Blindspot (Daydream, Colorado Book 1) by A. M. Rose

Author:A. M. Rose [Rose, A. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2021-01-24T18:30:00+00:00

“Pops, it’s me,” Mason called out as he let himself inside the small apartment using his old key.

He toed off his shoes and went about the usual task of removing the many, many layers of clothes winter made him wear. He wished for a millionth time he was any good at domestic magic so he could spell himself warm like Sage did with his food. But after trying it once and turning his snuggly coat into a jacket so cropped it barely reached his belly button, he gave up on it and just layered up.

As he unzipped the final hoody he was wearing, his eyes drifted over to the hallway wall. It was almost completely covered with framed photos that never failed to make Mason smile. They were the worst kinds of photos a person could have possibly chosen to frame, and yet, Orson loved them. He claimed that the perfectly centered, posed photos where everyone wore perfect little smiles weren’t capturing the moments he wanted immortalized. It was those that were blurry with movement, off-centered with too-big smiles and thumbs covering the lens that created memories. Because, as he said, if you truly lived the moment, you didn’t have the time to think about how to make a perfect photo. You just lived. And someone happened to catch a snippet of it.

Mason smiled looking at the photos. And he smiled even wider thinking of how much Drew hated them. The artist in him dying every time Orson added a new crime against photography to his wall.

“Mason, is that you?” he heard Orson shout from the direction of his balcony, and he snorted.

“Acquired any more kids since the last time I saw you?” Mason teased as he walked further into the apartment.

“Well, it’s been so long, and I’m a lonely old man… I need someone to help me cope,” Orson said as Mason walked onto the balcony. The old man slumped dramatically into the chair, which was a feat given he was fast approaching the shape of a perfect circle. He had his fishing gear in front of him, and he was in the process of loosening the tension on his reels and wiping them all with dry cloths before putting them away in boxes. Fishing season seemed to have finally finished for him.

“I saw you three days ago for lunch,” Mason said, sitting in the other chair on the balcony. Years ago, Orson put glass floor to ceiling windows to close the balcony off and give them a lovely little breakfast nook. The sun glaring off the glass always made it light and warm. Mason loved it.

“I could have died and been eaten by my cat in three days,” he said, clutching at imaginary pearls.

“You don’t even have a cat,” Mason said, trying his best to keep the laughter in.

“I feed a stray down the street. She’d notice me gone and come looking for food.”

“Well, she’d find enough food for a year.”

“Are you calling me fat?” Orson exclaimed, patting his round stomach with a gleeful smile on his face.

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