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I snap a few more photos before Prescott puts the ball on the bed and crooks his finger at me. “C’mere. I want to see.”
Pulling the camera away, I switch to view mode and look over the photos. Nerves make my stomach tighten, but I force myself to get back on the bed and hand him the camera. I rarely ever let anyone look at the unedited photos. It’s like letting somebody read a half-written essay or showing them an unfinished play. You just don’t do it.
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I watch Prescott flip between the photos, an unreadable expression on his face.
“You don’t like them.”
He looks up, the corner of his mouth raised in a grin. “Those are really good, not that I’m surprised.”
“You’re not?”
Yes, he got a peek at that photo I was editing a few weeks back, but I’m not sure how much he remembered since he passed out so quickly.
Prescott shrugs. “I’ve seen your photos online before.”
“Oh, did you now? Stalking me, Wentworth?”
“It’s hardly stalking when your social media is open to the public.”
I tilt my head. “I guess there is that.”
“But those are good. More than good. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“Let’s hop— Hey!”
Prescott turns the camera toward me, and I hear that familiarclickas he presses the shutter.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I lunge for the camera, but Prescott pulls it out of my reach, making me stumble onto him.
“What does it look like I’m doing? Taking photos.”
Pressing my hand on his chest, I glare at him. “Gimmie that, Wentworth.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people that doesn’t like her photo taken.”
“What if I am?”
“But you’re taking photos for a living!”
“Exactly the reason why I don’t like my photos taken.” Stradling his lap, I grab the camera. “Seriously, give it back. Do you know how much that thing costs?”
He looks at the camera in his hand and then at me. “Do I want to know?”
“You don’t. Trust me.”
I still remember my parents freaking out when I told them about it. In hindsight, it is quite pricey, but it was the best of the best, and I had to have it if I was serious about pursuing photography. In the end, it was Mom who caved and got it for me.
“Hey,” Prescott places the camera on the nightstand, his hand cupping my cheek. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. I just remembered something.”
“Something?”
I tug the collar of my shirt down. “My mom.”
I try to look away, but Prescott doesn’t let me. “What about her?”
“She loved my photography. She was the only reason I got this camera in the first place. My dad thought it was a dumb hobby I’d grow out of, but not my mom.”
