He glares at me—straight through me—a series of tiny muscles flexing in his jaw. He releases a frustrated blast of air down his nose, nostrils flared, and then lifts the camera to his face. He snaps off another photo of me, his eyebrows banking together as he lowers the Canon from his face again.
Him taking a photo of her is so meaningful in my opinion. I reckon he doesn't take a lot of portraits.
