Without thinking—without meaning to at all—I raise the camera again.
Click.
The shutter startles me. I look at the screen. The preview image punches something soft and unguarded open in my chest.
It’s him.
Kendrick standing against the backdrop of the whole world, the light curling around him, his expression steady and contemplative like he’s made of something the wilderness recognizes.
It’s… beautiful. Not because of the landscape, but because of him in it.
I swallow.
He glances over. “Get anything good?”
“No,” I blurt. “Nothing. Terrible, actually.”
His brow lifts like he knows I’m lying.
Before he can pry, I pivot the camera toward the view again. “Want to help me find a good angle?”
“I don’t know anything about photography.”
“That’s fine. You have eyes.”
He gives me a look that might be skepticism but might be amusement. Hard to tell with him.
Still, he steps closer, pointing toward the ridge where the light hits the river. “Most people like that spot.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly, “I’ve noticed.”
The words ripple through me, unexpected and warm.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then he clears his throat and nods toward the trail. “We should head back before it gets dark.”
Reluctantly, I lower my camera. “Right.”
But even as we walk, I keep glancing at the photo stored in my camera, the one I didn’t mean to take, the one that feels like the first image in weeks that actually means something.
And I have no idea what to do with that.
FOUR
KENDRICK
I tell myself I’m not checking the time.
I’m definitely checking the time.
Gran has been watching me do it for the better part of ten minutes while I fix the latch on her back gate. Every so often, she makes a thoughtful sound, like she’s studying a complicated puzzle. Or a mildly disappointing grandson.
“You headed somewhere tonight?” she finally asks.
“No.”
