Eight
Skye stood at the glass front door of her photography studio a few blocks north of downtown Poulsbo and watched Eloise Philips stride out to a Lexus sedan so new it still had temporary stickers in the window. Though the senior editor and CEO of the small publishing house wasn’t someone Skye would normally spend much time with, she was excited to be working with Eloise on the photography book. She doubted she’d make much money off it, but it’d be a nice addition to her résumé and the list of her accomplishments on her website. More to the point, though she didn’t want to admit why, this book project was close to her heart.
When Eloise drove off, Skye paused to stare up at the Douglas firs that towered over her studio. Even after three days back in Western Washington, their height st
