“Goodnight, Reed.” “Yeah,” he answered softly. “’Night.” When I turned away, giving the leash a light tug, Reed called out to me one more time. “Photography.” I stalled my feet, my back to him. My breath fell out like a feathering of white against the cool air. I swiveled around, staring at him from a few feet away as he straightened from the side of the truck. “You should do photography.” His eyes were soft as they held with mine. “For your blips.”
