To Sylvie’s surprise, it was the gorgeous woman from the boat.
“Oh, it’s all right,” she said. “I’m not really bothered. I just suck at all things artsy. Photography is a mystery to me. I usually just use the filter mode.”
The supermodel pressed her full lips together into something between a smile and a pout—an expression Sylvie was sure, if she tried it herself, would cause strangers to stop and ask if she was okay.
“Well, first of all, I don’t think that’s true. There are as many kinds of art as there are people on the planet. You can’t be bad at all of them. Besides, I saw the shot you framed—you have a real eye for composition,” the woman said smoothly. “Second of all, if you weren’t interested, you wouldn’t have tried three times. Here, once you know the trick, it’s easy.”
What is it about stunningly good-looking people that makes you want to believe everything they say?Sylvie smiled self-consciously, laughed, nodded, and—before she knew it—handed over her phone.
“You were on the right track,” the woman said, tapping on the screen and stepping back to frame the shot. “You just need to understand the logic behind what you’re adjusting. Your basics are aperture, shutter speed, and ISO—how wide you open the lens, how long it stays open, and how sensitive the camera is to light. I’m Moira, by the way.”
“Sylvie,” she replied.
Moira tapped the screen again and showed her. “Lower ISO lets you keep the shutter open longer without blowing out the bright spots—but this one was too low, so it’s too dark. I’ll adjust that and leave the shutter speed alone for now. Every sunset shot needs a bit of tweaking.”
What she had on screen was already better than her first attempts, and Sylvie smiled, leaning back against the railing. Moira continued adjusting, showing her each shot andexplaining what she’d changed. With every image, the vision Sylvie had imagined came closer to reality.
Moira was a natural teacher—clear, unpretentious, and funny. She delivered the information without sounding like she was lecturing, and somehow still managed to make Sylvie laugh.
“When you’re shooting a subject, it’s a different kettle of fish,” Moira said. “You’ve got to decide what to focus on. Having everything in focus usually doesn’t work. Just like life—try to do everything at once, and it falls apart. Focus on one thing, keep the rest in mind, and you get something beautiful. Oh, perfect! You see that yacht coming in?”
Sylvie laughed, turning toward where Moira pointed. “Honestly, I’d settle for something that actually looks like what I’m seeing. I think that’s why drawing and painting feel so impossible.”
The gleaming white yacht gently rocked on the tide. The sunset shimmered across its polished surfaces, and the sharp lines of the hull formed a striking contrast with the soft clouds and waves. How was it that every moment on this island felt more beautiful than the last?
“That’s why photography pulls people in,” Moira started. “They think it’s the easy option—just point and shoot. Then they realize there’s a ton of work. Light, composition, editing…not to mention understanding your gear. That said, you don’thaveto retouch a photo to get a great one. See?” She held out the phone.
When Sylvie saw the screen, she gasped. “Oh my God. That isnotme!”
“It absolutely is,” Moira replied, winking. “And a darn good-looking sunset to boot.”
Open-mouthed, Sylvie reached for the phone. Moira had framed the shot so Sylvie was clearly the main focus, but the background behind her wasn’t overlooked. As she scrolled through, she saw herself in various candid poses—gazing out atthe sea, laughing and turning toward the camera, brushing a hand through her hair.
“Holy cow,” Sylvie said, laughing. “You’re amazing at this!”
“Thank you.” Moira grinned, then appeared sheepish. “Sorry if that was a little weird. I was just gonna take a quick picture or two—something nice for you to remember the trip. But, well, you’re seriously photogenic.”
Sylvie waved her off. “Oh, stop it. You’re very kind to flatter an old woman.”
“Old?” Moira cried. “Excuse me? You can’t be more than thirty—thirty-five?”
“I am,” Sylvie said, then smirked. “But don’t try to tell meyou’rein my age range. If women my age can look like you, then I definitely missed a trick or two.”
They laughed, and something fluttered in Sylvie’s chest. It had been a long time since she’d laughed like that with another woman.
“I’m twenty-six,” Moira said. “Here for my birthday, actually.”
“Thank God,” Sylvie replied, only half-joking. “I can handle someone ten years younger being ten times better looking.”
Moira wagged a finger at her. “Nope. Not doing that. I know what I’m talking about, and you’re gorgeous.”
“What flattery is this?” Sylvie teased, her face burning. “Am I about to get recruited into a pyramid scheme?”
Thankfully, Moira laughed. “No! Absolutely not. But Iwilladmit it’s kind of my job. I’m a photographer.”
“Wow, that’s so cool,” she said aloud. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Me neither,” Moira said. “I studied marketing and business strategy in school. Got a job. Hated it. Got the same job at another company. Hated it again. Tried something different—hated that more. Then I eventually realized I hated the entiresystem, so I quit. My parents were furious. The past year’s been rough, but honestly, it’s been the best thing I’ve done. Now it’s about building, finding jobs and clients.”
