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“Ms. Hartwell? Leo. Thanks for letting me slip into the schedule.”

Leo nodded, already lifting his camera to his eye, framing a shot of the quartz countertops. Claire watched him work. He moved with a quiet confidence, adjusting angles, noticing the light. He wasn't just clicking; he was seeing . When he knelt to get a low shot of the breakfast nook, his gaze flicked from the viewfinder directly to her. mompov redhead

“Claire, please,” she said, stepping aside. “And thank you for the rush. The market is insane right now.” Thanks for letting me slip into the schedule

“I’m a former drama teacher,” she admitted, a sly smile playing on her lips. “I know how to hold a moment.” He wasn't just clicking; he was seeing

The afternoon sun, thick as honey, poured through the bay window of the suburban Chicago kitchen. Claire, 42, ran a hand through her cascade of copper-red hair, a shade that had never come from a bottle. She was waiting for the real estate photographer, a young man named Leo, who was supposed to shoot the newly renovated space for the listing.