We were frantic. We ran down the stairs and snapped a quick selfie of our faces with the background of my workshop and its gear without even looking at how the picture came out.
Outside, I grabbed her elbow and, without even speaking, gently sat her on the hood and took another picture.
While I revved the engine, June patted the backside of her light-colored pants from the dust the car had accumulated. I hardly drove it ever since I had gotten here.
During the ride, we were both quiet and nervous. The only sounds were when June instructed me to, “Turn left here. Take a right there.”
I pulled over, and we stepped right into the salty afternoon breeze. A rather empty stretch of beach lay beneath the paved walkway.
June circled the car and came to stand beside me. “The view from here, we’ll change the data to show one day, and the view from the water’s edge will be another day.”
I grinned in appreciation. “Are you sure it’s your first fake marriage?”
She huffed a chuckle. “There’s a movie …” Without even finishing her sentence, she grabbed the hem of her wide, shapeless, buttoned top, and took it off in one swift pull.
I must have stopped breathing for a moment.
Her hair tousled, and she was in a pale pink tank top made of some soft fabric that caressed her skin. The straps of a white bra peeked from under the narrow straps of the top.
She was beautiful.
I suddenly wondered what she’d look like in jeans. Surely, there were organic jeans out there.
I was probably staring, because June found it necessary to explain, “So it won’t look like we’re wearing the same clothes in all the pictures.” Even in the orange dusk, I noticed the glow of blush spreading from her chest up her neck.
One swift pull, and I was shirtless, too. Only, I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
From the way her lips parted and the hollow in the base of her throat deepened, I figured June had inhaled in surprise.
“So it won’t look like we’re wearing the same clothes in all the pictures,” I quoted her with a smile.
“The hat.” She shook her head, as if waking from a deep sleep. Then, opening the car door, she grabbed the hat from the dashboard.
I threw my arm around her and pressed her to my side, her arm wrapped around my waist. It was the closest to feeling her skin on skin, her supple frame fitting perfectly against me. I closed my palm on the round mound of her naked shoulder.
June kept the hat on her head by holding its hem, and I snapped the picture.
We both squinted to see how it came out. The perfect vacation picture. Breeze blew out our hair, the hat looking like it was about to fly if she wasn’t holding it, our wedding rings both visible—hers on the hand holding the hat, mine on the hand that was wrapped around her—and we were both smiling widely.
June put on her jacket and zipped it up, left the hat in the car, and we ran down to the sand, via a winding path that led from the short cliff down to the beach.
I preceded her by a few steps and, walking backward, got a picture of her alone, wearing her sunglasses and walking toward me. I let her reach me, and we took another one with the ocean glowing under the sunset behind us. With the right angles, backgrounds, and variation of clothes, I hoped these would all look like they had been taken on different days.
At the water’s edge, she took the jacket off, tied it around her waist, and we took another selfie. As I held her, her breath caressed my skin, and her palm flattened on my bare chest. I loved this feel of her against my body a little too much.
I bent down and dipped my hands in the water. The sand beneath my sneakers was soft and wet. I looked up at June. “Should we …?”
“Too cold. I don’t feel like getting wet.”
I wanted to retort something but handed her my phone instead. “Take one of me then.”
I took a few steps in, my shoes getting soaked. When a wave crashed a few meters from us, sending June running back, I bent, filled my palms with water, and looked at her. “Now.”
She snapped the picture.
“Look at you.” She let out a breathy laugh, pointing at my shoes.
“Just shoes.” I loved hearing her laughter.
