excellent photographer when I hired you. At that time, thought, you weren’t showing your full potential. But I knew it would come , and it has. This is marvelous work and I’m extremely proud of you!”

“Ugh . . . um . . . well, okay!” I stammered, amazed at how pleased I was.

“Great!” There was that smile of his. “Pick you up at six-thirty? I know this great Mexican restaurant that just opened on the other side of town, La Busca. I think you’ll like it.”

I was flabbergasted. How did h e know that I loved Mexican food?

At the bewildered expression on my face, he reminded me that when I stayed at the office for lunch, I would usually call in an order from La Charreada. I smiled, something I had done a lot of today.

“That’d be great then. I’ve wanted to try La Busca but haven’t had the chance to yet.”

“Even better. See you tonight!”

“Tonight it is,” I replied, gathering up my scattered pictures. I paused at the door to look at him, already on the phone to make our reservation. He smiled at me. I walked out of his office in a great mood, already wanting to go home and get ready. Who knows what would come of tonight?

Later on that night, I rushed home for a quick shower before my date. My date. . . Jason. I was going on a date with my boss. What was I thinking? While the hot water streamed over me, I tried to go over the situation in my head.

Of course, Jason was incredibly attractive and intelligent. Also, he was excellent to work for. But, would I want to date him? Had the scene in h is office been merely a temporary, caught-up-in-the-moment rush of feelings? I tried to imagine myself married to him. I couldn’t do it. But I’d promised to go on this date, so I finished getting ready. The doorbell rang at six twenty-nine.

I opened the door to see Jason silhouetted in the moonlight. I looked him over. He’d worn khaki dress pants and a navy blazer. His dark hair was neat, with a perfect part on the side.

“Do I pass inspection?” he asked, grinning slightly.

I laughed. “Of course.”

We walked to the car where he opened the door for me. I got in feeling a little nervous. Should I go ahead and tell him that I didn’t think it would work? No, I decided. I could at least make an effort.

La Busca was crowded. A couple left just as we arrived, however, so we were seated at a table rather quickly.

As we ate, we talked about all kinds of things: work, hobbies, our interests. My earlier reservations about dating my boss were still there, nonetheless. When dessert was finally served, I knew the time had come to tell him the way I felt.

“Jason . . .” I started.

From the tone of my voice, he knew something was wrong. “What is it, Karen? What’s wrong?”

“Well, tonight has been wonderful. You’re a great friend but that’s all I feel. You’re my boss, Jason. I tried to feel something more, but I just can’t! You’re a very interesting man, and I admire you very much, but that’s all there is to it, at least for me.” My heart was beating very rapidly. I hoped that he wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

“Karen, I have to admit something. I asked you out in the heat of the moment today. I really do like you, but it’s like you said. I only feel admiration toward you. I came tonight to give it a chance. Now, thought, I agree with you. I hope you’ll continue to work for me because you truly are a great photographer.” Jason looked relieved.

“Of course I’ll still work for you Jason. You’re one of the best!” We arose and made our way to the car.

Jason walked me to my doorstep and kissed my forehead. “Goodnight, Karen. I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early!”

I smiled. “Aren’t I always on time?”

We shared a laugh before he got into his car and drove down the street. Everything had worked out fine, except that I was still single. I really needed to work on that!

THE END