Free Picture Perfect (Weddings by Design Book #1): A Novel by Janice Thompson Page A

cover. Straightening out the wrinkle on the first page, I ran my finger down the table of contents until I came to “Photo I Do’s.” My heart almost came to a stop as I turned to page 46 and skimmed the article, eyes darting this way and that to take in as much as I could.
    Strangely, much of the piece was about Bella. Not that I really minded. And the reporter had plenty to say about Drew Kincaid’s business too. Still, she’d given me a fair shake, and she hadn’t even mentioned my mismatched shoes or the faux pas with the coffee. Praise God for small favors! She’d even mentioned my business by name, along with the appropriate address and website information. Yes and amen!
    “Can I see it?” My mother stepped next to me and wiped her sticky hands on her apron.
    “Sure. Of course.” Still beaming, I handed her the magazine.
    Mama pulled it close as she looked at my head shot. She backed away a tiny bit and squinted. “Wow, that’s a close-up photo of your face.”
    “Yeah, I can almost see the fillings in your teeth.” My father’s voice sounded over my shoulder. He opened the refrigerator, came out with a gallon of milk, and took a swig.
    I groaned as I took in my head shot. “Wish I’d opted for a different photo of myself. Have you ever seen so many freckles?”
    “Hey now, don’t despise the freckles.” My father took another drink of milk, then closed the jug and put it away. A couple of seconds later he opened the freezer and grabbed a carton of ice cream. “You come from a long line of freckles, darlin’.” He pulled the top off the ice cream carton and grabbed a spoon from the drawer. My mother groaned.
    “I know, I know.” Still, I’d hoped my portfolio photographs would make up for the head shot. Sure enough, I found three of the pictures I’d shot at recent weddings beautifully inserted into the story.
    Unfortunately, I also found a few of Drew Kincaid’s. I should have expected that.
    “Ooh, I love that one.” Mama pointed to one of Drew’s pictures. “Hey, look! It’s Brock Benson . . . again.” She gave a drawn-out sigh, a blissful expression on her face. “Every time I turn around, there he is.”
    Oh, if only life were like that.
    Mama gazed at Drew’s photo of Brock all gussied up in his “I’m getting married” tux. “That man’s quite a looker.”
    From across the kitchen, my father let out a belch, then muttered, “Why, thank you. I’ve often been told I’m alooker.” He ambled out of the kitchen, ice cream carton in hand.
    Under ordinary circumstances, Mama would’ve scolded him for eating ice cream for breakfast. This time, however, she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off Brock. “I don’t remember you showing me the photo of Brock Benson before, Hannah.” She pressed the magazine back into my hands. “But it’s wonderful. Great angle. A lot better than that one.” She pointed down to a photo I’d taken at a wedding last spring.
    I released a sigh. “Mama, I didn’t shoot Brock’s wedding. Drew Kincaid did. That’s his photo, not mine.” I pointed to the one I’d shot. “ This is mine.”
    Her eyes widened. “Oops. Sorry.”
    I pointed to Drew’s slick, perfectly aligned head shot and winced. “That’s him. That’s the competition. Drew Kincaid.”
    Again, Mama pulled the magazine from my hand. She let out a slow whistle. “ That’s the competition?”
    “Yep.”
    “Can we just concede right now?” She looked up at me with a twinkle in her eyes.
    “Mama!” I grabbed the magazine back from her, wanting to savor the article, but I found my gaze riveted on Drew’s handsome face. Those captivating eyes held me spellbound, as if he’d stepped into the room alongside me. And—perhaps for the first time—I noticed a teensy-tiny splattering of freckles along the edge of his nose.
    Looks like we have more in common than photography, Jacquie Goldfarb.
    Er, Drew.
    I couldn’t help but give him another look. His light hair stood in