“You’re very comfortable in front of a lens,” he said, lowering the camera.
“You know your light,” she said, leaning against the island. mompov redhead
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. “You’re very comfortable in front of a lens,”
Claire reached up and gently took the camera from his hands, setting it on the coffee table. “The house can wait,” she said, her voice a low murmur. “Show me what else that lens can’t capture.” Claire, 42, ran a hand through her cascade
Claire laughed, a genuine, throaty sound. “You already got the only shot that mattered.” She propped herself up on an elbow. “Dinner first. I make a mean lasagna. Then, maybe we try the master bedroom lighting.”