After Hello Read Free

obvious clue that you want to remember your visit here, but it’s also how I know you appreciate beauty. A camera of that quality means you are serious about your pictures; you have an artist’s eye. And the fact that you followed me—and talked to me—and are still walking with me—means that you’re stubborn.”
    “And brave,” she reminded him. “Or crazy,” she muttered under her breath.
    He didn’t think he was supposed to hear that.
    “So can you teach me?” she asked, tilting her head up at him. She wasn’t short by any means, but she still wasn’t as tall as he was. “To look? And see?”
    “You already know how.”
    “No, I don’t. Not like that.”
    He raised an eyebrow, a half question, half challenge. “Then why did you take my picture?”
     

Chapter 3
     
    Sara
     
    Good question. Why had I taken his picture? I paused, my hand cradling the camera again. “Because it felt like the right thing to do,” I admitted in an unexpectedly soft voice.
    “And do you always do what feels right—or what is actually right?”
    “What does that mean?” I bristled. I had been raised to believe that when your feelings led you toward something good, then it was best to follow them. And although taking Sam’s picture might have been impulsive, I didn’t think it was a bad thing.
    Sam fidgeted with the strap of his bag while he walked. “I’m sorry if that sounded confrontational. All I meant was that sometimes it’s hard to tell what the right thing to do is. Take this situation, for example. You tagging along with me while I do my job probably isn’t the smartest thing either one of us has done, yet—” He hesitated, his eyes focused forward. “Yet it feels right. ”
    I matched my pace to his. I knew how he felt. This moment, this meeting, did feel right. Somehow just knowing the name of another person in this big city had made me feel a part of it. And Sam seemed nice enough. He hadn’t tried to kidnap me or steal from me. He hadn’t demanded I leave him alone. In fact, he’d invited me along, and I felt like he’d attempted to make me feel comfortable walking next to him by allowing me some space and keeping our pace even.
    “So what’s your job?” I asked.
    His hand drifted down to the body of his messenger bag. “I find things for people.”
    “You look a little young to be a PI. And a little scrawny to work in repo.”
    He shook his head. “I’m freelance.”
    “So who do you work for now?”
    “Right now I’m finding something for my brother. His boss is . . . specific about certain things, and when Paul can’t find them on his own, he asks me to help.”
    “He makes you work on Saturday?”
    “I work when there’s work to do.”
    “You don’t go to school?”
    “Graduated early,” he said, his words clipped.
    “Lucky.” I blew out my breath, ruffling the hair above my eyes. “I still have one more year.”
    We crossed a street, angling past a newsstand. “So the book in your bag is for his boss?” I asked.
    “How did you know—?” he started, the faintest sound of panic in his voice.
    “I saw you with it.” He wasn’t the only one who could be observant. I lifted my arm, my camera dangling from the wrist strap. “I stole your soul outside the bookstore, remember? I love books; which one did you buy? Maybe I’ve read it.”
    He glanced at me. “I can’t say.”
    “Can’t, or won’t?”
    “Won’t.” Sam didn’t look at me.
    “Oh, so it’s one of those kinds of books,” I teased.
    Red touched his cheeks. “No, it’s not.”
    “Then why can’t— won’t —you tell me? It’s just a book.”
    “No, it’s not,” he said again, more firmly this time.
    With that, my curiosity was caught. A book that was more than a book? A secret pickup for a mysterious client? And we were en route to deliver it. The sweet burn of excitement filled my belly, and I grinned. Today was going to be a good day after all.
    When Sam didn’t say anything else, I