"You smell so good," he says at one stoplight. "I want to eat you up."
"You're going to get us killed," I tell him, but I'm smiling.
"What a way to go." He kisses my neck, just behind my ear, and I shiver despite the warm air.
I shake my head and keep driving. I've never been happier on this bike than I am right now.
The ridge is just as beautiful as it was before. Rolling hills stretching to the horizon, the silver glint of the river winding through the valley,the huge open sky. We park the bike and find a flat spot near the edge, spreading out our picnic on the grass.
"This is perfect," Ivan says, looking out at the view. "This is exactly what I needed. Air and space and you."
We eat sandwiches and chips, passing the soda bottles back and forth between us, sharing sips. Ivan takes out his phone and starts taking pictures. Of the view first, then of the food, then of me when I'm not paying attention.
"Stop," I say, holding up a hand to block my face when I notice.
"No way. I need pictures of you. I need proof this is real."
"I'm not photogenic. I look terrible in photos."
"Bullshit. Total bullshit." He lowers the phone. "You're the most gorgeous person I've ever seen in my life. I need proof that weekend actually happened. When I'm back home and missing you, I want to be able to look at these and remember everything."
"Ivan—"
"Just one. Please? Just one picture? Humor me."
I sigh and drop my hand. "Fine. One. Just one."
He takes about fifteen, the phone clicking over and over.
"You said one!" I protest.
"I lied. I have no shame." He's grinning, scrolling through the photos on his screen. "These are amazing. Look at this one."
He shows me the screen. It's me, caught mid-laugh at something he said, the sun lighting up my face. My eyes are crinkled at the corners, my mouth open in genuine happiness. I look... happy. I look like someone I don't recognize, someone who knows what joy feels like.
"See? You look beautiful." He saves the photo and sets it as his phone wallpaper right in front of me, replacing whatever was there before. "There. Now I can look at you whenever I want. Whenever I miss you."
"You're ridiculous. You know that?"
"I'm really happy right now. Like, really, really happy. That's all."
"Your turn now," I tell him, pulling out my own phone. "Fair's fair. Let me take pictures of you."
He poses dramatically, making stupid faces, sticking his tongue out, crossing his eyes. And I laugh so hard I can barely hold the phone steady.Then he settles down and gives me a real smile—genuine and full of warmth—and I take the picture.
"Let me see," he says, reaching for the phone.
He looks at himself on the screen—happy, relaxed, his blue eyes bright with joy—and he nods slowly.
"Not bad," he admits.
"Not bad? You're so handsome it hurts to look at you sometimes."
He ducks his head, pleased but embarrassed. "Shut up. Stop saying things like that."
"Make me."
He leans over and kisses me, and for a while we forget about the pictures entirely, forget about everything except each other.
