153 days: How long Heath McBride and Mallory Alcott were together.
4,384 days: Their time apart.
When he last saw her she was lying in a hospital bed, purpled with bruises, sewn together with crude stitches, and unconscious of his presence at her side. Heath figured he’d never see her again. That’s what happened to teenage love ripped apart by a cross-country move. But when Mallory shows up in California twelve years later, he knows he can’t last another minute without her. And Mallory feels it, too. But they’ve both let others into their hearts to fill the absence, and they’re not the same naïve kids from before. Time has changed them, but has it changed their love? Is it possible, after more than a decade apart, to pick up where they left off?
I’m a writer. I’m a photographer. I love to photograph about what I write and write about what I photograph.
I’m fueled by Diet Coke and an overactive imagination.
I can’t do without the S.F. Giants, my mini iPad with the kindle app, and a daily dose of snuggles with my hundred pound Golden Retriever.
And I love LOVE.
Like seriously adore those butterflies you get when you think about that first kiss or when you held hands with someone you’d been crushing on for years. Even if it was cringeworthy and terrible, there’s just nothing quite like connecting with another human being on that nervous, hesitant level. Relationships are complex and wonderful and scary, and I get a rush each time I have a chance to write about them and all of their layers.
I get to document life with my keyboard and my camera, and I’m blessed beyond belief that I can do both for a living.