After finishing the session, they thanked the photographer, who assured them that the photos had come out beautifully. Belle skipped ahead toward a bench under one of the fullest cherry blossom trees, and Preston chased a falling petal like it was a butterfly. The day felt warm, joyful, uncomplicated.
“What was it you said before the pictures?” she asked.
He hesitated for a long second, rubbing the back of his neck with a bewildered expression.
“I don’t want to sound crazy,” he said slowly, “but… I think that was President Obama.”
Portia froze. “What? No… you’re joking.”Continue reading…
